 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sean McGahey, Midland, Ontario, Canada. 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas by Jules Verne First Part Chapter 8 Mobileese in Mobilee This brutally executed capture was carried out with lightning speed. My companions and I had no time to collect ourselves. I don't know how they felt about being shoved inside this aquatic prison, but as for me, I was shivering all over. With whom were we dealing? Surely with some new breed of pirates exploiting the sea after their own fashion. The narrow hatch had barely closed over me when I was surrounded by profound darkness, saturated with the outside light my eyes couldn't make out a thing. I felt my naked feet clinging to the steps of an iron ladder. Forcibly seized, Nedland and Concey were behind me. At the foot of the ladder a door opened and instantly closed behind us with a loud clang. We were alone. Where, I couldn't say, could barely even imagine, all with darkness, but such utter darkness that after several minutes my eyes were still unable to catch a single one of those hazy gleams that drift through even the blackest nights. Meanwhile, furious at these goings on, Nedland gave free reign to his indignation. Damn nation, he exclaimed. These people are about as hospitable as the savages of New Caledonia. All that's lacking is for them to be cannibals. I wouldn't be surprised if they were. But believe you me, they won't eat me without my kicking up a protest. Calm yourself, Ned, my friend, Concey replied serenely. Don't flare up so quickly. We aren't in a kettle yet. In a kettle, no, the Canadian shot back, but in an oven for sure. It's dark enough for one, luckily my bowie knife hasn't left me, and I can still see well enough to put it to use. The first one of these bandits who lays a hand on me? Authors note, a bowie knife is a wide-bladed dagger that Americans are forever carrying around. Don't be so irritable, Ned, I then told the harpooner, and don't ruin things for us with pointless violence. Who knows whether they might be listening to us. Instead let's try to find out where we are. I started moving, groping my way. After five steps I encountered an iron wall made of riveted boiler-plate. Then turning around I bumped into a wooden table next to which several stools had been set. The floor of this prison lay hidden beneath thick hempen matting that deadened the sound of footsteps. Its naked walls didn't reveal any trace of a door or window. Moving around the opposite way, Concey met up with me and we returned to the middle of this cabin, which had to be twenty feet long by ten wide. As for its height, not even Ned land with his great stature was able to determine it. Half an hour had already gone by without our situation changing, when our eyes were suddenly spirited from utter darkness into blinding light. Our prison lit up all at once. In other words, it filled with luminescent matter so intense that at first I couldn't stand the brightness of it. From its glare and whiteness I recognized the electric glow that had played around this underwater boat like some magnificent phosphorescent phenomenon. After involuntarily closing my eyes, I reopened them and saw that this luminous force came from a frosted half-globe curving out of the cabin's ceiling. Finally, it's light enough to see! Ned land exclaimed, knife in hand, staying on the defensive. Yes, I replied, then ventured the opposite view. But as for our situation, we're still in the dark. Master must learn patience, said the emotionless conceit. This sudden illumination of our cabin enabled me to examine its tiniest details. It contained only a table and five stools. Its invisible door must have been hermetically sealed. Not a sound reached our ears. Everything seemed dead inside this boat. Was it emotion or stationary on the surface of the ocean or sinking into the depths? I couldn't tell. But this luminous globe hadn't been turned on without good reason. Consequently, I hoped that some crewmen would soon make an appearance. If you want to consign people to oblivion, you don't light up their dungeons. I was not mistaken. Dream noises became audible, a door opened, and two men appeared. One was short and stocky, powerfully muscled, broad-shouldered, robust of limbs, the head squat, the hair black and luxuriant, the mustache heavy, the eyes bright and penetrating, and his whole personality stamped with that southern-blooded zest that in France typifies the people of Provence. The philosopher Giderot has very aptly claimed that a man's bearing is the clue to his character, and this stocky little man was certainly a living proof of this claim. You could sense that his everyday conversation must have been packed with such vivid figures of speech as personification, symbolism, and misplaced modifiers. But I was never in a position to verify this, because around me he used only an odd and utterly incomprehensible dialect. The second stranger deserves a more detailed description. A disciple of such character-judging anatomists as Gratiole or Engel could have read this man's features like an open book. Without hesitation I identified his dominant qualities, self-confidence, since his head reared like a nobleman's above the arc formed by the lines of his shoulders, and his black eyes gazed with icy assurance, calmness, since his skin pale rather than ruddy, indicated a tranquility of blood, energy, shown by the swiftly knitting muscles of his brow, and finally courage, since his deep-breathing denoted tremendous reserves of vitality. I might add that this was a man of great pride, that his calm firm gaze seemed to reflect thinking on an elevated plane, and that the harmony of his facial expressions and bodily movements resulted in an overall effect of unquestionable candor, according to the findings of physiognomists, those analysts of facial character. I felt involuntarily reassured in his presence, and this voted well for our interview. Whether this individual was thirty-five or fifty years of age I could not precisely state. He was tall, his forehead broad, his nose straight, his mouth clearly edged, his teeth magnificent, his hands refined, tapered, and to use a word from palmistry, highly psychic. In other words, worthy of seeing a lofty and passionate spirit. This man was certainly the most wonderful physical specimen I had ever encountered. One unusual detail. His eyes were spaced a little far from each other, and could instantly take in nearly a quarter of the horizon. This ability, as I later verified, was strengthened by a range of vision even greater than Ned Lance. When this stranger focused his gaze on an object, his eyebrow lines gathered into a frown, his heavy eyelids closed around his pupils to contract his huge field of vision, and he looked. What a look, as if he could magnify objects shrinking into the distance, as if he could probe your very soul, as if he could pierce those sheets of water so opaque to our eyes and scan the deepest seas. Wearing caps made of sea otter fur, and shot in seal-skin fishing boots, these two strangers were dressed in clothing made from some unique fabric that flattered the figure and allowed great freedom of movement. The taller of the two, apparently the leader on board, examined us with the greatest care, but without pronouncing a word. Then, turning to his companion, he conversed with him in a language I didn't recognize. It was a sonorous, harmonious, flexible dialect, whose vowels seemed to undergo a highly varied accentuation. The other replied with a shake of the head, and added two or three utterly incomprehensible words. Then he seemed to question me directly with a long stare. I replied in clear French that I wasn't familiar with his language, but he didn't seem to understand me, and the situation grew rather baffling. Still, Master should tell our story, Conceised said to me. Perhaps these gentlemen will grasp a few words of it. I tried again, telling the tale of our adventures, clearly articulating my every syllable and not leaving out a single detail. I stated our names and titles. Then in order I introduced Professor Aronax, his man-servant Conce, and Mr. Ned Land, Harpooner. The man with calm, gentle eyes listened to me serenely, even courteously, and paid remarkable attention, but nothing in his facial expression indicated that he understood my story. When I finished, he didn't pronounce a single word. One resource still left was to speak English. Perhaps they would be familiar with this nearly universal language. But I only knew it, as I did the German language well enough to read it fluently, not well enough to speak it correctly. Here, however, our overriding need was to make ourselves understood. Come on, it's your turn, I told the Harpooner. Over to you, Mr. Land. Pull out of your bag of tricks the best English ever spoken by an Anglo-Saxon, and try for a more favourable result than mine. Ned needed no persuading and started our story all over again, most of which I could follow. Its content was the same, but the form differed. Direct away by his volatile temperament, the Canadian put great animation into it. He complained vehemently about being imprisoned in defiance of his civil rights, asked by virtue of which law he was hereby detained, invoked rits of habeas corpus, threatened to press charges against anyone holding him in illegal custody, ranted, gesticulated, shouted, and finally conveyed by an expressive gesture that we were dying of hunger. This was perfectly true, but we had nearly forgotten the fact. Much to his amazement, the Harpooner seemed no more intelligible than I had mean. Our visitors didn't that an eye. Apparently they were engineers who understood the languages of neither the French physicist Arago nor the English physicist Faraday. Finally baffled after vainly exhausting or philological resources, I no longer knew what tactic to pursue when Konsei told me, If master will authorize me, I'll tell the whole business in German. What? You know German? I exclaimed. Like most Flemish people, with all due respect to master. On the contrary, my respect is due you. Go to it, my boy. And Konsei, in his serene voice, described for the third time the various vicissitudes of our story. But despite our narrator's fine accent and stylish turns of phrase, the German language met with no success. Finally, as a last resort, I hauled out everything I could remember from my early school days, and I tried to narrate our adventures in Latin. Konseiro would have plugged his ears and sent me to the scullery. But somehow I managed to pull through, with the same negative result. This last attempt ultimately misfiring, the two strangers exchanged a few words in their incomprehensible language, and withdrew, not even favoring us with one of those encouraging gestures that are used in every country in the world. The door closed again. This is outrageous! Nedland shouted, exploding for the twentieth time. I ask you! We speak French, English, German, and Latin to these rogues, and neither of them has the decency to even answer back. Calm down, Ned! I told the seizing harpooner. Anger won't get us anywhere. But Professor, our irascible companion went on, can't you see that we could die of hunger in this iron cage? Bah! Konsei put in philosophically, we can hold out a good while yet. My friends, I said, we mustn't despair. We've gotten out of tighter spots, so please do me the favor of waiting a bit before you form your views on the commander and crew of this boat. My views are fully formed, Nedland shot back. They are rogues! Oh, good! And from what country? Rogue them! My galant, Ned, as yet that country isn't clearly marked on maps of the world, but I admit that the nationality of these two strangers is hard to make out. Neither English, French, nor German. That's all we can say. But I'm tempted to think that the commander and his chief officer were born in the low latitudes. There must be southern blood in them. But as to whether they're Spaniards, Turks, Arabs, or East Indians, their physical characteristics don't give me enough to go on. And as for their speech, it's utterly incomprehensible. That's the nuisance in not knowing every language, Konsei replied. Or the drawback in not having one universal language. Which would all go out the window, Nedland replied. Don't you see, these people have a language all to themselves, a language they've invented just to cause despair in decent peoples who ask for a little dinner. Why, in every country on earth, when you open your mouth, snap your jaws, smack your lips and teeth, isn't that the world's most understandable message? From Quebec to the Tuamatu Islands, from Paris to the Antibodies, doesn't it mean I'm hungry, give me a bite to eat? Oh, Konsei put in, there are some people so unintelligent by nature, as he was saying these words, the door opened. A steward entered. He brought us some clothes, jackets, and sailor's pants, made out of a fabric whose nature I didn't recognize. I hurried to change into them, and my companions followed suit. Author's note. A steward is a waiter on board a steamer. Meanwhile, our silent steward, perhaps a deaf mute, set the table and laid three place settings. There's something serious afoot, Konsei said, and it bodes well. Bah! replied the rankerous harpooner. What the devil do you suppose they eat around here? Turtle livers, loin of shark, dogfish steaks? We'll soon find out, Konsei said. Overlaid with silver dish covers, various platters had been neatly positioned on the tablecloth, and we sat down to eat. Assuredly, we were dealing with civilized people, and if it hadn't been for this electric light flooding over us, I would have thought we were in the dining room of the Hotel Adelphi in Liverpool or the Grand Hotel in Paris. However, I feel compelled to mention that bread and wine were totally absent. The water was fresh and clear, but it was still water, which wasn't what Ned Land had in mind. Among the foods we were served, I was able to identify various daintily dressed fish, but I couldn't make up my mind about certain otherwise excellent dishes, and I couldn't even tell whether their contents belonged to the vegetable or the animal kingdom. As for the tableware, it was elegant and in perfect taste. Each utensil, spoon, fork, knife, and plate bore on its reverse a letter encircled by a Latin model. And here it is in its exact duplicate. Mobileece in Mobilee, N. Moving within the moving element, it was a highly appropriate model for this underwater machine, so long as the preposition is translated as within and not upon. The letter N was no doubt the initial of the name of that mystifying individual in command beneath the seas. Ned and Concey had no time for such musings. They were wolfing down their food, and without further ado I did the same. By now I felt reassured about our fate, and it seemed obvious that our hosts didn't intend to let us die of starvation. But all earthly things must come to an end, all things must pass, even the hunger of people who haven't eaten for fifteen hours. Our appetites appeased, we felt an urgent need for sleep, a natural reaction after that interminable night of fighting for our lives. Ye gods, all sleep soundly, Concey said. Me, I'm out like a light, Nedland replied. My two companions lay down on the cabin's carpeting, and were soon deep in slumber. As for me, I gave in less readily to this intense need for sleep. Too many thoughts had piled up in my mind. Too many insoluble questions had arisen. Too many images were keeping my eyelids open. Where were we? What strange power was carrying us along? I felt, or at least I thought I did, the submersible thinking toward the seas' lower strata. These nightmares besieged me. In these mysterious marine sanctuaries I envisioned hosts of unknown animals, and this underwater boat seemed to be a blood relation of theirs, living, breathing, just as fearsome. Then my mind grew calmer, my imagination melted into hazy drowsiness, and I soon fell into an uneasy slumber. CHAPTER IX. THE TANTRUMS OF NEDLAND I have no idea how long this slumber lasted, but it must have been a good while since we were completely over our exhaustion. I was the first one to wake up. My companions weren't yet stirring and still lay in their corners like inanimate objects. I had barely gotten up from my passively hard mattress when I felt my mind clear, my brain go on the alert. So I began a careful re-examination of our cell. Nothing had changed in its interior arrangements. The prison was still a prison, and its prisoners still prisoners. But taking advantage of our slumbers the steward had cleared the table. Consequently nothing indicated any forthcoming improvement in our situation, and I seriously wondered if we were doomed to spend the rest of our lives in this cage. This prospect seemed increasingly painful to me because, even though my brain was clear of its obsessions from the night before, I was feeling an odd short-windedness in my chest. It was becoming hard for me to breathe. The heavy air was no longer sufficient for the full play of my lungs. Although our cell was large, we obviously had used up most of the oxygen it contained. In essence, over an hour's time a single human being consumes all the oxygen found in a hundred liters of air, at which point that air has become charged with a nearly equal amount of carbon dioxide and is no longer fit for breathing. So now it was urgent to renew the air in our prison, and no doubt the air in this whole underwater boat as well. Here a question popped into my head. How did the commander of this aquatic residence go about it? Did he obtain air using chemical methods, releasing the oxygen contained in potassium chlorate by heating it, meanwhile absorbing the carbon dioxide with potassium hydroxide? If so, he would have to keep up some kind of relationship with the shore to come by the materials needed for such an operation. Did he simply limit himself to storing the air in high pressure tanks and then dispense it according to his crew's needs? Perhaps. Or, proceeding in a more convenient, more economical, and consequently more probable fashion, was he satisfied with merely returning to breathe at the surface of the water like a cetacean, renewing his oxygen supply every twenty-four hours. In any event, whatever his method was, it seemed prudent to me that he used this method without delay. In fact, I had already resorted to speeding up my inhalations in order to extract from the cell what little oxygen it contained, when suddenly I was refreshed by a current of clean air, scented with the salty aroma. It had to be a sea breeze, life-giving and charged with iodine. I opened my mouth wide and my lungs glutted themselves on the fresh particles. At the same time I felt a swaying, a rolling of moderate magnitude but definitely noticeable. This boat, this sheet-iron monster, had obviously just risen to the surface of the ocean, there to breathe in good whale fashion. So the ship's mode of ventilation was finally established. When I had absorbed a chest full of this clean air, I looked for the conduit, the air carrier, if you prefer, that allowed this beneficial influx to reach us, and I soon found it, above the door opened an air vent that led in a fresh current of oxygen, renewing the thin air in our cell. I had gotten to this point in my observations when Ned and Concey woke up almost simultaneously under the influence of this reviving air purification. They rubbed their eyes, stretched their arms, and sprang to their feet. Did Master sleep well? Concey asked me in his perennial good manners. Extremely well, my galant lad, I replied. And how about you, Mr. Nedland? Like a log, Professor, but I must be imagining things because it seems like I'm breathing a sea breeze. A seaman couldn't be wrong on this topic, and I told the Canadian what had gone on while he slept. Good, he said, that explains perfectly all that bellowing we heard when our so-called narwhale lay on site of the Abraham Lincoln. Perfectly, Mr. Land, it was catching its breath. Only I have no idea what time it is, Professor Aaronax, unless maybe it's dinner time. Dinner time, my fine harpooner? I'd say at least breakfast time, because we've certainly woken up to a new day. Which indicates, Concey replied, that we've spent 24 hours in slumber. That's my assessment, I replied. I won't argue with you, Nedland answered. But dinner or breakfast, that steward will be plenty welcome, whether he brings the one or the other. The one AND the other, Concey said. Well put, the Canadian replied. We deserve two meals, and speaking for myself, I'll do justice to them both. All right, Ned, let's wait and see, I replied. It's clear that these strangers don't intend to let us die of hunger, otherwise last evening's dinner wouldn't make any sense. Unless they're fattening us up, Ned shot back. I object, I replied. We have not fallen into the hands of cannibals. Just because they don't make a habit of it, the Canadian replied in all seriousness, doesn't mean they don't indulge from time to time. Who knows, maybe these people have gone without fresh meat for a long while. And in that case, three healthy, well-built specimens like the Professor, his man-servant, and me. Get rid of those ideas, Mr. Land, I answered the harpooner. And above all, don't let them lead you to flare up against our hosts, which would only make our situation worse. Anyhow, the harpooner said, I'm as hungry as all hadies, and dinner or breakfast, not one puny meal has arrived. Mr. Land, I answered, we have to adapt to the schedule on board, and I imagine our stomachs are running ahead of the chief cook's dinner bell. Well, then, we'll adjust our stomachs to the chef's timetable. Konsei replied serenely. There you go again, Konsei, my friend, the impatient Canadian shot back. You never allow yourself any displays of bile or attacks of nerves. You're everlastingly calm. You'd say you're after meal grace even if you didn't get any food for your before-meal blessing. And you'd starve to death rather than complain. What good would it do, Konsei asked? Complaining doesn't have to do good, it just feels good. And if these pirates—I say pirates out of consideration for the professor's feelings, since he doesn't want us to call them cannibals—if these pirates think they're going to smother me in this cage without hearing what cuss words spice up my outburst, they've got another thing coming. Look here, Professor Aranax. Speak frankly. How long do you figure they'll keep us in this iron box? To tell the truth, friendland, I know a little more about it than you do. But in a nutshell, what do you suppose is going on? My supposition is that sheer chance has made us privy to an important secret. Now then, if the crew of this underwater boat have a personal interest in keeping that secret and if their personal interest is more important than the lives of three men, I believe that our very existence is in jeopardy. If such is not the case, then at the first available opportunity this monster that has swallowed us will return us to the world inhabited by our own kind. Unless they recruit us to serve on the crew, Konsei said, and keep us here. "'Til the moment,' Nedland answered, when some frigate the faster or smarter than the Abraham-linking captures this den of buccaneers, then hangs all of us by the neck from the tip of a main-mast yard-arm. "'Well thought out, Mr. Land,' I replied, but as yet I don't believe we've been tendered any enlistment offers. Consequently, it's pointless to argue about what tactics we should pursue in such a case. I repeat, let's wait, let's be guided by events, and let's do nothing, since right now there's nothing we can do.' "'On the contrary, Professor,' the Harpooner replied, not wanting to give in, there's something we can do.' "'Oh, and what, Mr. Land?' "'Break out of here.' "'Breaking out of a prison on shore is difficult enough, but with an underwater prison it strikes me as completely unworkable.' "'Come now, Ned, my friend,' Konsei asked. How would you answer Master's objection? I refuse to believe that an American is at the end of his tether.' "'Visibly baffled,' the Harpooner said nothing. Under the conditions in which fate had left us, it was absolutely impossible to escape. But a Canadian's wit is half French, and Mr. Ned Land made this clear in his reply. "'So, Professor Aaron Axe,' he went on after thinking for a few moments, "'You haven't figured out what people do when they can't escape from their prison?' "'No, my friend.' "'Easy. They fix things so they stay there.' "'Of course,' Konsei put in. "'Since we're deep in the ocean, being inside this boat is vastly preferable to being above it or below it. "'But we fix things by kicking out all the jailers, guards and wardens,' Ned land at it.' "'What's this, Ned?' I asked. "'You'd seriously consider taking over this craft?' "'Very seriously,' the Canadian replied. "'It's impossible.' "'And why is that, sir?' Some promising opportunity might come up, and I don't see what could stop us from taking advantage of it. If there are only about twenty men on board this machine, I don't think they can stave off two Frenchmen and the Canadian. It seemed wiser to accept the Harpooner's proposition than to debate it. "'Accordingly,' I was content to reply. "'Let such circumstances come, Mr. Land, and we'll see. "'But until then, I beg you to control your impatience. "'We need to act shrewdly, and your flare-ups won't give rise to any promising opportunities. "'So swear to me that you'll accept our situation "'without throwing a tantrum over it.' "'I give you my word, Professor,' Ned Land replied in an unenthusiastic tone. "'No vehement phrases will leave my mouth. "'No vicious gestures will give my feelings away, "'not even when they don't feed us on time.' "'I have your word, Ned,' I answered the Canadian. "'Then our conversation petered out, "'and each of us withdrew into his own thoughts. "'For my part, despite the Harpooner's confident talk, "'I admit that I entertained no illusions. "'I had no faith in those promising opportunities "'that Ned Land mentioned. "'To operate with such efficiency, "'this underwater boat had to have a sizable crew, "'so if it came to be a physical contest, "'we would be facing an overwhelming opponent. "'Besides, before we could do anything, we had to be free, "'and that, we definitely were not. "'I didn't see any way out of this sheet-iron "'hermetically sealed sail, "'and if the strange commander of this boat "'did have a secret to keep, "'which seemed rather likely, "'he would never give us freedom of movement "'aboard his vessel. "'Now then, would he resort to violence "'in order to be rid of us, "'or would he drop us off one day on some remote coast? "'There lay the unknown. "'All these hypotheses seemed extremely plausible to me, "'and to hope for freedom through use of force, "'you had to be a Harpooner. "'I realized, moreover, that Ned Land's brooding "'was getting a matter by the minute. "'Little by little, I heard those aforesaid cuss words "'welling up in the depths of his gullet, "'and I saw his movements turn threatening again. "'He stood up, pacing in circles "'like a wild beast in a cage, "'striking the walls with his foot and fist. "'Meanwhile, the hours passed, "'our hunger nagged unmercifully, "'and this time the steward did not appear, "'which amounted to forgetting our castaway status "'for much too long, "'if they really had good intentions toward us. "'Tortured by the growling of his well-built stomach, "'Ned Land was getting more and more riled, "'and despite his word of honor, "'I was in real dread of an explosion "'when he stood in the presence of one of the men on board. "'For two more hours, Ned Land's rage increased. "'The Canadians shouted and pleaded, "'but to no avail, the sheet-iron walls were deaf. "'I didn't hear a single sound "'inside this dead-seeming boat. "'The vessel hadn't stirred, "'because I obviously would have felt its hull "'vibrating under the influence of the propeller. "'It had undoubtedly sunk into the watery deep, "'and no longer belonged to the outside world. "'All this dismal silence was terrifying. "'As for our neglect, "'our isolation in the depths of this cell, "'I was afraid to guess at how long it might last. "'Little by little, hopes I had entertained "'after our interview with the ship's commander "'were fading away. "'The gentleness of the man's gaze, "'the generosity expressed in his facial features, "'the nobility of his bearing, "'all vanished from my memory. "'I saw this mystifying individual anew "'for what he inevitably must be, cruel and merciless. "'I viewed him as outside humanity, "'beyond all feelings of compassion, "'the implacable foe of his fellow man, "'toward whom he must have sworn "'and an undying hate. "'But even so, was the man going to let us die of starvation, "'locked up in this cramped prison, "'exposed to those horrible temptations "'to which people are driven by extreme hunger? "'This grim possibility took on a dreadful intensity "'in my mind, and fired by my imagination, "'I felt an unreasoning terror run through me. "'Con stay, stay calm. "'Ned land bellowed. "'Just then, a noise was audible outside. "'Footsteps rang on the middle tiling. "'The locks were turned, the door opened, the steward appeared. "'Before I could make a single movement to prevent him, "'the Canadian rushed at the poor man, threw him down, "'held him by the throat. "'The steward was choking in the grip "'of those powerful hands. "'Con stay was already trying to loosen "'the harpooner's hands from his half-suffocated victim, "'and I had gone to join in the rescue "'when I was abruptly nailed to the spot "'by these words pronounced in French. "'Calm down, Mr. Land, and you, Professor, kindly listen to me.'" END OF CHAPTER IX Recording by Sean McGahey, Midland, Ontario, Canada. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sean McGahey, Midland, Ontario, Canada. 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas by Jules Verne CHAPTER X THE MAN OF THE WATERS It was the ship's commander who had just spoken. At these words, Ned Land stood up quickly. Nearly strangled, the steward staggered out at a signal from his superior, but such was the commander's authority aboard his vessel, not one gesture gave away the resentment that this man must have felt toward the Canadian. In silence we waited for the outcome of this scene. Concey, in spite of himself, seemed almost fascinated. I was stunned. Arms crossed, leaning against the corner of the table, the commander studied us with great care. Was he reluctant to speak further? Did he regret those words he had just pronounced in French? You would have thought so. After a few moments of silence, which none of us would have dreamed of interrupting. Gentlemen, he said in a calm, penetrating voice, I speak French, English, German, and Latin with equal fluency. Hence I could have answered you as early as our initial interview, but first I wanted to make your acquaintance and then think things over. Your four versions of the same narrative, perfectly consistent by and large, established your personal identities for me. I now know that sheer chance has placed in my presence Professor Pierre Aranax, specialist in natural history at the Paris Museum and entrusted with a scientific mission abroad. His manservant Concey and Ned Land, a harpooner of Canadian origin aboard the Abraham Lincoln, a frigate in the National Navy of the United States of America. I bowed in agreement. The commander hadn't put a question to me, so no answer was called for. This man expressed himself with perfect ease and without a trace of an accent. His phrasing was clear, his words well-chosen, his facility in Elocution remarkable, and yet, to me, he didn't have the feel of a fellow countryman. He went on with the conversation as follows. No doubt, sir, you felt that I waited rather too long before paying you this second visit. After discovering your identities, I wanted to weigh carefully what policy to pursue toward you. I had great difficulty deciding. Some extremely inconvenient circumstances have brought you into the presence of a man who has cut himself off from humanity. Your coming has disrupted my whole existence. Unintentionally, I said. Unintentionally, the stranger replied, raising his voice a little. Was it unintentionally that the Abraham Lincoln hunted me on every sea? Was it unintentionally that you traveled aboard that frigate? Was it unintentionally that your shells bounced off my ship's hull? Was it unintentionally that Mr. Ned Land hit me with his harpoon? I detected a controlled irritation in these words. But there was a perfectly natural reply to these charges and I made it. Sir, I said, you're surely aware of the discussions that have taken place in Europe and America with yourself as the subject. You don't realize that various accidents caused by collisions with your underwater machine have aroused public passions on those two continents. I'll spare you the innumerable hypotheses with which we have tried to explain this inexplicable phenomenon, whose secret is yours alone. But please understand that the Abraham Lincoln chased you over the Pacific high seas in the belief it was hunting some powerful marine monster which had to be purged from the ocean at all cost. A half-smile curled the commander's lips, then in a calmer tone. Professor Aronax, he replied, do you dare claim that your frigate wouldn't have chased and cannonated an underwater boat as readily as a monster? This question baffled me since Commander Farragut would certainly have shown no such hesitation. He would have seen it as his sworn duty to destroy a contrivance of this kind just as promptly as a gigantic narwhale. So you understand, sir, the stranger went on, that I have a right to treat you as my enemy. I kept quiet with good reason. What was the use of debating such a proposition when superior force can wipe out the best arguments? It took me a good while to decide, the commander went on. Nothing obliged me to grant you hospitality. If I were to part company with you, I'd have no personal interest in ever seeing you again. I could put you back on the platform of this ship that has served as your refuge. I could sink under the sea and I could forget you ever existed. Wouldn't that be my right? Perhaps it would be the right of a savage, I replied, but not that of a civilized man. Professor, the commander replied swiftly, I'm not what you term a civilized man. I've severed all ties with society for reasons that I alone have the right to appreciate. Therefore, I obey none of its regulations and I insist that you never invoke them in front of me. This was plain speaking. A flash of anger and scorn lit up the stranger's eyes and I glimpsed a fearsome past in this man's life. Not only had he placed himself beyond human laws, he had rendered himself independent, out of all reach, free in the strictest sense of the word. For who would dare chase him to the depths of the sea when he thwarted all attacks on the surface? What ship could withstand a collision with his underwater monitor? What armor plate, no matter how heavy, could bear the thrusts of his spur? No man among men could call him to account for his actions. God, if he believed in him, his conscience, if he had one, these were the only judges to whom he was answerable. These thoughts swiftly crossed my mind while this strange individual fell silent, like someone completely self-absorbed. I regarded him with a mixture of fear and fascination, in the same way, no doubt, that Oedipus regarded the Sphinx. After a fairly long silence, the commander went on with our conversation. So I had difficulty deciding, he said, but I concluded that my personal interests could be reconciled with that natural compassion to which every human being has a right. Since fate has brought you here, you'll stay aboard my vessel, you'll be free here, and in exchange for that freedom, moreover, totally related to it, I'll lay on you just one condition. Your word that you'll submit to it will be sufficient. Go on, sir, I replied. I assume this condition is one an honest man can accept. Yes, sir, just this. It's possible that certain unforeseen events may force me to confine you to your cabins for some hours or even for some days, as the case may be. Since I prefer never to use violence, I expect from you in such a case even more than in any other, your unquestioning obedience. By acting this way, I shield you from complicity. I absolve you of all responsibility since I myself make it impossible for you to see what you aren't meant to see. Do you accept this condition? So things happened on board that were quite odd to say the least. Things never to be seen by people not placing themselves beyond society's laws. Among all the surprises the future had in store for me, this would not be the mildest. We accept, I replied. Only I'll ask your permission, sir, to address a question to you just one. Go ahead, sir. You said we'd be free aboard your vessel. Completely. Then I would ask what you mean by this freedom. Why? The freedom to come, go, see, and even closely observe everything happening here, except under certain rare circumstances. In short, the freedom we ourselves enjoy, my companions and I. It was obvious that we did not understand each other. Pardon me, sir, I went on, but that's merely the freedom that every prisoner has, the freedom to pace his cell. That's not enough for us. Nevertheless, it will have to do. What? We must give up seeing our homeland, friends and relatives ever again? Yes, sir, but giving up that intolerable earthly yoke that some men call freedom is perhaps less painful than you think. By thunder, Nedland shouted, I'll never promise I won't try getting out of here. I didn't ask for such a promise, Mr. Land, the commander replied coldly. Sir, I replied, flaring up in spite of myself, you're taking unfair advantage of us. This is sheer cruelty. No, sir, it's an act of mercy. You're my prisoners of war. I've cared for you in with a single word I could plunge you back into the ocean depths. You attacked me. You've just stumbled on a secret no living man must probe. The secret of my entire existence. Do you think I'll send you back to a world that must know nothing more of me? Never. By keeping you on board, it isn't you whom I care for, it's me. These words indicated that the commander pursued a policy impervious to arguments. Then, sir, I went on, you give us quite simply a choice between life and death. Quite simply. My friends, I said, to a question couched in these terms, our answer can be taken for granted, but no solemn promises bind us to the commander of this vessel. None, sir, the stranger replied. Then, in a gentler voice, he went on, now allow me to finish what I have to tell you. I've heard of you, Professor Aaron X. You, if not your companions, won't perhaps complain too much about the stroke of fate that has brought us together. Among the books that make up my favorite reading, you'll find the work you've published on the Great Ocean Depths. I've poured over it. You've taken your studies as far as terrestrial science can go, but you don't know everything because you haven't seen everything. Let me tell you, Professor, you won't regret the time you spend aboard my vessel. You're going to voyage through a land of wonders. Stunned amazement will probably be your habitual state of mind. It will be a long while before you tire of the sights constantly before your eyes. I'm going to make another underwater tour of the world. Perhaps my last, who knows? And I'll review everything I've studied in the depths of these seas that have crossed so often. And you can be my fellow student. Starting this very day, you'll enter a new element. You'll see what no human being has ever seen before, since my men and I no longer count. And thanks to me, you're going to learn the ultimate secrets of our planet. I can't deny it. The Commander's words had a tremendous effect on me. He had caught me on my weak side. And I momentarily forgot that not even this sublime experience was worth the loss of my freedom. Besides, I counted on the future to resolve this important question. So I was content to reply, Sir, even though you've cut yourself off from humanity, I can see that you haven't disowned all human feeling. Where castaways whom you've charitably taken aboard will never forget that. Speaking for myself, I don't rule out that the interests of science could override even the need for freedom, which promises me that, in exchange, our encounter will provide great rewards. I thought the Commander would offer me his hand to seal our agreement. He did nothing of that sort. I regretted that. One last question I said, just as this inexplicable being seemed ready to withdraw. Ask it, Professor. By what name am I to call you? Sir, the Commander replied. To you, I'm simply Captain Nemo. To me, you and your companions are simply passengers on the Nautilus. Editors note, Latin, Nemo means no one. Captain Nemo called out, a steward appeared. The Captain gave him his orders in that strange language I couldn't even identify. Then, turning to the Canadian and concierge, a meal is waiting for you in your cabin, he told them. Kindly follow this man. That's an offer I can't refuse, the harpooner replied. After being confined for over 30 hours, he and Concey were finally out of this cell. And now, Professor Aranax, our own breakfast is ready. Allow me to lead the way. Yours to command, Captain. I followed Captain Nemo, and as soon as I passed through the doorway, I went down a kind of electrically lit passageway that resembled a gangway on a ship. After a stretch of some 10 meters, a second door opened before me. I then entered a dining room, decorated and furnished in a steer-good taste. Inlaid with ebony trim, tall oak and sideboards stood at both ends of this room, and sparkling on their shelves were staggered rows of earthenware, porcelain, and glass of incalculable value. There, silver-plated dinnerware gleamed under rays pouring from light fixtures in the ceiling, whose glare was softened and tempered by delicately painted designs. In the center of this room stood a table, richly spread. Captain Nemo indicated the place I was to occupy. Be seated, he told me, and eat like the famished man you must be. Our breakfast consisted of several dishes whose contents were all supplied by the sea, and some foods whose nature and derivation were unknown to me. They were good, I admit, but with a peculiar flavor to which I would soon grow accustomed. These various food items seemed to be rich in phosphorus, and I thought that day two must have been of marine origin. Captain Nemo stared at me. I had asked him nothing, but he read my thoughts, and on his own he answered the questions I was itching to address him. Most of these dishes are new to you, he told me, but you can consume them without fear. They're healthy and nourishing. I renounced terrestrial foods long ago, and I'm none the worse for it. My crew are strong and full of energy, and they eat what I eat. So, I said, all these foods are products of the sea? Yes, professor, the sea supplies all my needs. Sometimes I cast my nets in our wake and I pull them up ready to burst. Sometimes I go hunting right in the midst of this element that has long seemed so far out of man's reach, and I corner the game that dwells in my underwater forests. Like the flocks of old Proteus, King Neptune's shepherd, my herds graze without fear on the oceans and man's prairies. There I own vast properties that I harvest myself, and which are forever sown by the hand of the creator of all things. I stared at Captain Nemo in definite astonishment, and I answered him. Sir, I understand perfectly how your nets can furnish excellent fish for your table. I understand less how you can chase aquatic game in your underwater forests, but how a piece of red meat, no matter how small, can figure in your menu that I don't understand at all. Nor I, sir, Captain Nemo answered me. I never touch the flesh of land animals. Nevertheless, this, I went on pointing to a dish where some slices of loin were still left. What you believe to be red meat, Professor, is nothing other than loin of sea turtle. Similarly, here are some dolphin livers you might mistake for stewed pork. My chef is a skillful food processor who excels at pickling and preserving these various exhibits from the ocean. Feel free to sample all of these foods. Here are some preserves of sea cucumber that a Malaysian would declare to be unrivaled in the entire world. Here's cream from milk furnished by the udders of cetaceans, and sugar from the huge fucous plants in the North Sea. And finally, allow me to offer you some marmalade of sea anemone, equal to that from the tastiest fruits. So I sampled away, more as a curiosity seeker than an epicure, while Captain Nemo delighted me with his incredible anecdotes. But this sea, Professor Aranax, he told me, this prodigious, inexhaustible wet nurse of a sea not only feeds me, she dresses me as well. That fabric covering you was woven from the masses of filaments that anchor certain seashells. As the ancients were wont to do, it was dyed with purple ink from the mirak snail and shaded with violet tints that I extract from a marine slug, the Mediterranean sea hare. The perfumes you'll find on the wash stand in your cabin were produced from the usings of marine plants. Your mattress was made from the ocean's softest eelgrass. Your quill pan will be whale bone. Your ink, a juice secreted by cuttlefish or squid. Everything comes to me from the sea, just as someday everything will return to it. You love the sea, Captain. Yes, I love it. The sea is the be all and end all. It covers seven tenths of the planet earth. Its breath is clean and healthy. It's an immense wilderness where man is never lonely because he feels life is stir on every side. The sea is simply the vehicle for a prodigious unearthly mode of existence. It's simply movement and love. It's living infinity, as one of your poets put it. And in essence, Professor, nature is here made manifest by all three of her kingdoms, mineral, vegetable, and animal. The last of these is aptly represented by the four zoophyte groups, three classes of articulates, five classes of mollusks, and three vertebrate classes, mammals, reptiles, and those countless legions of fish, an infinite order of animals totaling more than 13,000 species, of which only one tenth belong to fresh water. The sea is a vast pool of nature. Our globe began with the sea, so to speak, and who can say we won't end with it? Here lies supreme tranquility. The sea doesn't belong to tyrants. On its surface, they can still exercise their iniquitous claims, battle each other, devour each other, haul every earthly horror. But 30 feet below sea level, their dominion ceases, their influence fades, their power vanishes. Ah, sir, live, live in the heart of the seas. Here alone lies independence. Here I recognize no superiors. Here I am free. Captain Nemo suddenly fell silent in the midst of this enthusiastic outpouring. Had he let himself get carried away past the bounds of his habitual reserve? Had he said too much? For a few moments he strolled up and down, all a quiver. Then his nerves grew calmer, his facial features recovered their usual icy composure, and turning to me, now professor, he said, if you'd like to inspect the Nautilus, I'm yours to command. End of Chapter 10. Recording by Sean McGahey, Midland, Ontario, Canada. August 2006. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Marlo Diane. ForbiddenDragon.blogspot.com. 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas by Jules Verne. First Part. Chapter 11. The Nautilus. Captain Nemo stood up. I followed him. Contrived at the rear of the dining room, a double door opened, and I entered a room whose dimension equaled the one I had left. It was a library. Tall, black rosewood bookcases, inlaid with copperwork, held on their wide shelves a large number of uniformly bound books. These furnishings followed the contours of the room, their lower parts leading to huge couches upholstered in maroon leather and curved for maximum comfort. Light, movable reading stands which could be pushed away or pulled near as desired allowed books to be positioned on them for easy study. In the center stood a huge table covered with pamphlets among which some newspapers long out of date were visible. Electric light flooded this whole harmonious totality falling from four frosted half-globes set in the scrollwork of the ceiling. I stared in genuine wonderment at this room so ingeniously laid out and I couldn't believe my eyes. Captain Nemo, I told my host, who had just stretched out on a couch. This is a library that would do credit to more than one continental palace and I truly marvel to think it can go with you into the deepest seas. Where could I find greater silence or solitude, Professor? Captain Nemo replied. Did your study at the museum afford you such a perfect retreat? No, sir, and I might add that it's quite a humble one next to yours. You own six or seven thousand volumes here. Twelve thousand, Professor Ronnecks. There my soul remaining ties with dry land, but I was done with the shore the day my nautilus submerged for the first time under the waters. That day I purchased my last volumes, my last pamphlets, my last newspapers, and ever since I've chosen to believe that humanity no longer thinks or writes. In any event, Professor, these books are at your disposal and you may use them freely. I thanked Captain Nemo and approached the shelves of this library written in every language, books on science, ethics, and literature were there in abundance, but I didn't see a single work on economics. They seemed to be strictly banned on board. One odd detail. All these books were shelved indiscriminately without regard to the language in which they were written, and this jumble proves that the nautilus's captain could read fluently whatever volumes he chanced to pick up. Among these books I noted masterpieces by the greats of ancient and modern times. In other words, all of humanity's finest achievements in history, poetry, fiction, and science, from Homer to Victor Hugo, from Xenophon to Michelette, from Revelleus to Madame George Sand. But science in particular represented the major investment of this library, books on mechanics, ballistics, hydrography, meteorology, geography, geology, except how the place there are no less important than the works on natural history, and I realized that they were made up by the captain's chief reading. There I saw the complete works of Humboldt, the complete orego, as well as works by Foucault, Henry Sainte-Claire de Ville, Chasley, Milner-Edwards, Quattrofeige, John Tynall Faraday, Berthelot, Fr. Sergi, Peterman, Commander Murray, Louis Aglise, except, plus the translations of France's Academy of Sciences, bulletins from the various geographical societies, except, and in a prime location, those two volumes on the great ocean depths that had perhaps earned me this comparatively charitable welcome from Captain Nemo. Among the works of Joseph Bernard, his book entitled The Founders of Astronomy even gave me a definite date, and since I knew it appeared in the course of 1865, I concluded that the fitting out of the Nautilus hadn't taken place before then. Accordingly, three years ago at the most, Captain Nemo had begun his underwater existence. Moreover, I hope some books even more recent would permit me to pinpoint the date precisely, but I had plenty of time to look for them and I didn't want to put off any longer our stroll through the wonders of the Nautilus. Sir, I told the Captain, thank you for placing this library at my disposal. There are scientific treasures here and I'll take advantage of them. This room isn't only a library, Captain Nemo said. It's also a smoking room. A smoking room, I exclaimed, then one may smoke on board? Surely. In that case, sir, I'm forced to believe that you've kept up relations with Havana. None whatever, the Captain replied, try this cigar, Professor Ronnex, and even though it doesn't come from Havana, it will satisfy you, if you're a connoisseur. I took this cigar off at me, whose shape recalled those from Cuba, but it seemed to be made of gold leaf. I lit it at a small brazer supported by an elegant bronze stand and I inhaled my first whiffs with a relish of a smoker who hasn't had a puff in days. It's excellent, I said, but it's not from the tobacco plant. Right, the Captain replied, this tobacco comes from neither Havana nor the Orient. It's a kind of nicotine-rich seaweed that the ocean supplies me, albeit sparingly. Do you still miss your Cubans, sir? Captain, I scorn them from this day forward. Then smoke these cigars whenever you like, without debating their origin. They bear no governmental seal of approval, but I imagine they're none the worse for it. On the contrary. Just then Captain Nemo opened a door facing the one by which I had entered the library and I passed into an immense, splendidly lit lounge. It was a huge quadrilateral with canted corners, 10 meters long, six wide, five high, a luminous ceiling decorated with delicate oberecks, distributed a soft, clear daylight over all the wonders gathered in this museum. For a museum it truly was in which clever hands had spared no expense to amass every natural and artistic treasure, displaying them with a helter-skelter picturesqueness that distinguishes a painter's studio. Some 30 pictures by the masters, uniformly framed and separated by gleaming panoplies of arms, adorned walls in which were stretched tapestries of austere design. There I saw canvases of the highest value, the likes of which I had marveled at in private European collections and art exhibitions. The various schools of the old masters were represented by a Raphael Madonna, a virgin by Leonardo da Vinci, a nymph by Correggio, a woman by Titian, an adoration of the Maggi by Veronese, an assumption of the virgin by Marillo, a Hobian portrait, a monk by Velasquez, a martyr by Ribera, a village fair by Rubens, two Flemish landscapes by Tenir, three little genre paintings by Gerard Dau, Mitsu and Paul Potter, two canvases by Gerard Colt and Prouhanne, plus seascapes by Bucassan and Veronese. Among the works of modern art were pictures signed by Delacroix and G. de Campe, Trojan, Messier, Daubanie, et cetera, and some wonderful miniature statues in marble or bronze modeled after antiquity's finest originals stood on their pedestals in the corners of this magnificent museum. As the Nautilus's commander had predicted, my mind was already starting to fall into that promised state of stunned amazement. Professor, this strange man then said, you must excuse the informality with which I receive you and the dishonor reigning in this lounge. Sir, I replied, without prying into who you are, might I venture to identify you as an artist? A collector, sir, nothing more. Formerly I loved acquiring these beautiful works created by the hand of man. I sought them greedily, ferried them out tirelessly, and have been able to gather some objects of great value. They're my last memories of those shores that are now dead to me. In my eyes your modern artists are already as old as the ancients. They've existed for 2,000 or 3,000 years and I mix them up in my mind. The masters are ageless. What about these composers? I said, pointing to sheet music by Weber, Rossini, Mozart, Beethoven, Haydn, Meribie, Erhil, Gold, Wagner, Aber, Gulnad, Victor Massey, and a number of others scattered over a full-size piano organ, which occupied one of the wall panels in this lounge. These composers, Captain Nemo answered me, are the contemporaries of Orpheus, because in the nozzles of the dead all chronological differences fade. And I'm dead, professor, quite as dead as those friends of yours sleeping six feet under. Captain Nemo fell silent and seemed lost in reverie. I regarded him with intense excitement, silently analyzing his strange facial expression, leaning his elbow in the corner of a valuable mosaic table. He no longer saw me. He had forgotten my very presence. I didn't disturb his meditations, but continued to pass and review the curiosities that enriched this lounge. After the works of art, natural rarities predominated. They consisted chiefly of plants, shells, and other exhibits from the ocean that must have been Captain Nemo's own personal finds. In the middle of the lounge, a jet of water, electrically lit, fell back into a basin made from a single giant clam. The delicately festooned rim of this shell supplied by the biggest mollusque in the class, a caffalia, measured about six meters in circumference. So it was even bigger than those fine giant clams given to King Francois I by the Republic of Venice, and which the Church of Saint-Suplisse in Paris had reigned into two gigantic holy water founts. Around this basin, inside elegant glass cases, fastened with copper bands, they were classified and labeled the most valuable marine exhibits ever put before the eyes of a naturalist. My professional glee may be easily imagined. The Zoo Fight branch offered some very unusual specimens from its two groups, the polyps and the econderms. In the first group, organ pipe coral, Gorghanian coral arranged into fan-shape, soft sponges from Syria, Isis coral from the Mulaca Islands, Sea-Pen coral, wonderful coral of the genus Viglaria from the waters of Norway, various coral of genius Umbella area, Alsiana laren coral, then a whole series of those mad purpores that my mentor Professor Myle-Nedwards had so shrewdly classified into divisions, and among which I noted the wonderful genus Flabelina, as well as the genius Oculina from Reunion Island, plus a Neptune's chariot from the Caribbean Sea, every superb variety of coral, and in short, every species of these unusual polar polarities that congregate to form entire islands that will one day turn into continents. Among the ecchina-derms notable for being covered with spines, starfish, feather stars, sea lilies, free-swimming cranoids, brittle stars, sea urchins, sea cucumbers, except represented a complete collection of the individuals in this group, an excitable concoologist which surely have fainted dead away, before other more numerous glass cases in which they were classified specimens from the Mullis branch. There I saw a collection of incalculable value that I haven't had time to describe completely. Among these exhibits I'll mention, just for the record, an elegant royal hammer-shella from the Indian Ocean whose evenly spaced white spots stood out sharply against a base of red and brown, an imperial spiny oyster brightly colored bristling with thorns, a specimen rare to European museums who value I estimated at 20,000 francs, a common hammer-shella from the seas near Queensland, very hard to come by, exotic cockles from Senegal, fragile white bivalve shells that a single breath could pop like a soap bubble, several varieties of watering pot shell from Java, a sort of limestone tube fringed with leafy foils and much fought over by collectors, a whole series of top-shell snails, greenish yellow ones fished up from American seas, others colored reddish brown that patronized the waters off Queensland, the former coming up from the Gulf of Mexico and notable for their overlapping shells, the later some sun carrier shells found in the southern most seas, finally and rarest of all the magnificent bird star shell from New Zealand, then some wonderful peppery furrow shells, several valuable species of cyphera clams and venous clams, the trellis weadletrap snail from Trankibar on India's eastern shore, a marble turban snail gleaming with mother of pearl, green parrot shells from the seas of China, the virtually unknown cone snail from the genus Colin Dulles, every variety of cowry used as money in India and Africa, a glory of the seas, the most valuable shell in the East Indies, finally common periwinkles, delafinula snails, turret snails, violet snails, European cowries, mollus snails, olive shells, meter shells, helmet shells, marix snails, welks, harp shells, spiny periwinkles, triton snails, horn snails, spindle shells, conch shells, spider cons, limpets, glass snails, sea butterflies, every kind of delicate fragile seashell that sciences baptize with its most delightful names. Aside in its special compartments, strings of supremely beautiful pearls were spread out, the electric light flaking them with little fiery sparks, pink pearls pulled from saltwater fan shells in the Red Sea, green pearls from the rainbow abalone, yellow, blue, and black pearls, the unusual handiwork of various mollusks from every ocean, and of certain mussels from rivers up north, in short, several specimens of incalculable worth that had been oozed by the rarest shellfish. Some of these pearls were bigger than a pigeon egg. They were more than equal to one that explorer, Travinea, sold the Shah of Persia for three million francs, and they surpassed that other pearl owned by the iman of Muscat, which I believe to be unrivaled in the entire world. Consequently, to calculate the value of this collection was, I should say, impossible. Captain Nemo must have spent millions in acquiring these different specimens, and I was wondering what financial resources he tapped to satisfy his collector's fancies when these words interrupted me. You're examining my shells, Professor. They're indeed able to fascinate a naturalist, but for me they have an added charm, since I've collected every one of them with my own two hands, and not a sea on the globe has escaped my investigations. I understand, Captain. I understand your delight at strolling in the midst of this wealth. You're a man who gathers his treasures in person. No museum in Europe owns such a collection of exhibits from the ocean, but if I exhaust all my wondermen on them, I'll have nothing left for the ship that carries them. I have absolutely no wish to probe these secrets of yours, but I confess that my curiosity is aroused to the limit by this Nautilus, the motor power it contains, the equipment enabling it to operate, the ultra-powerful force that brings it to life. I see some instruments hanging on the walls of this lounge whose purpose are unknown to me. May I learn? Professor Aaronax, Captain Nemo answered me. I've said you'd be free aboard my vessel, so no part of the Nautilus is off limits to you. You may expect it in detail, and I'll be delighted to act as your guide. I don't know how to thank you, sir, but I won't abuse your good nature. I would only ask you about the uses intended for these instruments of physical measure, Professor. Those same instruments are found in my stateroom, where I'll have the pleasure of explaining their functions to you. But beforehand, come inspect the cabin set aside for you. You need to learn how you'll be lodged aboard the Nautilus. I followed Captain Nemo, who, via one of the doors, cut into the lounge's candid corners, led me back down the ship's gangways. He took me to the bow, and there I found not just a captain, but an elegant stateroom with a bed, a wash-stand, and various other furnishings. I could only thank my host. "'Your stateroom adjoins mine,' he told me, opening a door, and mine leans into that lounge we've just left. I entered the captain's stateroom. It had an austere, almost monastic appearance, an iron bedstead, a work-table, some wash-stand fixture, subdued lighting, no luxuries, just the bare necessities. Captain Nemo showed me to a bench. Kindly be seated,' he told me. I sat, and he began speaking as follows. End of Chapter 11. Recorded by Marlo Diane. April 19, 2006. Piscot West, Prince Edward Island. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Efkan Efe. 20,000 leaks under the seas by Jules Verne. First part, Chapter 12. Everything through electricity. Third, Captain Nemo said, showing me the instruments hanging on the walls of his stateroom. These are the devices needed to navigate the nootilus. Here, as in the lounge, I always have them before my eyes, and they indicate my position and exact heading in the midst of the ocean. You are familiar with some of them, such as this thermometer, which gives the temperature inside the nootilus, the barometer, which measures the heaviness of the outside air and forecasts changes in the weather, the humidity stat, which indicates the degree of dryness in the atmosphere, the storm glass, whose mixture decomposes to foretell the arrival of tempests, the compass, which steers my course, the sextant, which takes the sun's altitude and tells me my latitude, chronometers, which allow me to calculate my longitude, and finally spyglasses for both day and night, enabling me to secretionize every point of the horizon once the nootilus has risen to the surface of the waves. These are the normal navigational instruments, I reply, and I am familiar with their uses. But no doubt these others answer pressing needs unique to the nootilus. That tile I see there with the needle moving across it, isn't it a pressure gauge? It is indeed a pressure gauge. It's placed in contact with the water and it indicates the outside pressure on our hull, which in turn gives me the depth at which my submersible is sitting. And these are some new breed of sounding line. They are thermometric sounding lines that report water temperatures in the different strata. And these other instruments, whose functions I can't even guess. Here, professor, I need to give you some background information, Captain Nemo said. So kindly hear me out. He felt silent for some moments. Then he said, there is a powerful obedient swift and a fortless force that can be bent to any use and which reigns supreme aboard my whistle. Does everything. It lights me. It warms me. It's the soul of my mechanical equipment. This force is electricity. Electricity? I exclaimed in some surprise. Yes, sir. But Captain, you have a tremendous speed of movement that doesn't square with the strength of electricity. Until now, it's dynamic. Potential has remained quite limited, capable of producing on small amounts of power. Professor, Captain Nemo said. My electricity isn't to run off the meal variety. And with your permission, I'll leave it at that. I won't insist, sir. And I'll rest content with simply being clever-gastored at your results. I would ask one question. However, which you need an answer if it's indiscreet? The electric cells you use to generate this marble's force must be depleted very quickly. There's ink component, for example. How do you replace it? Since you no longer stay in contact with the shore. That question deserves an answer, Captain Nemo replied. First off, I'll mention that, at the bottom of the sea, there exist veins of zinc, iron, silver and gold, whose mining would quite certainly be feasible. But I've tapped none of these dent-based metals. And I wanted to make demands only on the sea itself for the sources of my electricity. The sea itself? Yes, professor. And there was no shortage of such sources. In fact, by establishing a circuit between two wires immersed to different depths, I'd be able to obtain electricity through the diverging temperatures they experience, but I prefer to use a more practical procedure. And that is, you are familiar with the composition of salt water. In 1000 grams, one finds 96.5% water and about 2.66% sodium chloride. Then small quantities of magnesium chloride, potassium chloride, magnesium bromide, sulfate of magnesium, calcium sulfate and calcium carbonide. Hence you observe that sodium chloride is encountered there in significant proportions. Now then, it's the sodium that I extract from salt water and with which I compose my electric cells. Sodium? Yes, sir, mixed with mercury. It forms an amalgam that takes the place of zinc in buzzing cells. The mercury is never depleted, only the sodium is consumed and the sea itself gives me that. Beyond this, I'll mention that sodium batteries have been found to generate greater energy and their electro-motor strength is twice that of zinc batteries. Captain, I fully understand the excellence of sodium under the conditions in which you are placed. The sea contains it, fine, but it still has to be produced, in short, extracted. And how do you accomplish this? Obviously, your batteries could do the extracting, but if I am not mistaken, the consumption of sodium needed by your electric equipment would be greater than the quantity you'd extract. It would come about then that in the process of producing your sodium, you'd use up more than you'd make. According to the professor, I found extracted with batteries quite simply. I utilized the heat of coal from Earth. From the Earth, I said my voice going up on the world. We'll say coal from the sea floor if you prefer, Captain Nemo replied. And you can mine these veins of underwater coal? You'll watch me work them, Professor Aronax. I ask only a little patience of you since you'll have ample time to be patient. Just remember one thing. I owe everything to the ocean. It generates electricity, and electricity gives a neutralist heat, light, motion, and in a world life itself. But not the air you breathed. Oh, I could produce the air needed on board, but it would be pointless since I can rise to the surface of the sea whenever I like. However, even though electricity doesn't supply me with breathable air, it at least operates the powerful pumps that store it under pressure in special tanks, which, if need be, allows me to extend my stay in the lower strata for as long as I want. Captain, I replied. I'll rest content with marveling. You'll obviously find what all mankind will surely find one day, the true dynamic power of electricity. I'm not so certain they'll find it, Captain Nemo replied, but be that as it may. You are already familiar with the first use I've found for this valuable force. It lights us. And with a uniformity and continuity, not even possessed by sunlight. Now, look at that clock. It's electric. It runs with an accuracy rivaling the finest chronometers. I've had it divided into 24 hours like Italian clocks. Since neither day nor night, sun nor moon, exist for me, but only this artificial light that are important to the depths of the seas. See, right now it's 10 o'clock in the morning. That's perfect. Another useful electricity that dial hanging before our eyes indicates how fast the nucleus is going. An electric wire puts it in contact with the patent lock. This needle shows me the actual speed of my submersible. And hold on. Just now we are proceeding at the moderate pace of 15 miles per hour. It's marvelous, I replied, and I truly see, Captain, how right you are to use this force. It's sure to take the place of wind, water and steam. But that's not all, Professor Aronax, Captain Nemo said standing up. And if you cared, follow me. We'll inspect the novelist's turn. In essence, I was already familiar with the whole forward part of this underwater boat. And here are its exact subdivisions going from emit ships to spare, the dining room five meters long and separated from the library by watertight bulkhead. In other words, it couldn't be penetrated by the sea. The library, five meters long, the main lounge, ten meters long, separated from the captain's stateroom by a second watertight bulkhead. The aforesaid stateroom five meters long, mine two and a half meters long and finally air tanks, seven and a half meters long and extending to this tempost. Total, a length of 35 meters. Those were cut into the watertight bulkheads and were shot hermetically by means of India rubber seals which ensured complete safety aboard the noitilus in the event of a leak in any one section. I followed Captain Nemo down gangways located for easy transit and arrived image ships that I found a sort of shaft heading upward between two watertight bulkheads an iron ladder clamped to the wall, led to the shaft's upper end. I asked the captain what this ladder was for. It goes to the skiff he replied. What, you have a skiff? I replied in some astonishment. Surely, an excellent longboard light and unsinkable which is used for excursions But when you want to set out don't you have to return to the surface of the sea? By no means, the skiff is attached to the top side of noitilus's hull and is set in a cavity expressly designed to receive it. It's completely ducked over, absolutely watertight and held solidly in place by bolts. This ladder leads to a manhole cut into the noitilus's hull and corresponding to a comparable hull cut into the side of the skiff I insert myself through this double opening into the longboard My crew close up the hull belonging to the noitilus I close up the one belonging to the skiff simply by screwing it into place I undo the bolts holding the skiff to the submersible and the longboard rises with prodigious speed to the surface of the sea. I then open the deck paneling carefully closed until that point. I up-mess and hoist sail or I take out my oars and I go for a spin. But how do you return to the ship? I don't, professor Aronax. The noitilus returns to me at your command? At my command an electric wire connects me to the ship. I fire off a telegram and that's that. Right, I said tipsy from all these wonders, nothing to it. After passing the well in a companion way that led to the platform, I saw a cabin two meters long in which come sail and net land and raptured with their meal, were busy devouring it to the last crowd. Then a door opened into the galley, three meters long and located between the vessel's huge storage lockers. There, even more powerful and obedient gas electricity did most of the cooking. Arriving under the stores wires transmitted to platinum griddles, a heat that was distributed and sustained with perfect consistency. It also heated a distilling mechanism that via evaporation supplied excellent drinking water. Next to this galley was a bathroom, conveniently laid out with faucets supplying hot or cold water at will. After the galley came the crew's quarters five meters long, but the door was closed and I couldn't see its accommodations, which might have told me the number of men it took to operate the nucleus. At the far ends to the fourth water tight bulkhead, separating the crew's quarters from the engine room. A door opened and I stood in the compartment where Captain Nemo, indisputably a world class engineer, had set up his locomotive equipment. Bright lit, the engine room measured at least 20 meters in length. It was divided by a function into two parts. The first contained the cells for generating electricity. The second, that mechanism transmitting movement to the propeller. Right of I detected an odor permeating the compartment that was sui generis. Captain Nemo noticed a negative impression it made on me. That, he told me, is a gaseous discharge caused by our use of sodium, but it's only mild inconvenience in any event, every morning we sanitize the ship by ventilating it in the open air. Meanwhile, I examined the electrolysis engine with a fascination easy to imagine. You observed, Captain Nemo told me, that I used Bonson cells, not rum core cells. The latter would be ineffectual. One uses fewer Bonson cells, but they are big and strong and experiences proven their superiority. The electricity generated here makes its way to the stern, where electromagnets of huge size activate a special system of levers and gears that transmit movement to the propeller's shaft. The latter has a diameter of 6 meters, a pitch of 7.5 meters and can do up to 120 revolutions per minute. And that gives you a speed of 50 miles per hour. There lay a mystery, but I didn't insist on exploring it. How could electricity work with such power? Where did this nearly unlimited energy originate? Was it in the extraordinary voltage obtained from some new kind of induction coil? Could this transmission have been immeasurably increased by some unknown system of levers? This was the point I couldn't grasp. Captain Nemo I said, I'll watch for the results and not try to explain them. I've seen the nucleus at work out in front of the submarine cone and I know where I stand on its speed, but it isn't enough just to move. We have to see where we are going. We must be able to steer right or left, up or down. How do you reach the lower depths where you meet an increasing resistance that's assessed in hundreds of atmospheres? How do you rise back to the surface of the ocean? Finally, how do you keep your ship at whatever level suits you? Am I indiscreet in asking you all these things? Not at all, professor. The captain answered me after a slight hesitation. Since you'll never leave this underwater boat, come into the lounge. It's actually our work room, and there you'll learn the full story about the noitilus. End of chapter 12, recorded by Efkan Efe 1st of April, 2006 Izmir, Turkey This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Doug Cooley 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas by Jules Verne 1st Part Chapter 13 Some Figures A moment later, we were seated on a couch in the lounge, cigars between our lips. The captain placed before my eyes a working drawing that gave the ground plan, cross-section, and side view of the noitilus. Then he began his description as follows. Here, Professor Aranax, are the different dimensions of this boat now transporting you. It's a very long cylinder with conical ends. It noticeably takes the shape of the cigar, a shape already adopted in London for several projects of the same kind. The length of this cylinder, from end to end, is exactly 70 metres, and its maximum breadth of beam is 8 metres. So it isn't quite built on the 10 to 1 ratio of your high-speed steamers, but its lines are sufficiently long, and they're tapering gradual enough so that the displaced water easily slips past and poses no obstacle to the ship's movements. These two dimensions allow you to obtain, via a simple calculation, the surface area and volume of the noitilus. Its surface area totals 1011.45 square metres. Its volume, 1,507.2 cubic metres, which is tantamount to saying that when it's completely submerged, it displaces 1,500 cubic metres of water, or weighs 1,500 metric tons. In drawing up plans for a ship meant to navigate underwater, I wanted it, when floating on the waves, to lie 9 tenths below the surface, and to emerge only one tenth. Consequently, under these conditions, it needed to produce only 9 tenths of its volume. Hence, 1,356.48 cubic metres. In other words, it was to weigh only that same number of metric tons. So I was obliged not to exceed this weight while building it to the aforesaid dimensions. The noitilus is made up of two hulls, one inside the other. Between them, joining them together are iron T-bars that give this ship the utmost rigidity. In fact, thanks to this cellular arrangement, it has the resistance of a stone block, as if it were completely solid. Its plating can't give way. It's self-adhering and not dependent on the tightness of its rivets, and due to the perfect union of its materials, the solidarity of its construction allows it to defy the most violent seas. The two hulls are manufactured from boiler-plate steel, whose relative density is 7.8 times that of water. The first hull has a thickness of no less than 3.4 meters, and weighs 394.96 metric tons. My second hull, the outer cover, includes a keel 50 centimeters high by 25 wide, which by itself weighs 62 metric tons. This hull, the engine, the ballast, the various accessories and accommodations, plus the bulkheads and interior braces, have a combined weight of 961.52 metric tons, which when added to 394.96 metric tons, gives us the desired total of 1356.48 metric tons. Clear? Clear, I replied. So, the captain went on. When the Nautilus lies on the waves under these conditions, one tenth of it does emerge above water. Now, then, if I provide some ballast tanks equal to capacity to that one tenth, hence able to hold 150.72 metric tons, and if I fill them with water, the boat then displaces 1,507.2 metric tons. Or it weighs that much, and it would be completely submerged. That's what comes about, Professor. These ballast tanks exist within easy access and the lower reaches of the Nautilus. I open some stop cocks, the tanks fill, the boat sinks, and it's exactly flush with the surface of the water. But now we come to a genuine difficulty. You're able to lie flush with the surface of the ocean, how I understand, but lower down while diving beneath that surface isn't your submersible going to encounter a pressure and consequently undergo an upward thrust that must be assessed at one atmosphere per every 30 feet of water, hence at about one kilogram per each square centimeter? Precisely, sir. Then unless you fill up the whole surface, I don't see how you can force it down into the heart of these liquid masses. Professor, Captain Nemo replied, static objects mustn't be confused with dynamic ones or will be open to serious error. Comparatively little effort is spent in reaching the ocean's lower regions because all objects have a tendency to become sinkers. Follow my logic here. I'm all ears, Captain. When I wanted to determine what increase in weight the Nautilus needed to be given in order to submerge, I had only to take note of the proportionate reduction in volume that salt water experiences in deeper and deeper strata. That's obvious, I replied. Now then, if water isn't absolutely incompressible, at least it compresses very little. In fact, according to the most recent calculations, this reduction is only .000436 per atmosphere or per every 30 feet of depth. For instance, to go 1000 meters down, I must take into account the reduction in volume that occurs under a pressure equivalent to that from a 1000 meter column of water. In other words, under a pressure of 100 atmospheres. In this instance, the reduction would be .00436. Consequently, I'd have to increase my weight from 1,507.2 metric tons to 1,513.77. So the added weight would only be 6.57 metric tons. That's all? That's all, Professor Aranax, and the calculation is easy to check. Now then, I have supplementary ballast tanks capable of shipping 100 metric tons of water, so I can descend to considerable depths. When I want to rise again and lie flush with the surface, all I have to do is expel that water. I desire that the nautilus emerge above the waves to one-tenth of its total capacity. I empty all the ballast tanks completely. This logic, backed up by figures, left me without a single objection. I accept your calculations, Captain, I replied, and I'd be ill-mannered to dispute them since your daily experience bears them out. But at this juncture, I have a hunch that we're still left with one real difficulty. What's that, sir? When you're at a depth of 1,000 meters, the nautilus's plating bears a pressure of 100 atmospheres. If at this point you want to empty the supplementary ballast tanks in order to lighten your boat and rise to the surface, your pumps must overcome that pressure of 100 atmospheres, which is 100 kilograms per each square centimeter. This demands a strength that electricity alone can give me, Captain Nemo said swiftly. Sir, I repeat, the dynamic power of my engines is nearly infinite. The nautilus's pumps have prodigious strength as you must have noticed when their water spouts swept like a torrent over the Abraham Lincoln. Besides, I use my supplementary ballast tanks only to reach an average depth of 1,500 to 2,000 meters, and that with a view to conserving my machinery. Accordingly, when I have a mind to visit the ocean depths two or three vertical leagues beneath the surface, I use maneuvers that are more time consuming but no less infallible. Oh, what are they, Captain? Here, I'm naturally led into telling you how the nautilus is maneuvered. I can't wait to find out. In order to steer this boat to port or starboard, in short, to make turns on a horizontal plane, I use an ordinary wide-bladed rudder that's fastened to the rear of the stern post and worked by a wheel and tackle. But I can also move the nautilus upward and downward on a vertical plane by the simple method of slanting its two fins, which are attached to its sides at the center of flotation. These fins are flexible, able to assume any position and can be operated from inside by means of powerful levers. If these fins stay parallel with the boat, the ladder moves horizontally. If they slant, the nautilus follows the angle of that slant, and under its propeller's thrust, either sinks on a diagonal as steep as it suits me or rises on that diagonal. And, similarly, if I want to return more swiftly to the surface, I throw the propeller in gear and the water's pressure makes the nautilus rise vertically, as an air balloon inflated with hydrogen lifts swiftly into the skies. Bravo, Captain, I exclaimed! But in the midst of the waters, how can your helmsman follow the course you've given him? My helmsman is stationed behind the windows of a pilot house which protrudes from the topside of the nautilus's hull and is fitted with bio-convex glass. Is glass capable of resisting such pressures? Perfectly capable. Though fragile in impact, crystal can still offer considerable resistance. In 1864, during experiments on fishing by electric light in the middle of the North Sea, glass panes less than 7 mm thick were seen to resist a pressure of 16 atmospheres, all the while letting through strong heat-generating rays whose warmth was unevenly distributed. Now then, I use glass windows measuring no less than 21 cm at their centers. In other words, they have 30 times the thickness. Fair enough, Captain, but if we're going to sea we need light to drive away the dark and in the midst of the murky waters I wonder how your helmsman can set a stern of the pilot house as a powerful electric reflector whose rays light up the sea for a distance of half a mile. Oh, bravo! Bravo, three times over, Captain! That explains the phosphorescent glow from the so-called narwhale that's pertinent to this. I'll ask you if the nautilus is running afoul of the Scotia which caused such a great uproar. Was the result of an accidental encounter? Entirely accidental, sir. I was navigating 2 m beneath the surface of the water when the collision occurred. However, I could see that it had no dire consequences. None, sir, but as for your encounter with the Abraham Lincoln? Professor, that troubled me because it's one of the best ships in the American Navy. But they attacked me and I had to defend myself. All the same, I was content simply to put the frigate in a condition where it could do me no harm. It won't have any difficulty getting repairs at the nearest port. Ah, Commander, I exclaimed with conviction, your nautilus is truly a marvelous boat. Yes, Professor, Captain Nemo replied with genuine excitement, and I love it as if it were my own flesh and blood. Abort a conventional ship facing the oceans, perils, danger lurks everywhere. On the surface of the sea your chief sensation is the constant feeling of an underlined chasm as the Dutchman Janssen so aptly put it. But below the waves aboard the nautilus your heart never fails you. There are no structural deformities to worry about because the double hull of this boat has the rigidity of iron. No rigging to be worn out by rolling and pitching on the waves. No sails for the wind to carry off. But no fires to fear because this submersible is made of sheet iron, not wood. No coal to run out of since electricity is its mechanical force. No collisions to fear because it navigates the watery deep all by itself. No storms to brave because just a few meters beneath the waves it finds absolute tranquility. There, sir, there's the ideal ship. And if it's true that the engineer has more confidence in a craft than the builder, than the captain himself, you can understand the utter abandon with which I place my trust in this nautilus since I'm its captain, builder, and engineer all in one. Captain Nemo spoke with winning eloquence. The fire in his eyes and the passion in his gestures transfigured him. Yes, he loved his ship the same way a father loves his child. But one question perhaps indiscreet, naturally popped up and I couldn't resist asking it. You're an engineer, then, Captain Nemo. Yes, Professor, he answered me. I studied London, Paris, and New York back in the days when I was a resident of the Earth's continents. But how are you able to build this wonderful nautilus in secret? Each part of it, Professor Aranox, came from a different spot on the globe and reached me at a cover address. Its keel was forged in Cousseau in France. Its propeller shaft by Penn & Company in London. The sheet-iron plates for its hull by Lairds in Liverpool. Its propeller by Scots in Glasgow. Its tanks were manufactured by Kael & Co. in Paris. Its engine by Krupp in Prussia. Its spur by the Motala workshops in Sweden. Its precision instruments by Hart Brothers in New York, etc. And each of these suppliers received my specifications under a different name. But, I went on. Once these parts were manufactured, didn't they have to be mounted and adjusted? Professor, I set up my workshops on a deserted islet in mid-ocean. There, our nautilus was completed by me and my workmen. In other words, by my gallant companions who I've molded and educated. Then, when the operation was over, we burned every trace of our stay on that islet. Which, if I could have, I'd have blown up. From all this, may I assume that such a boat costs a fortune? An iron ship, Professor Aranox, costs 1,125 francs per metric ton. Now then, the nautilus has a burden of 1,500 metric tons. Consequently, it costs 1,687,000 francs. Hence, 2 million francs, including its accommodations, and 4 or 5 million francs with all the collections and works of art it contains. One last question, Captain Nemo. Ask, Professor. You're rich, then. Infinitely rich, sir, and without any trouble I could pay off the 10 billion francs of French national debt. I gaped at the bizarre individual who had just spoken these words. Was he playing on my credulity? Time would tell. End of Chapter 13 Accorded by Doug Cooley April 2, 2006 Portland, Oregon, United States