Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea
shore, observing and studying until five o’clock. Then I went to bed,
not, however, without invoking, like the Indian, the favour of the
radiant orb. The next day, the 21st of March, at five in the morning, I
mounted the platform. I found Captain Nemo there.
“The weather is lightening a little,” said he. “I have some hope. After
breakfast we will go on shore and choose a post for observation.”
That point settled, I sought Ned Land. I wanted to take him with me.
But the obstinate Canadian refused, and I saw that his taciturnity and
his bad humour grew day by day. After all, I was not sorry for his
obstinacy under the circumstances. Indeed, there were too many seals on
shore, and we ought not to lay such temptation in this unreflecting
fisherman’s way. Breakfast over, we went on shore. The _Nautilus_ had
gone some miles further up in the night. It was a whole league from the
coast, above which reared a sharp peak about five hundred yards high.
The boat took with me Captain Nemo, two men of the crew, and the
instruments, which consisted of a chronometer, a telescope, and a
barometer. While crossing, I saw numerous whales belonging to the three
kinds peculiar to the southern seas; the whale, or the English “right
whale,” which has no dorsal fin; the “humpback,” with reeved chest and
large, whitish fins, which, in spite of its name, do not form wings;
and the fin-back, of a yellowish brown, the liveliest of all the
cetacea. This powerful creature is heard a long way off when he throws
to a great height columns of air and vapour, which look like whirlwinds
of smoke. These different mammals were disporting themselves in troops
in the quiet waters; and I could see that this basin of the Antarctic
Pole serves as a place of refuge to the cetacea too closely tracked by
the hunters. I also noticed large medusæ floating between the reeds.
At nine we landed; the sky was brightening, the clouds were flying to
the south, and the fog seemed to be leaving the cold surface of the
waters. Captain Nemo went towards the peak, which he doubtless meant to
be his observatory. It was a painful ascent over the sharp lava and the
pumice-stones, in an atmosphere often impregnated with a sulphurous
smell from the smoking cracks. For a man unaccustomed to walk on land,
the Captain climbed the steep slopes with an agility I never saw
equalled and which a hunter would have envied. We were two hours
getting to the summit of this peak, which was half porphyry and half
basalt. From thence we looked upon a vast sea which, towards the north,
distinctly traced its boundary line upon the sky. At our feet lay
fields of dazzling whiteness. Over our heads a pale azure, free from
fog. To the north the disc of the sun seemed like a ball of fire,
already horned by the cutting of the horizon. From the bosom of the
water rose sheaves of liquid jets by hundreds. In the distance lay the
_Nautilus_ like a cetacean asleep on the water. Behind us, to the south
and east, an immense country and a chaotic heap of rocks and ice, the
limits of which were not visible. On arriving at the summit Captain
Nemo carefully took the mean height of the barometer, for he would have
to consider that in taking his observations. At a quarter to twelve the
sun, then seen only by refraction, looked like a golden disc shedding
its last rays upon this deserted continent and seas which never man had
yet ploughed. Captain Nemo, furnished with a lenticular glass which, by
means of a mirror, corrected the refraction, watched the orb sinking
below the horizon by degrees, following a lengthened diagonal. I held
the chronometer. My heart beat fast. If the disappearance of the
half-disc of the sun coincided with twelve o’clock on the chronometer,
we were at the pole itself.
“Twelve!” I exclaimed.
“The South Pole!” replied Captain Nemo, in a grave voice, handing me
the glass, which showed the orb cut in exactly equal parts by the
horizon.
I looked at the last rays crowning the peak, and the shadows mounting
by degrees up its slopes. At that moment Captain Nemo, resting with his
hand on my shoulder, said:
“I, Captain Nemo, on this 21st day of March, 1868, have reached the
South Pole on the ninetieth degree; and I take possession of this part
of the globe, equal to one-sixth of the known continents.”
“In whose name, Captain?”
“In my own, sir!”
Saying which, Captain Nemo unfurled a black banner, bearing an “N” in
gold quartered on its bunting. Then, turning towards the orb of day,
whose last rays lapped the horizon of the sea, he exclaimed:
“Adieu, sun! Disappear, thou radiant orb! rest beneath this open sea,
and let a night of six months spread its shadows over my new domains!”
CHAPTER XV
ACCIDENT OR INCIDENT?
The next day, the 22nd of March, at six in the morning, preparations
for departure were begun. The last gleams of twilight were melting into
night. The cold was great, the constellations shone with wonderful
intensity. In the zenith glittered that wondrous Southern Cross—the
polar bear of Antarctic regions. The thermometer showed 12 below zero,
and when the wind freshened it was most biting. Flakes of ice increased
on the open water. The sea seemed everywhere alike. Numerous blackish
patches spread on the surface, showing the formation of fresh ice.
Evidently the southern basin, frozen during the six winter months, was
absolutely inaccessible. What became of the whales in that time?
Doubtless they went beneath the icebergs, seeking more practicable
seas. As to the seals and morses, accustomed to live in a hard climate,
they remained on these icy shores. These creatures have the instinct to
break holes in the ice-field and to keep them open. To these holes they
come for breath; when the birds, driven away by the cold, have
emigrated to the north, these sea mammals remain sole masters of the
polar continent. But the reservoirs were filling with water, and the
_Nautilus_ was slowly descending. At 1,000 feet deep it stopped; its
screw beat the waves, and it advanced straight towards the north at a
speed of fifteen miles an hour. Towards night it was already floating
under the immense body of the iceberg. At three in the morning I was
awakened by a violent shock. I sat up in my bed and listened in the
darkness, when I was thrown into the middle of the room. The
_Nautilus_, after having struck, had rebounded violently. I groped
along the partition, and by the staircase to the saloon, which was lit
by the luminous ceiling. The furniture was upset. Fortunately the
windows were firmly set, and had held fast. The pictures on the
starboard side, from being no longer vertical, were clinging to the
paper, whilst those of the port side were hanging at least a foot from
the wall. The _Nautilus_ was lying on its starboard side perfectly
motionless. I heard footsteps, and a confusion of voices; but Captain
Nemo did not appear. As I was leaving the saloon, Ned Land and Conseil
entered.
“What is the matter?” said I, at once.
“I came to ask you, sir,” replied Conseil.
“Confound it!” exclaimed the Canadian, “I know well enough! The
_Nautilus_ has struck; and, judging by the way she lies, I do not think
she will right herself as she did the first time in Torres Straits.”
“But,” I asked, “has she at least come to the surface of the sea?”
“We do not know,” said Conseil.
“It is easy to decide,” I answered. I consulted the manometer. To my
great surprise, it showed a depth of more than 180 fathoms. “What does
that mean?” I exclaimed.
“We must ask Captain Nemo,” said Conseil.
“But where shall we find him?” said Ned Land.
“Follow me,” said I, to my companions.
We left the saloon. There was no one in the library. At the centre
staircase, by the berths of the ship’s crew, there was no one. I
thought that Captain Nemo must be in the pilot’s cage. It was best to
wait. We all returned to the saloon. For twenty minutes we remained
thus, trying to hear the slightest noise which might be made on board
the _Nautilus_, when Captain Nemo entered. He seemed not to see us; his
face, generally so impassive, showed signs of uneasiness. He watched
the compass silently, then the manometer; and, going to the
planisphere, placed his finger on a spot representing the southern
seas. I would not interrupt him; but, some minutes later, when he
turned towards me, I said, using one of his own expressions in the
Torres Straits:
“An incident, Captain?”
“No, sir; an accident this time.”
“Serious?”
“Perhaps.”
“Is the danger immediate?”
“No.”
“The _Nautilus_ has stranded?”
“Yes.”
“And this has happened—how?”
“From a caprice of nature, not from the ignorance of man. Not a mistake
has been made in the working. But we cannot prevent equilibrium from
producing its effects. We may brave human laws, but we cannot resist
natural ones.”
Captain Nemo had chosen a strange moment for uttering this
philosophical reflection. On the whole, his answer helped me little.
“May I ask, sir, the cause of this accident?”
“An enormous block of ice, a whole mountain, has turned over,” he
replied. “When icebergs are undermined at their base by warmer water or
reiterated shocks their centre of gravity rises, and the whole thing
turns over. This is what has happened; one of these blocks, as it fell,
struck the _Nautilus_, then, gliding under its hull, raised it with
irresistible force, bringing it into beds which are not so thick, where
it is lying on its side.”
“But can we not get the _Nautilus_ off by emptying its reservoirs, that
it might regain its equilibrium?”
“That, sir, is being done at this moment. You can hear the pump
working. Look at the needle of the manometer; it shows that the
_Nautilus_ is rising, but the block of ice is floating with it; and,
until some obstacle stops its ascending motion, our position cannot be
altered.”
Indeed, the _Nautilus_ still held the same position to starboard;
doubtless it would right itself when the block stopped. But at this
moment who knows if we may not be frightfully crushed between the two
glassy surfaces? I reflected on all the consequences of our position.
Captain Nemo never took his eyes off the manometer. Since the fall of
the iceberg, the _Nautilus_ had risen about a hundred and fifty feet,
but it still made the same angle with the perpendicular. Suddenly a
slight movement was felt in the hold. Evidently it was righting a
little. Things hanging in the saloon were sensibly returning to their
normal position. The partitions were nearing the upright. No one spoke.
With beating hearts we watched and felt the straightening. The boards
became horizontal under our feet. Ten minutes passed.
“At last we have righted!” I exclaimed.
“Yes,” said Captain Nemo, going to the door of the saloon.
“But are we floating?” I asked.
“Certainly,” he replied; “since the reservoirs are not empty; and, when
empty, the _Nautilus_ must rise to the surface of the sea.”
We were in open sea; but at a distance of about ten yards, on either
side of the _Nautilus_, rose a dazzling wall of ice. Above and beneath
the same wall. Above, because the lower surface of the iceberg
stretched over us like an immense ceiling. Beneath, because the
overturned block, having slid by degrees, had found a resting-place on
the lateral walls, which kept it in that position. The _Nautilus_ was
really imprisoned in a perfect tunnel of ice more than twenty yards in
breadth, filled with quiet water. It was easy to get out of it by going
either forward or backward, and then make a free passage under the
iceberg, some hundreds of yards deeper. The luminous ceiling had been
extinguished, but the saloon was still resplendent with intense light.
It was the powerful reflection from the glass partition sent violently