The Coral Realm
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THE NEXT DAY I woke up with my head unusually clear. Much to
my surprise, I was in my stateroom. No doubt my companions had been
put back in their cabin without noticing it any more than I had.
Like me, they would have no idea what took place during the night, and to
unravel this mystery I could count only on some future happenstance.
I then considered leaving my stateroom. Was I free or still a prisoner?
Perfectly free. I opened my door, headed down the gangways,
and climbed the central companionway. Hatches that had been closed
the day before were now open. I arrived on the platform.
Ned Land and Conseil were there waiting for me. I questioned them.
They knew nothing. Lost in a heavy sleep of which they had no memory,
they were quite startled to be back in their cabin.
As for the Nautilus, it seemed as tranquil and mysterious as ever.
It was cruising on the surface of the waves at a moderate speed.
Nothing seemed to have changed on board.
Ned Land observed the sea with his penetrating eyes. It was deserted.
The Canadian sighted nothing new on the horizon, neither sail nor shore.
A breeze was blowing noisily from the west, and disheveled by the wind,
long billows made the submersible roll very noticeably.
After renewing its air, the Nautilus stayed at an average depth
of fifteen meters, enabling it to return quickly to the surface
of the waves. And, contrary to custom, it executed such a maneuver
several times during that day of January 19. The chief officer
would then climb onto the platform, and his usual phrase would ring
through the ship's interior.
As for Captain Nemo, he didn't appear. Of the other men on board,
I saw only my emotionless steward, who served me with his
usual mute efficiency.
Near two o'clock I was busy organizing my notes in the lounge,
when the captain opened the door and appeared. I bowed to him.
He gave me an almost imperceptible bow in return, without saying a word
to me. I resumed my work, hoping he might give me some explanation
of the previous afternoon's events. He did nothing of the sort.
I stared at him. His face looked exhausted; his reddened eyes
hadn't been refreshed by sleep; his facial features expressed
profound sadness, real chagrin. He walked up and down,
sat and stood, picked up a book at random, discarded it immediately,
consulted his instruments without taking his customary notes,
and seemed unable to rest easy for an instant.
Finally he came over to me and said:
"Are you a physician, Professor Aronnax?"
This inquiry was so unexpected that I stared at him a good
while without replying.
"Are you a physician?" he repeated. "Several of your
scientific colleagues took their degrees in medicine,
such as Gratiolet, Moquin-Tandon, and others."
"That's right," I said, "I am a doctor, I used to be on call
at the hospitals. I was in practice for several years before
joining the museum."
My reply obviously pleased Captain Nemo. But not knowing what
he was driving at, I waited for further questions, ready to reply
as circumstances dictated.
"Professor Aronnax," the captain said to me, "would you consent
to give your medical attentions to one of my men?"
"Someone is sick?"
"I'm ready to go with you."
I admit that my heart was pounding. Lord knows why, but I saw a definite
connection between this sick crewman and yesterday's happenings,
and the mystery of those events concerned me at least as much
as the man's sickness.
Captain Nemo led me to the Nautilus's stern and invited me into
a cabin located next to the sailors' quarters.
On a bed there lay a man some forty years old, with strongly
molded features, the very image of an Anglo-Saxon.
I bent over him. Not only was he sick, he was wounded.
Swathed in blood-soaked linen, his head was resting on a folded pillow.
I undid the linen bandages, while the wounded man gazed with great
staring eyes and let me proceed without making a single complaint.
It was a horrible wound. The cranium had been smashed open
by some blunt instrument, leaving the naked brains exposed,
and the cerebral matter had suffered deep abrasions. Blood clots had
formed in this dissolving mass, taking on the color of wine dregs.
Both contusion and concussion of the brain had occurred. The sick
man's breathing was labored, and muscle spasms quivered in his face.
Cerebral inflammation was complete and had brought on a paralysis
of movement and sensation.
I took the wounded man's pulse. It was intermittent.
The body's extremities were already growing cold, and I saw that death
was approaching without any possibility of my holding it in check.
After dressing the poor man's wound, I redid the linen bandages
around his head, and I turned to Captain Nemo.
"How did he get this wound?" I asked him.
"That's not important," the captain replied evasively.
"The Nautilus suffered a collision that cracked one of the engine levers,
and it struck this man. My chief officer was standing beside him.
This man leaped forward to intercept the blow. A brother lays down his
life for his brother, a friend for his friend, what could be simpler?
That's the law for everyone on board the Nautilus. But what's
your diagnosis of his condition?"
I hesitated to speak my mind.
"You may talk freely," the captain told me. "This man
doesn't understand French."
I took a last look at the wounded man, then I replied:
"This man will be dead in two hours."
"Nothing can save him?"
Captain Nemo clenched his fists, and tears slid from his eyes,
which I had thought incapable of weeping.
For a few moments more I observed the dying man, whose life was
ebbing little by little. He grew still more pale under the electric
light that bathed his deathbed. I looked at his intelligent head,
furrowed with premature wrinkles that misfortune, perhaps misery,
had etched long before. I was hoping to detect the secret of his
life in the last words that might escape from his lips!
"You may go, Professor Aronnax," Captain Nemo told me.
I left the captain in the dying man's cabin and I repaired
to my stateroom, very moved by this scene. All day long I was
aquiver with gruesome forebodings. That night I slept poorly,
and between my fitful dreams, I thought I heard a distant moaning,
like a funeral dirge. Was it a prayer for the dead, murmured in
that language I couldn't understand?
The next morning I climbed on deck. Captain Nemo was already there.
As soon as he saw me, he came over.
"Professor," he said to me, "would it be convenient for you to make
an underwater excursion today?"
"With my companions?" I asked.
"If they're agreeable."
"We're yours to command, captain."
"Then kindly put on your diving suits."
As for the dead or dying man, he hadn't come into the picture. I rejoined
Ned Land and Conseil. I informed them of Captain Nemo's proposition.
Conseil was eager to accept, and this time the Canadian proved
perfectly amenable to going with us.
It was eight o'clock in the morning. By 8:30 we were suited up for this
new stroll and equipped with our two devices for lighting and breathing.
The double door opened, and accompanied by Captain Nemo with a dozen
crewmen following, we set foot on the firm seafloor where the Nautilus
was resting, ten meters down.
A gentle slope gravitated to an uneven bottom whose depth was
about fifteen fathoms. This bottom was completely different
from the one I had visited during my first excursion under
the waters of the Pacific Ocean. Here I saw no fine-grained sand,
no underwater prairies, not one open-sea forest. I immediately recognized
the wondrous region in which Captain Nemo did the honors that day.
It was the coral realm.
In the zoophyte branch, class Alcyonaria, one finds the order Gorgonaria,
which contains three groups: sea fans, isidian polyps, and coral polyps.
It's in this last that precious coral belongs, an unusual substance that,
at different times, has been classified in the mineral, vegetable,
and animal kingdoms. Medicine to the ancients, jewelry to the moderns,
it wasn't decisively placed in the animal kingdom until 1694,
by Peysonnel of Marseilles.
A coral is a unit of tiny animals assembled over a polypary
that's brittle and stony in nature. These polyps have a unique
generating mechanism that reproduces them via the budding process,
and they have an individual existence while also participating
in a communal life. Hence they embody a sort of natural socialism.
I was familiar with the latest research on this bizarre zoophyte--
which turns to stone while taking on a tree form, as some naturalists
have very aptly observed--and nothing could have been more fascinating
to me than to visit one of these petrified forests that nature has
planted on the bottom of the sea.
We turned on our Ruhmkorff devices and went along a coral shoal
in the process of forming, which, given time, will someday close
off this whole part of the Indian Ocean. Our path was bordered
by hopelessly tangled bushes, formed from snarls of shrubs
all covered with little star-shaped, white-streaked flowers.
Only, contrary to plants on shore, these tree forms become attached
to rocks on the seafloor by heading from top to bottom.
Our lights produced a thousand delightful effects while playing over
these brightly colored boughs. I fancied I saw these cylindrical,
membrane-filled tubes trembling beneath the water's undulations.
I was tempted to gather their fresh petals, which were adorned with
delicate tentacles, some newly in bloom, others barely opened, while
nimble fish with fluttering fins brushed past them like flocks of birds.
But if my hands came near the moving flowers of these sensitive,
lively creatures, an alarm would instantly sound throughout the colony.
The white petals retracted into their red sheaths, the flowers vanished
before my eyes, and the bush changed into a chunk of stony nipples.
Sheer chance had placed me in the presence of the most valuable
specimens of this zoophyte. This coral was the equal of those fished
up from the Mediterranean off the Barbary Coast or the shores
of France and Italy. With its bright colors, it lived up to those
poetic names of blood flower and blood foam that the industry
confers on its finest exhibits. Coral sells for as much as 500
francs per kilogram, and in this locality the liquid strata hid
enough to make the fortunes of a whole host of coral fishermen.
This valuable substance often merges with other polyparies,
forming compact, hopelessly tangled units known as "macciota,"
and I noted some wonderful pink samples of this coral.
But as the bushes shrank, the tree forms magnified.
Actual petrified thickets and long alcoves from some fantastic
school of architecture kept opening up before our steps.
Captain Nemo entered beneath a dark gallery whose gentle slope
took us to a depth of 100 meters. The light from our glass coils
produced magical effects at times, lingering on the wrinkled roughness
of some natural arch, or some overhang suspended like a chandelier,
which our lamps flecked with fiery sparks. Amid these shrubs
of precious coral, I observed other polyps no less unusual:
melita coral, rainbow coral with jointed outgrowths, then a few
tufts of genus Corallina, some green and others red, actually a type
of seaweed encrusted with limestone salts, which, after long disputes,
naturalists have finally placed in the vegetable kingdom.
But as one intellectual has remarked, "Here, perhaps, is the actual
point where life rises humbly out of slumbering stone, but without
breaking away from its crude starting point."
Finally, after two hours of walking, we reached a depth of about
300 meters, in other words, the lowermost limit at which coral
can begin to form. But here it was no longer some isolated bush
or a modest grove of low timber. It was an immense forest,
huge mineral vegetation, enormous petrified trees linked by garlands
of elegant hydras from the genus Plumularia, those tropical
creepers of the sea, all decked out in shades and gleams.
We passed freely under their lofty boughs, lost up in the shadows
of the waves, while at our feet organ-pipe coral, stony coral,
star coral, fungus coral, and sea anemone from the genus Caryophylia
formed a carpet of flowers all strewn with dazzling gems.
What an indescribable sight! Oh, if only we could share our feelings!
Why were we imprisoned behind these masks of metal and glass!
Why were we forbidden to talk with each other! At least let us
lead the lives of the fish that populate this liquid element,
or better yet, the lives of amphibians, which can spend long hours
either at sea or on shore, traveling through their double domain
as their whims dictate!
Meanwhile Captain Nemo had called a halt. My companions and I
stopped walking, and turning around, I saw the crewmen form
a semicircle around their leader. Looking with greater care,
I observed that four of them were carrying on their shoulders
an object that was oblong in shape.
At this locality we stood in the center of a huge clearing
surrounded by the tall tree forms of this underwater forest.
Our lamps cast a sort of brilliant twilight over the area,
making inordinately long shadows on the seafloor. Past the boundaries
of the clearing, the darkness deepened again, relieved only by little
sparkles given off by the sharp crests of coral.
Ned Land and Conseil stood next to me. We stared, and it
dawned on me that I was about to witness a strange scene.
Observing the seafloor, I saw that it swelled at certain points from
low bulges that were encrusted with limestone deposits and arranged
with a symmetry that betrayed the hand of man.
In the middle of the clearing, on a pedestal of roughly piled rocks,
there stood a cross of coral, extending long arms you would have
thought were made of petrified blood.
At a signal from Captain Nemo, one of his men stepped forward and,
a few feet from this cross, detached a mattock from his belt
and began to dig a hole.
I finally understood! This clearing was a cemetery, this hole a grave,
that oblong object the body of the man who must have died during
the night! Captain Nemo and his men had come to bury their companion
in this communal resting place on the inaccessible ocean floor!
No! My mind was reeling as never before! Never had ideas of such impact
raced through my brain! I didn't want to see what my eyes saw!
Meanwhile the grave digging went slowly. Fish fled here and
there as their retreat was disturbed. I heard the pick ringing
on the limestone soil, its iron tip sometimes giving off sparks
when it hit a stray piece of flint on the sea bottom. The hole
grew longer, wider, and soon was deep enough to receive the body.
Then the pallbearers approached. Wrapped in white fabric made from
filaments of the fan mussel, the body was lowered into its watery grave.
Captain Nemo, arms crossed over his chest, knelt in a posture
of prayer, as did all the friends of him who had loved them. . . .
My two companions and I bowed reverently.
The grave was then covered over with the rubble dug from the seafloor,
and it formed a low mound.
When this was done, Captain Nemo and his men stood up; then they
all approached the grave, sank again on bended knee, and extended
their hands in a sign of final farewell. . . .
Then the funeral party went back up the path to the Nautilus,
returning beneath the arches of the forest, through the thickets,
along the coral bushes, going steadily higher.
Finally the ship's rays appeared. Their luminous trail guided us
to the Nautilus. By one o'clock we had returned.
After changing clothes, I climbed onto the platform, and in the grip
of dreadfully obsessive thoughts, I sat next to the beacon.
Captain Nemo rejoined me. I stood up and said to him:
"So, as I predicted, that man died during the night?"
"Yes, Professor Aronnax," Captain Nemo replied.
"And now he rests beside his companions in that coral cemetery?"
"Yes, forgotten by the world but not by us! We dig the graves,
then entrust the polyps with sealing away our dead for eternity!"
And with a sudden gesture, the captain hid his face in his clenched fists,
vainly trying to hold back a sob. Then he added:
"There lies our peaceful cemetery, hundreds of feet beneath
the surface of the waves!"
"At least, captain, your dead can sleep serenely there, out of
the reach of sharks!"
"Yes, sir," Captain Nemo replied solemnly, "of sharks and men!"
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