A Pearl Worth Ten Million
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NIGHT FELL. I went to bed. I slept pretty poorly. Man-eaters played
a major role in my dreams. And I found it more or less appropriate
that the French word for shark, requin, has its linguistic roots
in the word requiem.
The next day at four o'clock in the morning, I was awakened by
the steward whom Captain Nemo had placed expressly at my service.
I got up quickly, dressed, and went into the lounge.
Captain Nemo was waiting for me.
"Professor Aronnax," he said to me, "are you ready to start?"
"Kindly follow me."
"What about my companions, captain?"
"They've been alerted and are waiting for us."
"Aren't we going to put on our diving suits?" I asked.
"Not yet. I haven't let the Nautilus pull too near the coast,
and we're fairly well out from the Mannar oysterbank.
But I have the skiff ready, and it will take us to the exact spot
where we'll disembark, which will save us a pretty long trek.
It's carrying our diving equipment, and we'll suit up just before we
begin our underwater exploring."
Captain Nemo took me to the central companionway whose steps led
to the platform. Ned and Conseil were there, enraptured with
the "pleasure trip" getting under way. Oars in position,
five of the Nautilus's sailors were waiting for us aboard the skiff,
which was moored alongside. The night was still dark.
Layers of clouds cloaked the sky and left only a few stars in view.
My eyes flew to the side where land lay, but I saw only a blurred line
covering three-quarters of the horizon from southwest to northwest.
Going up Ceylon's west coast during the night, the Nautilus lay
west of the bay, or rather that gulf formed by the mainland
and Mannar Island. Under these dark waters there stretched
the bank of shellfish, an inexhaustible field of pearls more than
twenty miles long.
Captain Nemo, Conseil, Ned Land, and I found seats in the stern
of the skiff. The longboat's coxswain took the tiller; his four
companions leaned into their oars; the moorings were cast off
and we pulled clear.
The skiff headed southward. The oarsmen took their time.
I watched their strokes vigorously catch the water, and they
always waited ten seconds before rowing again, following the
practice used in most navies. While the longboat coasted,
drops of liquid flicked from the oars and hit the dark troughs
of the waves, pitter-pattering like splashes of molten lead.
Coming from well out, a mild swell made the skiff roll gently,
and a few cresting billows lapped at its bow.
We were silent. What was Captain Nemo thinking? Perhaps that
this approaching shore was too close for comfort, contrary to
the Canadian's views in which it still seemed too far away.
As for Conseil, he had come along out of simple curiosity.
Near 5:30 the first glimmers of light on the horizon defined
the upper lines of the coast with greater distinctness.
Fairly flat to the east, it swelled a little toward the south.
Five miles still separated it from us, and its beach merged with
the misty waters. Between us and the shore, the sea was deserted.
Not a boat, not a diver. Profound solitude reigned over this
gathering place of pearl fishermen. As Captain Nemo had commented,
we were arriving in these waterways a month too soon.
At six o'clock the day broke suddenly, with that speed unique
to tropical regions, which experience no real dawn or dusk.
The sun's rays pierced the cloud curtain gathered on the easterly horizon,
and the radiant orb rose swiftly.
I could clearly see the shore, which featured a few sparse trees
here and there.
The skiff advanced toward Mannar Island, which curved to the south.
Captain Nemo stood up from his thwart and studied the sea.
At his signal the anchor was lowered, but its chain barely ran
because the bottom lay no more than a meter down, and this locality
was one of the shallowest spots near the bank of shellfish.
Instantly the skiff wheeled around under the ebb tide's outbound thrust.
"Here we are, Professor Aronnax," Captain Nemo then said.
"You observe this confined bay? A month from now in this very place,
the numerous fishing boats of the harvesters will gather,
and these are the waters their divers will ransack so daringly.
This bay is felicitously laid out for their type of fishing.
It's sheltered from the strongest winds, and the sea is never
very turbulent here, highly favorable conditions for diving work.
Now let's put on our underwater suits, and we'll begin our stroll."
I didn't reply, and while staring at these suspicious waves, I began
to put on my heavy aquatic clothes, helped by the longboat's sailors.
Captain Nemo and my two companions suited up as well.
None of the Nautilus's men were to go with us on this new excursion.
Soon we were imprisoned up to the neck in india-rubber clothing,
and straps fastened the air devices onto our backs.
As for the Ruhmkorff device, it didn't seem to be in the picture.
Before inserting my head into its copper capsule, I commented
on this to the captain.
"Our lighting equipment would be useless to us," the captain answered me.
"We won't be going very deep, and the sun's rays will be sufficient
to light our way. Besides, it's unwise to carry electric lanterns
under these waves. Their brightness might unexpectedly attract
certain dangerous occupants of these waterways."
As Captain Nemo pronounced these words, I turned to Conseil and
Ned Land. But my two friends had already encased their craniums
in their metal headgear, and they could neither hear nor reply.
I had one question left to address to Captain Nemo.
"What about our weapons?" I asked him. "Our rifles?"
"Rifles! What for? Don't your mountaineers attack bears dagger in hand?
And isn't steel surer than lead? Here's a sturdy blade.
Slip it under your belt and let's be off."
I stared at my companions. They were armed in the same fashion,
and Ned Land was also brandishing an enormous harpoon he had stowed
in the skiff before leaving the Nautilus.
Then, following the captain's example, I let myself be crowned with my
heavy copper sphere, and our air tanks immediately went into action.
An instant later, the longboat's sailors helped us overboard one after
the other, and we set foot on level sand in a meter and a half of water.
Captain Nemo gave us a hand signal. We followed him down a gentle
slope and disappeared under the waves.
There the obsessive fears in my brain left me. I became surprisingly
calm again. The ease with which I could move increased my confidence,
and the many strange sights captivated my imagination.
The sun was already sending sufficient light under these waves.
The tiniest objects remained visible. After ten minutes of walking,
we were in five meters of water, and the terrain had become almost flat.
Like a covey of snipe over a marsh, there rose underfoot schools
of unusual fish from the genus Monopterus, whose members have no fin
but their tail. I recognized the Javanese eel, a genuine eight-decimeter
serpent with a bluish gray belly, which, without the gold lines
over its flanks, could easily be confused with the conger eel.
From the butterfish genus, whose oval bodies are very flat,
I observed several adorned in brilliant colors and sporting a dorsal
fin like a sickle, edible fish that, when dried and marinated, make an
excellent dish known by the name "karawade"; then some sea poachers,
fish belonging to the genus Aspidophoroides, whose bodies are covered
with scaly armor divided into eight lengthwise sections.
Meanwhile, as the sun got progressively higher, it lit up the watery
mass more and more. The seafloor changed little by little.
Its fine-grained sand was followed by a genuine causeway
of smooth crags covered by a carpet of mollusks and zoophytes.
Among other specimens in these two branches, I noted some windowpane
oysters with thin valves of unequal size, a type of ostracod unique
to the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean, then orange-hued lucina with
circular shells, awl-shaped auger shells, some of those Persian
murex snails that supply the Nautilus with such wonderful dye,
spiky periwinkles fifteen centimeters long that rose under the waves
like hands ready to grab you, turban snails with shells made of horn
and bristling all over with spines, lamp shells, edible duck clams
that feed the Hindu marketplace, subtly luminous jellyfish of the species
Pelagia panopyra, and finally some wonderful Oculina flabelliforma,
magnificent sea fans that fashion one of the most luxuriant tree
forms in this ocean.
In the midst of this moving vegetation, under arbors of water plants,
there raced legions of clumsy articulates, in particular some fanged
frog crabs whose carapaces form a slightly rounded triangle,
robber crabs exclusive to these waterways, and horrible
parthenope crabs whose appearance was repulsive to the eye.
One animal no less hideous, which I encountered several times,
was the enormous crab that Mr. Darwin observed, to which nature
has given the instinct and requisite strength to eat coconuts;
it scrambles up trees on the beach and sends the coconuts tumbling;
they fracture in their fall and are opened by its powerful pincers.
Here, under these clear waves, this crab raced around with
matchless agility, while green turtles from the species frequenting
the Malabar coast moved sluggishly among the crumbling rocks.
Near seven o'clock we finally surveyed the bank of shellfish,
where pearl oysters reproduce by the millions. These valuable
mollusks stick to rocks, where they're strongly attached
by a mass of brown filaments that forbids their moving about.
In this respect oysters are inferior even to mussels, to whom nature
has not denied all talent for locomotion.
The shellfish Meleagrina, that womb for pearls whose valves are
nearly equal in size, has the shape of a round shell with thick
walls and a very rough exterior. Some of these shells were furrowed
with flaky, greenish bands that radiated down from the top.
These were the young oysters. The others had rugged black surfaces,
measured up to fifteen centimeters in width, and were ten or
more years old.
Captain Nemo pointed to this prodigious heap of shellfish, and I
saw that these mines were genuinely inexhaustible, since nature's
creative powers are greater than man's destructive instincts.
True to those instincts, Ned Land greedily stuffed the finest
of these mollusks into a net he carried at his side.
But we couldn't stop. We had to follow the captain,
who headed down trails seemingly known only to himself.
The seafloor rose noticeably, and when I lifted my arms,
sometimes they would pass above the surface of the sea.
Then the level of the oysterbank would lower unpredictably.
Often we went around tall, pointed rocks rising like pyramids.
In their dark crevices huge crustaceans, aiming their long legs
like heavy artillery, watched us with unblinking eyes, while underfoot
there crept millipedes, bloodworms, aricia worms, and annelid worms,
whose antennas and tubular tentacles were incredibly long.
Just then a huge cave opened up in our path, hollowed from a
picturesque pile of rocks whose smooth heights were completely
hung with underwater flora. At first this cave looked pitch-black
to me. Inside, the sun's rays seemed to diminish by degrees.
Their hazy transparency was nothing more than drowned light.
Captain Nemo went in. We followed him. My eyes soon grew accustomed
to this comparative gloom. I distinguished the unpredictably contoured
springings of a vault, supported by natural pillars firmly based on
a granite foundation, like the weighty columns of Tuscan architecture.
Why had our incomprehensible guide taken us into the depths of this
underwater crypt? I would soon find out.
After going down a fairly steep slope, our feet trod the floor
of a sort of circular pit. There Captain Nemo stopped, and his hand
indicated an object that I hadn't yet noticed.
It was an oyster of extraordinary dimensions, a titanic giant clam,
a holy-water font that could have held a whole lake, a basin
more than two meters wide, hence even bigger than the one adorning
the Nautilus's lounge.
I approached this phenomenal mollusk. Its mass of filaments attached
it to a table of granite, and there it grew by itself in the midst
of the cave's calm waters. I estimated the weight of this giant clam
at 300 kilograms. Hence such an oyster held fifteen kilos of meat,
and you'd need the stomach of King Gargantua to eat a couple dozen.
Captain Nemo was obviously familiar with this bivalve's existence.
This wasn't the first time he'd paid it a visit, and I thought
his sole reason for leading us to this locality was to show
us a natural curiosity. I was mistaken. Captain Nemo had an
explicit personal interest in checking on the current condition
of this giant clam.
The mollusk's two valves were partly open. The captain approached
and stuck his dagger vertically between the shells to discourage
any ideas about closing; then with his hands he raised the fringed,
membrane-filled tunic that made up the animal's mantle.
There, between its leaflike folds, I saw a loose pearl as big as
a coconut. Its globular shape, perfect clarity, and wonderful orient
made it a jewel of incalculable value. Carried away by curiosity,
I stretched out my hand to take it, weigh it, fondle it!
But the captain stopped me, signaled no, removed his dagger in one
swift motion, and let the two valves snap shut.
I then understood Captain Nemo's intent. By leaving the pearl buried
beneath the giant clam's mantle, he allowed it to grow imperceptibly.
With each passing year the mollusk's secretions added new
concentric layers. The captain alone was familiar with the cave
where this wonderful fruit of nature was "ripening"; he alone
reared it, so to speak, in order to transfer it one day to his
dearly beloved museum. Perhaps, following the examples of oyster
farmers in China and India, he had even predetermined the creation
of this pearl by sticking under the mollusk's folds some piece
of glass or metal that was gradually covered with mother-of-pearl.
In any case, comparing this pearl to others I already knew about,
and to those shimmering in the captain's collection, I estimated
that it was worth at least 10,000,000 francs. It was a superb
natural curiosity rather than a luxurious piece of jewelry,
because I don't know of any female ear that could handle it.
Our visit to this opulent giant clam came to an end.
Captain Nemo left the cave, and we climbed back up the bank
of shellfish in the midst of these clear waters not yet disturbed
by divers at work.
We walked by ourselves, genuine loiterers stopping or straying
as our fancies dictated. For my part, I was no longer worried
about those dangers my imagination had so ridiculously exaggerated.
The shallows drew noticeably closer to the surface of the sea,
and soon, walking in only a meter of water, my head passed well above
the level of the ocean. Conseil rejoined me, and gluing his huge
copper capsule to mine, his eyes gave me a friendly greeting.
But this lofty plateau measured only a few fathoms, and soon we
reentered Our Element. I think I've now earned the right to
dub it that.
Ten minutes later, Captain Nemo stopped suddenly. I thought he'd
called a halt so that we could turn and start back. No. With a gesture
he ordered us to crouch beside him at the foot of a wide crevice.
His hand motioned toward a spot within the liquid mass,
and I looked carefully.
Five meters away a shadow appeared and dropped to the seafloor.
The alarming idea of sharks crossed my mind. But I was mistaken,
and once again we didn't have to deal with monsters of the deep.
It was a man, a living man, a black Indian fisherman, a poor devil
who no doubt had come to gather what he could before harvest time.
I saw the bottom of his dinghy, moored a few feet above his head.
He would dive and go back up in quick succession. A stone cut
in the shape of a sugar loaf, which he gripped between his feet
while a rope connected it to his boat, served to lower him more
quickly to the ocean floor. This was the extent of his equipment.
Arriving on the seafloor at a depth of about five meters, he fell
to his knees and stuffed his sack with shellfish gathered at random.
Then he went back up, emptied his sack, pulled up his stone, and started
all over again, the whole process lasting only thirty seconds.
This diver didn't see us. A shadow cast by our crag hid us from
his view. And besides, how could this poor Indian ever have guessed
that human beings, creatures like himself, were near him under
the waters, eavesdropping on his movements, not missing a single
detail of his fishing!
So he went up and down several times. He gathered only about
ten shellfish per dive, because he had to tear them from
the banks where each clung with its tough mass of filaments.
And how many of these oysters for which he risked his life would
have no pearl in them!
I observed him with great care. His movements were systematically
executed, and for half an hour no danger seemed to threaten him.
So I had gotten used to the sight of this fascinating fishing
when all at once, just as the Indian was kneeling on the seafloor,
I saw him make a frightened gesture, stand, and gather himself
to spring back to the surface of the waves.
I understood his fear. A gigantic shadow appeared above the poor diver.
It was a shark of huge size, moving in diagonally, eyes ablaze,
jaws wide open!
I was speechless with horror, unable to make a single movement.
With one vigorous stroke of its fins, the voracious animal shot
toward the Indian, who jumped aside and avoided the shark's bite
but not the thrashing of its tail, because that tail struck him
across the chest and stretched him out on the seafloor.
This scene lasted barely a few seconds. The shark returned,
rolled over on its back, and was getting ready to cut the Indian in half,
when Captain Nemo, who was stationed beside me, suddenly stood up.
Then he strode right toward the monster, dagger in hand, ready to
fight it at close quarters.
Just as it was about to snap up the poor fisherman, the man-eater
saw its new adversary, repositioned itself on its belly, and headed
swiftly toward him.
I can see Captain Nemo's bearing to this day. Bracing himself,
he waited for the fearsome man-eater with wonderful composure,
and when the latter rushed at him, the captain leaped aside
with prodigious quickness, avoided a collision, and sank his
dagger into its belly. But that wasn't the end of the story.
A dreadful battle was joined.
The shark bellowed, so to speak. Blood was pouring into the waves
from its wounds. The sea was dyed red, and through this opaque
liquid I could see nothing else.
Nothing else until the moment when, through a rift in the clouds,
I saw the daring captain clinging to one of the animal's fins,
fighting the monster at close quarters, belaboring his
enemy's belly with stabs of the dagger yet unable to deliver
the deciding thrust, in other words, a direct hit to the heart.
In its struggles the man-eater churned the watery mass so furiously,
its eddies threatened to knock me over.
I wanted to run to the captain's rescue. But I was transfixed
with horror, unable to move.
I stared, wild-eyed. I saw the fight enter a new phase.
The captain fell to the seafloor, toppled by the enormous mass
weighing him down. Then the shark's jaws opened astoundingly wide,
like a pair of industrial shears, and that would have been
the finish of Captain Nemo had not Ned Land, quick as thought,
rushed forward with his harpoon and driven its dreadful point
into the shark's underside.
The waves were saturated with masses of blood. The waters
shook with the movements of the man-eater, which thrashed about
with indescribable fury. Ned Land hadn't missed his target.
This was the monster's death rattle. Pierced to the heart,
it was struggling with dreadful spasms whose aftershocks knocked
Conseil off his feet.
Meanwhile Ned Land pulled the captain clear. Uninjured, the latter
stood up, went right to the Indian, quickly cut the rope binding
the man to his stone, took the fellow in his arms, and with a vigorous
kick of the heel, rose to the surface of the sea.
The three of us followed him, and a few moments later, miraculously safe,
we reached the fisherman's longboat.
Captain Nemo's first concern was to revive this unfortunate man.
I wasn't sure he would succeed. I hoped so, since the poor devil
hadn't been under very long. But that stroke from the shark's tail
could have been his deathblow.
Fortunately, after vigorous massaging by Conseil and the captain,
I saw the nearly drowned man regain consciousness little by little.
He opened his eyes. How startled he must have felt, how frightened even,
at seeing four huge, copper craniums leaning over him!
And above all, what must he have thought when Captain Nemo pulled
a bag of pearls from a pocket in his diving suit and placed it
in the fisherman's hands? This magnificent benefaction from
the Man of the Waters to the poor Indian from Ceylon was accepted
by the latter with trembling hands. His bewildered eyes indicated
that he didn't know to what superhuman creatures he owed both his
life and his fortune.
At the captain's signal we returned to the bank of shellfish,
and retracing our steps, we walked for half an hour until we encountered
the anchor connecting the seafloor with the Nautilus's skiff.
Back on board, the sailors helped divest us of our heavy copper carapaces.
Captain Nemo's first words were spoken to the Canadian.
"Thank you, Mr. Land," he told him.
"Tit for tat, captain," Ned Land replied. "I owed it to you."
The ghost of a smile glided across the captain's lips, and that was all.
"To the Nautilus," he said.
The longboat flew over the waves. A few minutes later we encountered
the shark's corpse again, floating.
From the black markings on the tips of its fins, I recognized
the dreadful Squalus melanopterus from the seas of the East Indies,
a variety in the species of sharks proper. It was more than twenty-five
feet long; its enormous mouth occupied a third of its body.
It was an adult, as could be seen from the six rows of teeth forming
an isosceles triangle in its upper jaw.
Conseil looked at it with purely scientific fascination,
and I'm sure he placed it, not without good reason, in the class
of cartilaginous fish, order Chondropterygia with fixed gills,
family Selacia, genus Squalus.
While I was contemplating this inert mass, suddenly a dozen of these
voracious melanoptera appeared around our longboat; but, paying no
attention to us, they pounced on the corpse and quarreled over every
scrap of it.
By 8:30 we were back on board the Nautilus.
There I fell to thinking about the incidents that marked our excursion
over the Mannar oysterbank. Two impressions inevitably stood out.
One concerned Captain Nemo's matchless bravery, the other his devotion
to a human being, a representative of that race from which he had
fled beneath the seas. In spite of everything, this strange man
hadn't yet succeeded in completely stifling his heart.
When I shared these impressions with him, he answered me in a tone
touched with emotion:
"That Indian, professor, lives in the land of the oppressed,
and I am to this day, and will be until my last breath, a native
of that same land!"
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