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Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea
Chapter 17. FOUR THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE PACIFIC
The next morning, the 18th of November, I had quite recovered from my tiredness of the day before.
I went up onto the platform just as the second lieutenant was saying his daily phrase.
I was admiring the magnificent look of the ocean when Captain Nemo appeared.
He didn't seem to notice me and began a series of astronomical observations.
When he finished, he went and leaned on the cage of the watch-light.
He stared absently at the ocean, Meanwhile, several sailors of the Nautilus, all strong and healthy men, had come up onto the platform.
They came to pull up the nets that had been laid all night.
These sailors were clearly from different nations, although the European type was visible in all of them.
I recognized some unmistakable Irishmen, Frenchmen, some Slavs, and a Greek or a Candiote.
They were polite and only used that strange language among themselves.
I couldn't guess its origin, and I couldn't question them.
The nets were pulled in, they were a large kind of trawl net, like those on the Normandy coasts.
Great pockets that the waves and a chain fixed in the smaller meshes kept open.
These pockets, pulled by iron poles, swept through the water and gathered everything in their way.
That day they brought up curious specimens from those productive coasts.
I guessed that the haul had brought in more than nine hundredweight of fish.
It was a fine haul, but not surprising.
The nets are let down for several hours and enclose in their meshes an endless variety.
We had no lack of excellent food.
The speed of the Nautilus and the attraction of the electric light could always renew our supply.
These various sea products were immediately lowered through the panel to the steward's room.
Some were eaten fresh, and others were pickled.
The fishing ended and the air supply was renewed.
I thought the Nautilus was about to continue its underwater trip and was preparing to return to my room.
But without any introduction, the Captain turned to me and said,
"Professor, isn't this ocean gifted with real life"?
It has its tempers and its gentle moods.
Yesterday it slept as we did, and now it has woken after a quiet night.
"Look!" he continued.
"It wakes under the caresses of the sun".
It's going to renew its daily existence.
It's an interesting study to watch the play of its organization, it has a pulse, arteries, spasms.
And I agree with the learned Maury, who discovered in it a circulation as real as the circulation of blood in animals.
"Yes, the ocean has circulation. To promote it, the Creator has caused things to multiply in it, heat, salt, and tiny creatures."
When Captain Nemo spoke like this, he seemed completely changed and aroused an extraordinary emotion in me.
"Also," he added, "true existence is there, and I can imagine foundations of nautical towns, clusters of underwater houses."
"Like the Nautilus, they'd rise every morning to breathe at the surface, free towns, independent cities, yet who knows whether some despot".
Captain Nemo finished his sentence with a violent gesture.
Then, addressing me as if to chase away some sad thought,
"M. Aronnax," he asked, "do you know the depth of the ocean?"
"I only know, Captain, what the main soundings have taught us."
"Could you tell me them, so I can suit them to my purpose?"
"These are some,"
"I replied, "These are some that I remember.
"If I'm not mistaken, a depth of 8,000 yards was found in the North Atlantic, and 2,500 yards in the Mediterranean."
"The most remarkable soundings were in the South Atlantic near the thirty-fifth parallel, they gave 12,000, 14,000, and 15,000 yards."
"To sum up, it's thought that if the sea bottom were leveled, its average depth would be about one and three-quarter leagues."
"Well, Professor," replied the Captain.
"We'll show you better than that, I hope. As for the average depth of this part of the Pacific, I tell you it's only 4,000 yards."
Having said this, Captain Nemo went towards the panel and disappeared down the ladder.
I followed him and went into the large drawing-room.
The screw was immediately put in motion, and the log gave twenty miles an hour.
During the days and weeks that passed, Captain Nemo was very sparing with his visits, I seldom saw him.
The lieutenant marked the ship's course regularly on the chart, so I could always tell exactly the route of the Nautilus.
Nearly every day, for some time, the panels of the drawing-room were opened.
We never got tired of exploring the mysteries of the underwater world.
The general direction of the Nautilus was south-east, and it stayed between 100 and 150 yards of depth.
One day, however, I don't know why, it was pulled diagonally by the inclined planes and touched the bed of the sea.
The thermometer showed a temperature of 4.25 degrees Celsius, a temperature that at this depth seemed common to all latitudes.
At three o'clock in the morning of the 26th of November, the Nautilus crossed the Tropic of Cancer at 172 degrees longitude.
On the 27th it saw the Sandwich Islands, where Cook died on February 14, 1779.
We had then gone 4,860 leagues from our starting point.
In the morning, when I went on the platform, I saw two miles to windward, Hawaii, the largest of the seven islands that form the group.
I saw clearly the cultivated ranges and the several mountain chains that run parallel with the side.
I also saw the volcanoes that top Mouna-Rea, which rise 5,000 yards above sea level.
Among other things, the nets brought up several flabellariae and graceful polypi that are special to that part of the ocean.
The direction of the Nautilus was still south-east.
It crossed the equator on December 1, at 142 degrees longitude.
On the 4th of the same month, after crossing quickly without anything special happening, we saw the Marquesas group.
I saw, three miles off, Martin's peak in Nouka-Hiva, the largest of the group that belongs to France.
I only saw the woody mountains against the horizon, because Captain Nemo didn't want to bring the ship to the wind.
There the nets brought up beautiful fish.
Some had blue fins and tails like gold, with unmatched flesh.
Others had nearly no scales but excellent flavor.
Still others had bony jaws and yellow-tinged gills, as good as bonitos.
All fish that would be useful to us.
After leaving these charming islands protected by the French flag, from the 4th to the 11th of December the Nautilus sailed about 2,000 miles.
During the daytime of the 11th of December, I was busy reading in the large drawing-room.
Ned Land and Conseil watched the shining water through the half-open panels, the Nautilus was still.
While its reservoirs filled, it stayed at a depth of 1,000 yards, a region rarely visited where large fish were seldom seen.
I was then reading a charming book by Jean Mace, The Slaves of the Stomach.
I was learning some valuable lessons from it when Conseil interrupted me.
"Will master come here a moment?" he said in a curious voice.
"What's the matter, Conseil?"
"I want master to look."
I rose, went, and leaned on my elbows before the panes and watched.
In a full electric light, an enormous black mass, completely still, was hanging in the middle of the waters.
I watched it carefully, trying to find out the nature of this giant whale.
But a sudden thought crossed my mind.
"A vessel!" I said half aloud.
"Yes," replied the Canadian, "a disabled ship that has sunk straight down."
Ned Land was right, we were close to a vessel whose torn shrouds still hung from their chains.
The keel seemed to be in good condition, and it had been wrecked at most a few hours.
Three stumps of masts, broken off about two feet above the bridge, showed that the vessel had had to sacrifice its masts.
But lying on its side, it had filled with water and was leaning to port.
This skeleton of what it had once been was a sad sight as it lay lost under the waves.
But sadder still was the sight of the bridge, where some bodies, tied with ropes, were still lying.
I counted five, four men, one of whom was standing at the wheel, and a woman standing by the poop, holding a baby in her arms.
She was quite young, I could make out her features, which the water hadn't destroyed, by the brilliant light from the Nautilus.
In one desperate effort, she had raised her baby above her head, poor little thing!
Its arms were around its mother's neck.
The position of the four sailors was frightening.
They were twisted by their convulsive movements while making a last effort to free themselves from the ropes that tied them to the vessel.
The steersman alone was calm, with a serious, clear face.
His grey hair was stuck to his forehead, and his hand held the wheel.
He seemed even then to be guiding the three broken masts through the depths of the ocean.
What a scene! For a long moment we stood motionless, entirely breathless and silent.
Our hearts beat fast before this shipwreck, taken as it were from life and photographed in its last moments.
And I already saw, coming towards it with hungry eyes, enormous sharks, attracted by the human flesh.
However, the Nautilus turned and went around the sunken vessel.
In one moment I read on the stern, "The Florida, Sunderland."