CHAPTER 22

The Last Words of Captain Nemo

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THE PANELS CLOSED over this frightful view, but the lights didn't go

on in the lounge.  Inside the Nautilus all was gloom and silence.

It left this place of devastation with prodigious speed,

100 feet beneath the waters.  Where was it going?  North or south?

Where would the man flee after this horrible act of revenge?

I reentered my stateroom, where Ned and Conseil were waiting silently.

Captain Nemo filled me with insurmountable horror.

Whatever he had once suffered at the hands of humanity,

he had no right to mete out such punishment.  He had made me,

if not an accomplice, at least an eyewitness to his vengeance!

Even this was intolerable.

At eleven o'clock the electric lights came back on.  I went into

the lounge.  It was deserted.  I consulted the various instruments.

The Nautilus was fleeing northward at a speed of twenty-five miles

per hour, sometimes on the surface of the sea, sometimes thirty

feet beneath it.

After our position had been marked on the chart, I saw that we

were passing into the mouth of the English Channel, that our heading

would take us to the northernmost seas with incomparable speed.

I could barely glimpse the swift passing of longnose sharks,

hammerhead sharks, spotted dogfish that frequent these waters,

big eagle rays, swarms of seahorse looking like knights on a chessboard,

eels quivering like fireworks serpents, armies of crab that fled

obliquely by crossing their pincers over their carapaces,

finally schools of porpoise that held contests of speed with

the Nautilus.  But by this point observing, studying, and classifying

were out of the question.

By evening we had cleared 200 leagues up the Atlantic.  Shadows gathered

and gloom overran the sea until the moon came up.

I repaired to my stateroom.  I couldn't sleep.  I was assaulted

by nightmares.  That horrible scene of destruction kept repeating

in my mind's eye.

From that day forward, who knows where the Nautilus took us

in the north Atlantic basin?  Always at incalculable speed!

Always amid the High Arctic mists!  Did it call at the capes

of Spitzbergen or the shores of Novaya Zemlya?  Did it visit such

uncharted seas as the White Sea, the Kara Sea, the Gulf of Ob,

the Lyakhov Islands, or those unknown beaches on the Siberian coast?

I'm unable to say.  I lost track of the passing hours.  Time was

in abeyance on the ship's clocks.  As happens in the polar regions,

it seemed that night and day no longer followed their normal sequence.

I felt myself being drawn into that strange domain where

the overwrought imagination of Edgar Allan Poe was at home.

Like his fabled Arthur Gordon Pym, I expected any moment to see

that "shrouded human figure, very far larger in its proportions

than any dweller among men," thrown across the cataract that protects

the outskirts of the pole!

I estimate--but perhaps I'm mistaken--that the Nautilus's haphazard

course continued for fifteen or twenty days, and I'm not sure

how long this would have gone on without the catastrophe that ended

our voyage.  As for Captain Nemo, he was no longer in the picture.

As for his chief officer, the same applied.  Not one crewman

was visible for a single instant.  The Nautilus cruised beneath

the waters almost continuously.  When it rose briefly to the surface

to renew our air, the hatches opened and closed as if automated.

No more positions were reported on the world map.  I didn't know

where we were.

I'll also mention that the Canadian, at the end of his strength

and patience, made no further appearances.  Conseil couldn't coax

a single word out of him and feared that, in a fit of delirium while

under the sway of a ghastly homesickness, Ned would kill himself.

So he kept a devoted watch on his friend every instant.

You can appreciate that under these conditions, our situation

had become untenable.

One morning--whose date I'm unable to specify--I was slumbering

near the first hours of daylight, a painful, sickly slumber.

Waking up, I saw Ned Land leaning over me, and I heard him tell me

in a low voice:

"We're going to escape!"

I sat up.

"When?"  I asked.

"Tonight.  There doesn't seem to be any supervision left on

the Nautilus.  You'd think a total daze was reigning on board.

Will you be ready, sir?"

"Yes.  Where are we?"

"In sight of land.  I saw it through the mists just this morning,

twenty miles to the east."

"What land is it?"

"I've no idea, but whatever it is, there we'll take refuge."

"Yes, Ned!  We'll escape tonight even if the sea swallows us up!"

"The sea's rough, the wind's blowing hard, but a twenty-mile

run in the Nautilus's nimble longboat doesn't scare me.

Unknown to the crew, I've stowed some food and flasks of water inside."

"I'm with you."

"What's more," the Canadian added, "if they catch me, I'll defend myself,

I'll fight to the death."

"Then we'll die together, Ned my friend."

My mind was made up.  The Canadian left me.  I went out on the platform,

where I could barely stand upright against the jolts of the billows.

The skies were threatening, but land lay inside those dense mists,

and we had to escape.  Not a single day, or even a single hour,

could we afford to lose.

I returned to the lounge, dreading yet desiring an encounter

with Captain Nemo, wanting yet not wanting to see him.

What would I say to him?  How could I hide the involuntary horror

he inspired in me?  No!  It was best not to meet him face to face!

Best to try and forget him!  And yet . . . !

How long that day seemed, the last I would spend aboard

the Nautilus!  I was left to myself.  Ned Land and Conseil avoided

speaking to me, afraid they would give themselves away.

At six o'clock I ate supper, but I had no appetite.  Despite my revulsion,

I forced it down, wanting to keep my strength up.

At 6:30 Ned Land entered my stateroom.  He told me:

"We won't see each other again before we go.  At ten o'clock

the moon won't be up yet.  We'll take advantage of the darkness.

Come to the skiff.  Conseil and I will be inside waiting for you."

The Canadian left without giving me time to answer him.

I wanted to verify the Nautilus's heading.  I made my way to the lounge.

We were racing north-northeast with frightful speed, fifty meters down.

I took one last look at the natural wonders and artistic treasures

amassed in the museum, this unrivaled collection doomed to perish

someday in the depths of the seas, together with its curator.

I wanted to establish one supreme impression in my mind.

I stayed there an hour, basking in the aura of the ceiling lights,

passing in review the treasures shining in their glass cases.

Then I returned to my stateroom.

There I dressed in sturdy seafaring clothes.  I gathered my notes and

packed them tenderly about my person.  My heart was pounding mightily.

I couldn't curb its pulsations.  My anxiety and agitation would

certainly have given me away if Captain Nemo had seen me.

What was he doing just then?  I listened at the door to his stateroom.

I heard the sound of footsteps.  Captain Nemo was inside.

He hadn't gone to bed.  With his every movement I imagined he would

appear and ask me why I wanted to escape!  I felt in a perpetual

state of alarm.  My imagination magnified this sensation.

The feeling became so acute, I wondered whether it wouldn't be

better to enter the captain's stateroom, dare him face to face,

brave it out with word and deed!

It was an insane idea.  Fortunately I controlled myself

and stretched out on the bed to soothe my bodily agitation.

My nerves calmed a little, but with my brain so aroused,

I did a swift review of my whole existence aboard the Nautilus,

every pleasant or unpleasant incident that had crossed my path since I

went overboard from the Abraham Lincoln:  the underwater hunting trip,

the Torres Strait, our running aground, the savages of Papua,

the coral cemetery, the Suez passageway, the island of Santorini,

the Cretan diver, the Bay of Vigo, Atlantis, the Ice Bank, the South Pole,

our imprisonment in the ice, the battle with the devilfish,

the storm in the Gulf Stream, the Avenger, and that horrible scene

of the vessel sinking with its crew . . . !  All these events passed

before my eyes like backdrops unrolling upstage in a theater.

In this strange setting Captain Nemo then grew fantastically.

His features were accentuated, taking on superhuman proportions.

He was no longer my equal, he was the Man of the Waters, the Spirit

of the Seas.

By then it was 9:30. I held my head in both hands to keep it

from bursting.  I closed my eyes.  I no longer wanted to think.

A half hour still to wait!  A half hour of nightmares that could

drive me insane!

Just then I heard indistinct chords from the organ, melancholy harmonies

from some undefinable hymn, actual pleadings from a soul trying

to sever its earthly ties.  I listened with all my senses at once,

barely breathing, immersed like Captain Nemo in this musical trance

that was drawing him beyond the bounds of this world.

Then a sudden thought terrified me.  Captain Nemo had left his stateroom.

He was in the same lounge I had to cross in order to escape.

There I would encounter him one last time.  He would see me,

perhaps speak to me!  One gesture from him could obliterate me,

a single word shackle me to his vessel!

Even so, ten o'clock was about to strike.  It was time to leave

my stateroom and rejoin my companions.

I dared not hesitate, even if Captain Nemo stood before me.

I opened the door cautiously, but as it swung on its hinges,

it seemed to make a frightful noise.  This noise existed, perhaps,

only in my imagination!

I crept forward through the Nautilus's dark gangways, pausing after

each step to curb the pounding of my heart.

I arrived at the corner door of the lounge.  I opened it gently.

The lounge was plunged in profound darkness.  Chords from the organ

were reverberating faintly.  Captain Nemo was there.  He didn't see me.

Even in broad daylight I doubt that he would have noticed me,

so completely was he immersed in his trance.

I inched over the carpet, avoiding the tiniest bump whose noise

might give me away.  It took me five minutes to reach the door

at the far end, which led into the library.

I was about to open it when a gasp from Captain Nemo nailed

me to the spot.  I realized that he was standing up.

I even got a glimpse of him because some rays of light from

the library had filtered into the lounge.  He was coming toward me,

arms crossed, silent, not walking but gliding like a ghost.

His chest was heaving, swelling with sobs.  And I heard him murmur

these words, the last of his to reach my ears:

"O almighty God!  Enough!  Enough!"

Was it a vow of repentance that had just escaped from this

man's conscience . . . ?

Frantic, I rushed into the library.  I climbed the central companionway,

and going along the upper gangway, I arrived at the skiff.

I went through the opening that had already given access to

my two companions.

"Let's go, let's go!"  I exclaimed.

"Right away!" the Canadian replied.

First, Ned Land closed and bolted the opening cut into the

Nautilus's sheet iron, using the monkey wrench he had with him.

After likewise closing the opening in the skiff, the Canadian began

to unscrew the nuts still bolting us to the underwater boat.

Suddenly a noise from the ship's interior became audible.

Voices were answering each other hurriedly.  What was it?

Had they spotted our escape?  I felt Ned Land sliding a dagger

into my hand.

"Yes," I muttered, "we know how to die!"

The Canadian paused in his work.  But one word twenty times repeated,

one dreadful word, told me the reason for the agitation spreading

aboard the Nautilus.  We weren't the cause of the crew's concern.

"Maelstrom!  Maelstrom!" they were shouting.

The Maelstrom!  Could a more frightening name have rung

in our ears under more frightening circumstances?

Were we lying in the dangerous waterways off the Norwegian coast?

Was the Nautilus being dragged into this whirlpool just as the skiff

was about to detach from its plating?

As you know, at the turn of the tide, the waters confined between

the Faroe and Lofoten Islands rush out with irresistible violence.

They form a vortex from which no ship has ever been able to escape.

Monstrous waves race together from every point of the horizon.

They form a whirlpool aptly called "the ocean's navel,"

whose attracting power extends a distance of fifteen kilometers.

It can suck down not only ships but whales, and even polar bears

from the northernmost regions.

This was where the Nautilus had been sent accidentally--

or perhaps deliberately--by its captain.  It was sweeping around

in a spiral whose radius kept growing smaller and smaller.

The skiff, still attached to the ship's plating, was likewise

carried around at dizzying speed.  I could feel us whirling.

I was experiencing that accompanying nausea that follows such

continuous spinning motions.  We were in dread, in the last stages

of sheer horror, our blood frozen in our veins, our nerves numb,

drenched in cold sweat as if from the throes of dying!

And what a noise around our frail skiff!  What roars echoing from

several miles away!  What crashes from the waters breaking against

sharp rocks on the seafloor, where the hardest objects are smashed,

where tree trunks are worn down and worked into "a shaggy fur,"

as Norwegians express it!

What a predicament!  We were rocking frightfully.  The Nautilus

defended itself like a human being.  Its steel muscles were cracking.

Sometimes it stood on end, the three of us along with it!

"We've got to hold on tight," Ned said, "and screw the nuts down again!

If we can stay attached to the Nautilus, we can still make it . . . !"

He hadn't finished speaking when a cracking sound occurred.

The nuts gave way, and ripped out of its socket, the skiff was hurled

like a stone from a sling into the midst of the vortex.

My head struck against an iron timber, and with this violent shock

I lost consciousness.

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