Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea
“We know now,” said Ned, “that we can expect nothing from this man. The
_Nautilus_ is nearing Long Island. We will escape, whatever the weather
may be.”
But the sky became more and more threatening. Symptoms of a hurricane
became manifest. The atmosphere was becoming white and misty. On the
horizon fine streaks of cirrhous clouds were succeeded by masses of
cumuli. Other low clouds passed swiftly by. The swollen sea rose in
huge billows. The birds disappeared with the exception of the petrels,
those friends of the storm. The barometer fell sensibly, and indicated
an extreme tension of the vapours. The mixture of the storm glass was
decomposed under the influence of the electricity that pervaded the
atmosphere. The tempest burst on the 18th of May, just as the
_Nautilus_ was floating off Long Island, some miles from the port of
New York. I can describe this strife of the elements! for, instead of
fleeing to the depths of the sea, Captain Nemo, by an unaccountable
caprice, would brave it at the surface. The wind blew from the
south-west at first. Captain Nemo, during the squalls, had taken his
place on the platform. He had made himself fast, to prevent being
washed overboard by the monstrous waves. I had hoisted myself up, and
made myself fast also, dividing my admiration between the tempest and
this extraordinary man who was coping with it. The raging sea was swept
by huge cloud-drifts, which were actually saturated with the waves. The
_Nautilus_, sometimes lying on its side, sometimes standing up like a
mast, rolled and pitched terribly. About five o’clock a torrent of rain
fell, that lulled neither sea nor wind. The hurricane blew nearly
forty leagues an hour. It is under these conditions that it overturns
houses, breaks iron gates, displaces twenty-four pounders. However, the
_Nautilus_, in the midst of the tempest, confirmed the words of a
clever engineer, “There is no well-constructed hull that cannot defy
the sea.” This was not a resisting rock; it was a steel spindle,
obedient and movable, without rigging or masts, that braved its fury
with impunity. However, I watched these raging waves attentively. They
measured fifteen feet in height, and 150 to 175 yards long, and their
speed of propagation was thirty feet per second. Their bulk and power
increased with the depth of the water. Such waves as these, at the
Hebrides, have displaced a mass weighing 8,400 lbs. They are they
which, in the tempest of December 23rd, 1864, after destroying the town
of Yeddo, in Japan, broke the same day on the shores of America. The
intensity of the tempest increased with the night. The barometer, as in
1860 at Reunion during a cyclone, fell seven-tenths at the close of
day. I saw a large vessel pass the horizon struggling painfully. She
was trying to lie to under half steam, to keep up above the waves. It
was probably one of the steamers of the line from New York to
Liverpool, or Havre. It soon disappeared in the gloom. At ten o’clock
in the evening the sky was on fire. The atmosphere was streaked with
vivid lightning. I could not bear the brightness of it; while the
captain, looking at it, seemed to envy the spirit of the tempest. A
terrible noise filled the air, a complex noise, made up of the howls of
the crushed waves, the roaring of the wind, and the claps of thunder.
The wind veered suddenly to all points of the horizon; and the cyclone,
rising in the east, returned after passing by the north, west, and
south, in the inverse course pursued by the circular storm of the
southern hemisphere. Ah, that Gulf Stream! It deserves its name of the
King of Tempests. It is that which causes those formidable cyclones, by
the difference of temperature between its air and its currents. A
shower of fire had succeeded the rain. The drops of water were changed
to sharp spikes. One would have thought that Captain Nemo was courting
a death worthy of himself, a death by lightning. As the _Nautilus_,
pitching dreadfully, raised its steel spur in the air, it seemed to act
as a conductor, and I saw long sparks burst from it. Crushed and
without strength I crawled to the panel, opened it, and descended to
the saloon. The storm was then at its height. It was impossible to
stand upright in the interior of the _Nautilus_. Captain Nemo came down
about twelve. I heard the reservoirs filling by degrees, and the
_Nautilus_ sank slowly beneath the waves. Through the open windows in
the saloon I saw large fish terrified, passing like phantoms in the
water. Some were struck before my eyes. The _Nautilus_ was still
descending. I thought that at about eight fathoms deep we should find a
calm. But no! the upper beds were too violently agitated for that. We
had to seek repose at more than twenty-five fathoms in the bowels of
the deep. But there, what quiet, what silence, what peace! Who could
have told that such a hurricane had been let loose on the surface of
that ocean?
CHAPTER XX
FROM LATITUDE 47° 24′ TO LONGITUDE 17° 28′
In consequence of the storm, we had been thrown eastward once more. All
hope of escape on the shores of New York or St. Lawrence had faded
away; and poor Ned, in despair, had isolated himself like Captain Nemo.
Conseil and I, however, never left each other. I said that the
_Nautilus_ had gone aside to the east. I should have said (to be more
exact) the north-east. For some days, it wandered first on the surface,
and then beneath it, amid those fogs so dreaded by sailors. What
accidents are due to these thick fogs! What shocks upon these reefs
when the wind drowns the breaking of the waves! What collisions between
vessels, in spite of their warning lights, whistles, and alarm bells!
And the bottoms of these seas look like a field of battle, where still
lie all the conquered of the ocean; some old and already encrusted,
others fresh and reflecting from their iron bands and copper plates the
brilliancy of our lantern.
On the 15th of May we were at the extreme south of the Bank of
Newfoundland. This bank consists of alluvia, or large heaps of organic
matter, brought either from the Equator by the Gulf Stream, or from the
North Pole by the counter-current of cold water which skirts the
American coast. There also are heaped up those erratic blocks which are
carried along by the broken ice; and close by, a vast charnel-house of
molluscs, which perish here by millions. The depth of the sea is not
great at Newfoundland—not more than some hundreds of fathoms; but
towards the south is a depression of 1,500 fathoms. There the Gulf
Stream widens. It loses some of its speed and some of its temperature,
but it becomes a sea.
It was on the 17th of May, about 500 miles from Heart’s Content, at a
depth of more than 1,400 fathoms, that I saw the electric cable lying
on the bottom. Conseil, to whom I had not mentioned it, thought at
first that it was a gigantic sea-serpent. But I undeceived the worthy
fellow, and by way of consolation related several particulars in the
laying of this cable. The first one was laid in the years 1857 and
1858; but, after transmitting about 400 telegrams, would not act any
longer. In 1863 the engineers constructed an other one, measuring 2,000
miles in length, and weighing 4,500 tons, which was embarked on the
Great Eastern. This attempt also failed.
On the 25th of May the _Nautilus_, being at a depth of more than 1,918
fathoms, was on the precise spot where the rupture occurred which
ruined the enterprise. It was within 638 miles of the coast of Ireland;
and at half-past two in the afternoon they discovered that
communication with Europe had ceased. The electricians on board
resolved to cut the cable before fishing it up, and at eleven o’clock
at night they had recovered the damaged part. They made another point
and spliced it, and it was once more submerged. But some days after it
broke again, and in the depths of the ocean could not be recaptured.
The Americans, however, were not discouraged. Cyrus Field, the bold
promoter of the enterprise, as he had sunk all his own fortune, set a
new subscription on foot, which was at once answered, and another cable
was constructed on better principles. The bundles of conducting wires
were each enveloped in gutta-percha, and protected by a wadding of
hemp, contained in a metallic covering. The Great Eastern sailed on the
13th of July, 1866. The operation worked well. But one incident
occurred. Several times in unrolling the cable they observed that nails
had recently been forced into it, evidently with the motive of
destroying it. Captain Anderson, the officers, and engineers consulted
together, and had it posted up that, if the offender was surprised on
board, he would be thrown without further trial into the sea. From that
time the criminal attempt was never repeated.
On the 23rd of July the Great Eastern was not more than 500 miles from
Newfoundland, when they telegraphed from Ireland the news of the
armistice concluded between Prussia and Austria after Sadowa. On the
27th, in the midst of heavy fogs, they reached the port of Heart’s
Content. The enterprise was successfully terminated; and for its first
despatch, young America addressed old Europe in these words of wisdom,
so rarely understood: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace,
goodwill towards men.”
I did not expect to find the electric cable in its primitive state,
such as it was on leaving the manufactory. The long serpent, covered
with the remains of shells, bristling with foraminiferae, was encrusted
with a strong coating which served as a protection against all boring
molluscs. It lay quietly sheltered from the motions of the sea, and
under a favourable pressure for the transmission of the electric spark
which passes from Europe to America in .32 of a second. Doubtless this
cable will last for a great length of time, for they find that the
gutta-percha covering is improved by the sea-water. Besides, on this
level, so well chosen, the cable is never so deeply submerged as to
cause it to break. The _Nautilus_ followed it to the lowest depth,
which was more than 2,212 fathoms, and there it lay without any
anchorage; and then we reached the spot where the accident had taken
place in 1863. The bottom of the ocean then formed a valley about 100
miles broad, in which Mont Blanc might have been placed without its
summit appearing above the waves. This valley is closed at the east by
a perpendicular wall more than 2,000 yards high. We arrived there on
the 28th of May, and the _Nautilus_ was then not more than 120 miles
from Ireland.
Was Captain Nemo going to land on the British Isles? No. To my great
surprise he made for the south, once more coming back towards European
seas. In rounding the Emerald Isle, for one instant I caught sight of
Cape Clear, and the light which guides the thousands of vessels leaving
Glasgow or Liverpool. An important question then arose in my mind. Did
the _Nautilus_ dare entangle itself in the Manche? Ned Land, who had
re-appeared since we had been nearing land, did not cease to question
me. How could I answer? Captain Nemo remained invisible. After having
shown the Canadian a glimpse of American shores, was he going to show
me the coast of France?
But the _Nautilus_ was still going southward. On the 30th of May, it
passed in sight of Land’s End, between the extreme point of England and
the Scilly Isles, which were left to starboard. If we wished to enter
the Manche, he must go straight to the east. He did not do so.
During the whole of the 31st of May, the _Nautilus_ described a series
of circles on the water, which greatly interested me. It seemed to be
seeking a spot it had some trouble in finding. At noon, Captain Nemo
himself came to work the ship’s log. He spoke no word to me, but seemed