Chapter 8
CHAPTER VIII. 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. Stuck in the dark, surrounded 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 Kinsale 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 was darkness, but such utter darkness that after several minutes my eyes were still unable to catch a single one of those hazy gleams that drifted through even the blackest nights. Meanwhile, furious at these goings-on, Nedland gave free rein to his indignation.
Damnation! he exclaimed. These people are about as hospitable as the savages of New Calcedonia. 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, Kinsale 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. Author's note. A bowie knife is a wide-bladed dagger that Americans are forever carrying around.
The first one of these bandits who lays a hand on me— 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. And turning round I bumped into a wooden table, next to which several stools had been set. The floor of this prison lay hidden beneath a thick hempen matting that deadened the sound of footsteps.
Its naked walls didn't reveal any trace of a door or window. Going around the opposite way, Conceal 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 recognised 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 Conceal. 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. Another sound reached our ears. Everything seemed dead inside this boat. Was it in motion, 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. Unlocking noises became audible, the 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 de Dureaux 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. He could sense that his everyday conversation must have been packed with such vivid figures of speech that it could have been a sonification, 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 a 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 tranquillity of blood. He was a man of a very high moral standard, and he was a man of a very high moral standard. 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, first gaze seemed to reflect thinking on an elevated plane, and that the harmony of his facial expressions with his face was so clear and clear, that he could be seen as a man of great pride. This was not an elevated plane, and that the harmony of his facial expressions and bodily movements
resulted in an overall effect of unquestionable candour. According to the findings of physiognomists, there was analysts of facial character. I felt involuntarily reassured in his presence, and this boded well for our interview. Whether this individual was 35 or 50 years of age, I could not precisely state.
He was tall, his forehead broad, his nose straight, his mouth clearly etched, his teeth magnificent, his hand refined, tapered, and to use a word from palmistry, highly psychic. In other words, worthy of serving 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 Land's. 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 this 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 shawl and sealskin fishing boats, 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 turned to his companion, he conversed with him in a language I didn't recognize, but was a sonorous, harmonious, flexible dialect,
whose vowels seemed to undergo a highly varied accentuation. The other replied with a shake in 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, Consale said to me. Perhaps these gentlemen will gasp 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 Consale, and Mr. Nedland Harpoon. 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 your bag of tricks, the best English ever spoken by an English 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 contents was the same, but the form differed. Carried 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 wits of habeas corpus, threatened to press charges against anyone holding him in illegal custody, ranted, gesticulated, shouted, and finally conveyed by an expressive gesture, though he 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 been. Our visitors didn't bat an eye. Apparently they were engineers who understood the languages of neither the French physicist, Arago, nor the English physicist Faraday.
Thoroughly baffled, after vainly exhausting our philological resources, I no longer knew what tactic to pursue, and Kinsell told me, If master will authorise me, I will tell the whole business in German. What? You know German? I exclaimed. Like most Flemish people, with all due respect, my master.
On the contrary, my respect is due you. Go to it, my boy. And Kinsell, in his serene voice, described for the third time the various vicissitudes of our story. But despite our narrator's fine accent and stylish terms 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. Cicero would have plunked 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 favouring us with one of those encouraging gestures that are used in every country of the world. The door closed again. This is outrageous!
Nedlaan shouted, exploding for the twentieth time. I ask you, we speak French, English, German and Latin to these rogues, and I'll give you a few words of them as a decency to even answer back. Calm down, Ned, I told the seething 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? Calm down, Ned, I told the seething 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! conceal, 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 a favour of waiting a bit
before you form your views on the commander and crew of this boat. My views are fully formed, Nedlaan shot back. They're rogues. Oh, good! And from what country? Roguedom! Oh, my God, 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 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 of not knowing every language, conceal replied, or the drawback in not having one universal language. Which would all go out the window, Nedlaan replied.
Don't you see? These people have a language all to themselves, a language they've invented just to cause despair in decent people 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 Amatou Islands, from Paris to the Antipodes, doesn't it mean, I'm hungry, give me a bite to eat? Oh, conceal put in, there are some people so unintelligent by nature. As he was saying these words, the door opened, a steward entered. Author's note, a steward is a waiter on board a steamer.
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. Meanwhile, our silent steward, perhaps a deaf mute, set the table and made three place settings.
There was something mysterious afoot, conceal said, and it bodes well. Bah! replied the rancorous harpooner, what the devil do you suppose they eat around here? Turtle rivers, loin of shark, dog fish steaks. We'll soon find out, conceal said.
Overlaid with silver dish covers, various platters had been neatly positioned on the taper cloth, 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 motto, and here is its exact duplicate.
Mobilius in mobili, N. Moving within the moving element. It was a highly appropriate motto for this underwater machine, so long as the proposition in 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 Concealer 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 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. Yea, gods, I'll asleep soundly, Concealer said. Me, I'm out like a light, Nedland replied. My duke of Manions lay down on the cabin's carpeting and was 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 our eyelids open. Where were we?
What strange power was carrying us along? I felt, or at least I thought I did, submersible, sinking towards the sea's lower strata. Intense nightmares besieged me. In these mysterious marine sanctuaries I envisioned hosts of unknown animals,
in this underwater boat, and in the sea, in 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.
