The way of describing this unlooked-for scene, the
history of the patriot ship, told at first so coldly, and the emotion
with which this strange man pronounced the last words, the name of the
Avenger, the significance of which could not escape me, all impressed
itself deeply on my mind. My eyes did not leave the Captain, who, with
his hand stretched out to sea, was watching with a glowing eye the
glorious wreck. Perhaps I was never to know who he was, from whence he
came, or where he was going to, but I saw the man move, and apart from
the savant. It was no common misanthropy which had shut Captain Nemo and
his companions within the Nautilus, but a hatred, either monstrous
or sublime, which time could never weaken. Did this hatred still seek for
vengeance? The future would soon teach me that. But the Nautilus
was rising slowly to the surface of the sea, and the form of the Avenger
disappeared by degrees from my sight. Soon a slight rolling told me that
we were in the open air. At that moment a dull boom was heard. I looked
at the Captain. He did not move.
“Captain?” said I.
He did not answer. I left him and mounted the platform. Conseil and
the Canadian were already there.
“Where did that sound come from?” I asked.
“It was a gunshot,” replied Ned Land.
I looked in the direction of the vessel I had already seen. It was
nearing the Nautilus, and we could see that it was putting on
steam. It was within six miles of us.
“What is that ship, Ned?”
“By its rigging, and the height of its lower masts,” said the
Canadian, “I bet she is a ship-of-war. May it reach us; and, if
necessary, sink this cursed Nautilus.”
“Friend Ned,” replied Conseil, “what harm can it do to the
Nautilus? Can it attack it beneath the waves? Can its cannonade us
at the bottom of the sea?”
“Tell me, Ned,” said I, “can you recognise what country she belongs
to?”
The Canadian knitted his eyebrows, dropped his eyelids, and screwed
up the corners of his eyes, and for a few moments fixed a piercing look
upon the vessel.
“No, sir,” he replied; “I cannot tell what nation she belongs to, for
she shows no colours. But I can declare she is a man-of-war, for a long
pennant flutters from her main mast.”
For a quarter of an hour we watched the ship which was steaming
towards us. I could not, however, believe that she could see the
Nautilus from that distance; and still less that she could know
what this submarine engine was. Soon the Canadian informed me that she
was a large, armoured, two-decker ram. A thick black smoke was pouring
from her two funnels. Her closely-furled sails were stopped to her yards.
She hoisted no flag at her mizzen-peak. The distance prevented us from
distinguishing the colours of her pennant, which floated like a thin
ribbon. She advanced rapidly. If Captain Nemo allowed her to approach,
there was a chance of salvation for us.
“Sir,” said Ned Land, “if that vessel passes within a mile of us I
shall throw myself into the sea, and I should advise you to do the
same.”
I did not reply to the Canadian’s suggestion, but continued watching
the ship. Whether English, French, American, or Russian, she would be
sure to take us in if we could only reach her. Presently a white smoke
burst from the fore part of the vessel; some seconds after, the water,
agitated by the fall of a heavy body, splashed the stern of the
Nautilus, and shortly afterwards a loud explosion struck my
ear.
“What! they are firing at us!” I exclaimed.
“So please you, sir,” said Ned, “they have recognised the unicorn,
and they are firing at us.”
“But,” I exclaimed, “surely they can see that there are men in the
case?”
“It is, perhaps, because of that,” replied Ned Land, looking at
me.
A whole flood of light burst upon my mind. Doubtless they knew now
how to believe the stories of the pretended monster. No doubt, on board
the Abraham Lincoln, when the Canadian struck it with the harpoon,
Commander Farragut had recognised in the supposed narwhal a submarine
vessel, more dangerous than a supernatural cetacean. Yes, it must have
been so; and on every sea they were now seeking this engine of
destruction. Terrible indeed! if, as we supposed, Captain Nemo employed
the Nautilus in works of vengeance. On the night when we were
imprisoned in that cell, in the midst of the Indian Ocean, had he not
attacked some vessel? The man buried in the coral cemetery, had he not
been a victim to the shock caused by the Nautilus? Yes, I repeat
it, it must be so. One part of the mysterious existence of Captain Nemo
had been unveiled; and, if his identity had not been recognised, at
least, the nations united against him were no longer hunting a chimerical
creature, but a man who had vowed a deadly hatred against them. All the
formidable past rose before me. Instead of meeting friends on board the
approaching ship, we could only expect pitiless enemies. But the shot
rattled about us. Some of them struck the sea and ricochetted, losing
themselves in the distance. But none touched the Nautilus. The
vessel was not more than three miles from us. In spite of the serious
cannonade, Captain Nemo did not appear on the platform; but, if one of
the conical projectiles had struck the shell of the Nautilus, it
would have been fatal. The Canadian then said, “Sir, we must do all we
can to get out of this dilemma. Let us signal them. They will then,
perhaps, understand that we are honest folks.”
Ned Land took his handkerchief to wave in the air; but he had
scarcely displayed it, when he was struck down by an iron hand, and fell,
in spite of his great strength, upon the deck.
“Fool!” exclaimed the Captain, “do you wish to be pierced by the spur
of the Nautilus before it is hurled at this vessel?”
Captain Nemo was terrible to hear; he was still more terrible to see.
His face was deadly pale, with a spasm at his heart. For an instant it
must have ceased to beat. His pupils were fearfully contracted. He did
not speak, he roared, as, with his body thrown forward, he wrung the
Canadian’s shoulders. Then, leaving him, and turning to the ship of war,
whose shot was still raining around him, he exclaimed, with a powerful
voice, “Ah, ship of an accursed nation, you know who I am! I do not want
your colours to know you by! Look! and I will show you mine!”
And on the fore part of the platform Captain Nemo unfurled a black
flag, similar to the one he had placed at the South Pole. At that moment
a shot struck the shell of the Nautilus obliquely, without
piercing it; and, rebounding near the Captain, was lost in the sea. He
shrugged his shoulders; and, addressing me, said shortly, “Go down, you
and your companions, go down!”
“Sir,” I cried, “are you going to attack this vessel?”
“Sir, I am going to sink it.”
“You will not do that?”
“I shall do it,” he replied coldly. “And I advise you not to judge
me, sir. Fate has shown you what you ought not to have seen. The attack
has begun; go down.”
“What is this vessel?”
“You do not know? Very well! so much the better! Its nationality to
you, at least, will be a secret. Go down!”
We could but obey. About fifteen of the sailors surrounded the
Captain, looking with implacable hatred at the vessel nearing them. One
could feel that the same desire of vengeance animated every soul. I went
down at the moment another projectile struck the Nautilus, and I
heard the Captain exclaim:
“Strike, mad vessel! Shower your useless shot! And then, you will not
escape the spur of the Nautilus. But it is not here that you shall
perish! I would not have your ruins mingle with those of the
Avenger!”
I reached my room. The Captain and his second had remained on the
platform. The screw was set in motion, and the Nautilus, moving
with speed, was soon beyond the reach of the ship’s guns. But the pursuit
continued, and Captain Nemo contented himself with keeping his
distance.
About four in the afternoon, being no longer able to contain my
impatience, I went to the central staircase. The panel was open, and I
ventured on to the platform. The Captain was still walking up and down
with an agitated step. He was looking at the ship, which was five or six
miles to leeward.
He was going round it like a wild beast, and, drawing it eastward, he
allowed them to pursue. But he did not attack. Perhaps he still
hesitated? I wished to mediate once more. But I had scarcely spoken, when
Captain Nemo imposed silence, saying:
“I am the law, and I am the judge! I am the oppressed, and there is
the oppressor! Through him I have lost all that I loved, cherished, and
venerated—country, wife, children, father, and mother. I saw all perish!
All that I hate is there! Say no more!”
I cast a last look at the man-of-war, which was putting on steam, and
rejoined Ned and Conseil.
“We will fly!” I exclaimed.
“Good!” said Ned. “What is this vessel?”
“I do not know; but, whatever it is, it will be sunk before night. In
any case, it is better to perish with it, than be made accomplices in a
retaliation the justice of which we cannot judge.”
“That is my opinion too,” said Ned Land, coolly. “Let us wait for
night.”
Night arrived. Deep silence reigned on board. The compass showed that
the Nautilus had not altered its course. It was on the surface,
rolling slightly. My companions and I resolved to fly when the vessel
should be near enough either to hear us or to see us; for the moon, which
would be full in two or three days, shone brightly. Once on board the
ship, if we could not prevent the blow which threatened it, we could, at
least we would, do all that circumstances would allow. Several times I
thought the Nautilus was preparing for attack; but Captain Nemo
contented himself with allowing his adversary to approach, and then fled
once more before it.
Part of the night passed without any incident. We watched the
opportunity for action. We spoke little, for we were too much moved. Ned
Land would have thrown himself into the sea, but I forced him to wait.
According to my idea, the Nautilus would attack the ship at her
waterline, and then it would not only be possible, but easy to fly.
At three in the morning, full of uneasiness, I mounted the platform.
Captain Nemo had not left it. He was standing at the fore part near his
flag, which a slight breeze displayed above his head. He did not take his
eyes from the vessel. The intensity of his look seemed to attract, and
fascinate, and draw it onward more surely than if he had been towing it.
The moon was then passing the meridian. Jupiter was rising in the east.
Amid this peaceful scene of nature, sky and ocean rivalled each other in
tranquillity, the sea offering to the orbs of night the finest mirror
they could ever have in which to reflect their image. As I thought of the
deep calm of these elements, compared with all those passions brooding
imperceptibly within the Nautilus, I shuddered.
The vessel was within two miles of us. It was ever nearing that
phosphorescent light which showed the presence of the Nautilus. I
could see its green and red lights, and its white lantern hanging from
the large foremast. An indistinct vibration quivered through its rigging,
showing that the furnaces were heated to the uttermost. Sheaves of sparks
and red ashes flew from the funnels, shining in the atmosphere like
stars.
I remained thus until six in the morning, without Captain Nemo
noticing me. The ship stood about a mile and a half from us, and with the
first dawn of day the firing began afresh. The moment could not be far
off when, the Nautilus attacking its adversary, my companions and
myself should for ever leave this man. I was preparing to go down to
remind them, when the second mounted the platform, accompanied by several
sailors. Captain Nemo either did not or would not see them. Some steps
were taken which might be called the signal for action. They were very
simple. The iron balustrade around the platform was lowered, and the
lantern and pilot cages were pushed within the shell until they were
flush with the deck. The long surface of the steel cigar no longer
offered a single point to check its manoeuvres. I returned to the saloon.
The Nautilus still floated; some streaks of light were filtering
through the liquid beds. With the undulations of the waves the windows
were brightened by the red streaks of the rising sun, and this dreadful
day of the 2nd of June had dawned.
At five o’clock, the log showed that the speed of the Nautilus
was slackening, and I knew that it was allowing them to draw nearer.
Besides, the reports were heard more distinctly, and the projectiles,
labouring through the ambient water, were extinguished with a strange
hissing noise.
“My friends,” said I, “the moment is come. One grasp of the hand, and
may God protect us!”
Ned Land was resolute, Conseil calm, myself so nervous that I knew
not how to contain myself. We all passed into the library; but the moment
I pushed the door opening on to the central staircase, I heard the upper
panel close sharply. The Canadian rushed on to the stairs, but I stopped
him. A well-known hissing noise told me that the water was running into
the reservoirs, and in a few minutes the Nautilus was some yards
beneath the surface of the waves. I understood the manoeuvre. It was too
late to act. The Nautilus did not wish to strike at the
impenetrable cuirass, but below the water-line, where the metallic
covering no longer protected it.
We were again imprisoned, unwilling witnesses of the dreadful drama
that was preparing. We had scarcely time to reflect; taking refuge in my
room, we looked at each other without speaking. A deep stupor had taken
hold of my mind: thought seemed to stand still. I was in that painful
state of expectation preceding a dreadful report. I waited, I listened,
every sense was merged in that of hearing! The speed of the
Nautilus was accelerated. It was preparing to rush. The whole ship
trembled. Suddenly I screamed. I felt the shock, but comparatively light.
I felt the penetrating power of the steel spur. I heard rattlings and
scrapings. But the Nautilus, carried along by its propelling
power, passed through the mass of the vessel like a needle through
sailcloth!
I could stand it no longer. Mad, out of my mind, I rushed from my
room into the saloon. Captain Nemo was there, mute, gloomy, implacable;
he was looking through the port panel. A large mass cast a shadow on the
water; and, that it might lose nothing of her agony, the Nautilus
was going down into the abyss with her. Ten yards from me I saw the open
shell, through which the water was rushing with the noise of thunder,
then the double line of guns and the netting. The bridge was covered with
black, agitated shadows.
The water was rising. The poor creatures were crowding the ratlines,
clinging to the masts, struggling under the water. It was a human
ant-heap overtaken by the sea. Paralysed, stiffened with anguish, my hair
standing on end, with eyes wide open, panting, without breath, and
without voice, I too was watching! An irresistible attraction glued me to
the glass! Suddenly an explosion took place. The compressed air blew up
her decks, as if the magazines had caught fire. Then the unfortunate
vessel sank more rapidly. Her topmast, laden with victims, now appeared;
then her spars, bending under the weight of men; and, last of all, the
top of her mainmast. Then the dark mass disappeared, and with it the dead
crew, drawn down by the strong eddy.
I turned to Captain Nemo. That terrible avenger, a perfect archangel
of hatred, was still looking. When all was over, he turned to his room,
opened the door, and entered. I followed him with my eyes. On the end
wall beneath his heroes, I saw the portrait of a woman, still young, and
two little children. Captain Nemo looked at them for some moments,
stretched his arms towards them, and, kneeling down, burst into deep
sobs.