menu_book Chapter 27

CHAPTER XXVII. A PEARL WORTH TEN MILLION. 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, requiem, 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 Aronax, he said to me, are you ready to start? I'm ready. 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 Manar Oyster Bank. 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 water exploring. Captain Nemo took me to the central companionway, whose steps led to the platform. Ned and Konsey were there, enraptured with our pleasure trip getting underway. Orzine position, five of the Nautilus' sailors were waiting for us aboard the skip,

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 the land lay, but I only saw the 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 the gulf formed by the mainland and Manar Island. Under these dark waters,

there stretched a bank of shellfish, an inexhaustible field of pearls, more than 20 miles long. Captain Nemo, Konsey, Ned Land and I found seats in the stern of the skiff. The longboat's cocks swain took the tiller, his four companions leaned into their oars, and 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 10 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, the 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 the shore was too close for comfort, contrary to the Canadian's view, in which it still seemed too far away. As for Konsey, he had come along out of simple curiosity. Near 5.30, the first glimmers of the light on the horizon defined the upper lines of the coast with greater distinctness. Fairly flat to the east, it swelled a little towards the south.

Five miles still separated it from us. Its beach merged with the misty waters. Between us and the shore, the sea was deserted. Not a boat, not a diver. Profound solitude rained over this gathering place of pearl fishermen. As Captain Nemo had commented, we are 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 towards Menar 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 the shellfish. Instantly the skiff wheeled around under the ebb tides outbound thrust. We're here, Professor Aranax, Captain Nemo 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 were suited up as well. None of the Nautilus's men were to go with us on this new excursion. Soon we were

imprisoned to our necks in India rubber clothing and straps fasten the air devices to our backs. As for the room-crov 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 Konse 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 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 that he'd stowed in the skiff before leaving the Nautilus. Then following the captain's example, I let myself be crowned with my heavy copper spear and our air tanks immediately went into action. An instant later, the longboat sailors helped us overboard one after the other

and we set foot on the level sand in a meter and a half of water. Captain Nemo gave us his 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 10 minutes of walking, we were in five meters of water and the terrain had become almost flat. Like a convoy 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 Havanese eel, a genuine eight to centimeter 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 bright colors but sporting a dorsal fin like a sickle, edible fish that when dried and marinated make an excellent dish known by the name Carrowade. Then some sea poachers, fish belonging to the genus Asphidophorides, whose bodies are covered with scaly armor divided into eight lengthwise sections. Meanwhile, as the sun got progressively higher, it let up the watery mass more and more.

The seafloor changed little by little. Its fine grain sand was followed by a genuine causeway of smooth crags covered by carpet of mollusks and zoephites. Among other specimens in these two branches, I noted some windowpane oysters with thin valves of unequal size, the type of Ostracod unique to the Red Sea and Indian Ocean, then orange-hued Lucina with circular shells, all shaped auger shells, some of the Persian Murex snails that subide the Nautilus with such

wonderful dyes, spiky periwinkles 15 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 spikes, lamp shells, edible duck clams that feed the Hindu marketplace, subtly luminous jellyfish of the species Peligea panopraea, and finally some wonderful Oculina flabelliforma, magnificent sea fans that fashion one of the most luxuriant tree forms in the ocean. In the midst of this

moving vegetation, under arbors of water plants, they erased legions of clumsy articulates, in particular some fanged frog crabs whose carapaces forms 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 had observed, to which nature had 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 pinchers. Here under these clear waves, this crab raced around with matchless agility while green turtles from the species frequenting the Malabar coast moves sluggishly among the crumbling rocks. Near seven o'clock we finally surveyed the bank of shellfish where pearl oysters reproduced by the millions. These valuable mollusks stick to the rocks

where they're strongly attached with a mass of brown filaments that forbids their moving about. In this respect, oysters are inferior to even mollusks to whom nature has not denied all talent for locomotion. The shellfish melligrina, that womb for pearls whose valves are nearly equal in size, has a shape of a round shell with thick walls and very rough exterior. Some of the 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 15 centimeters in width and were 10 or more years old. Captain Nemo pointed to this prodigious heap of shellfish and I saw 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'd carried at his side. But we couldn't stop. We had to follow the captain

who led down trails seemingly known only to him. 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 oyster bank would lower unpredictably. Often we went around tall pointed rocks rising like pyramids in their dark crevices, hung crustaceans aiming their long legs like heavy artillery, watched us with unblinking eyes while underfoot there crept millipedes, blood worms, acreoworms, and annelid worms whose antenna

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 a drowned light. Captain Nemo went in. We followed him. My eyes grew accustomed to this comparative gloom. I distinguished the unpredictably

contoured springlings 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 I had not yet noticed. It was an oyster of extraordinary dimensions, a titanic giant clay

a holy water font that could have held the 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 massive 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 15 kilos of meat and you need the stomach of King Gargantua

to eat a couple dozen. Captain Nemo was obviously familiar with this bivalves existence. This wasn't the first time he'd paid a visit to it 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 it and stuck his dagger vertically between the shells to

discourage any ideas of closing up. Then with his hand he raised the fringed membrane filled tunic that made up the animal's mantle. There between the leaf-like folds I saw a loose pearl as big as a coconut. Its globular shape, perfect clarity, and a 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 had 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 farms in China and India,

he had even predetermined the creation of this pearl by sticking under the mollusk's fold 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 million francs. It was a superb natural curiosity rather than a luxurious piece of jewelry because I don't know 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 fancy 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. Konsei 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 re-entered our element. I think I've now earned the right to dub at that. Ten minutes later, Captain Nemo stopped suddenly. I thought he'd called a halt so 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 towards a spot with a liquid mass and I looked carefully. Five meters away, a shadow appeared and dropped to the sea floor. The alarming idea of sharks crossed my mind, but I was mistaken and once again we didn't have to deal with the monsters of the deep. It was a man, a living man, a black Indian fisherman, a poor devil who no doubt had come together 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, cut in the shape of a sugarloaf which he gripped between his feet while a rope connected to his boat served to lower him more quickly to the ocean floor. This was the extent of his equipment. Arriving on the sea floor at a depth of five meters, he fell to his knees and stuffed his sack with shellfish gathered at random. Then he went back, emptied his sack,

pulled up his stone, and started all over again, the whole process lasting only 30 seconds. This diver didn't see us. A shadow cast by our crag hit 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 waves, eavesdropping on his movements, not missing a single detail of his fishing? So he went up and down several times. He gathered only about 10 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'd gotten used to the sight of his fascinating fishing when all at once, just as the Indian was kneeling on the sea floor, I saw him make a frightened gesture.

Stand, gather himself, and 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 fin, the voracious animal shot towards 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 sea floor, this scene lasted barely a few seconds. The shark returned, rolled over on its back, and was 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 a 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 its opaque liquid I could

see nothing else. Nothing else, until the moment when, through the rift of 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 the stabs of the dagger, yet unable to deliver the deciding thrust in the other world, a direct hit to the heart. In its struggles, the man-eater churned the watery mess 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 sea floor, 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 its 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 Konsei off his feet. Meanwhile, Ned Land pulled the captain clear. Uninjured, the ladder stood up, went right to the Indian, quickly cut the rope binding the man to his stone, and 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 hope so, since the poor devil hadn't been under very long. But that stroke from the shark's tail could have been his death blow. Fortunately, after vigorously massaging by Konsei 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 his pocket of his diving suit and placed them in the fisherman's hands. This magnificent benefaction from the man of the waters to the poor Indian from Ceylon was accepted by the ladder 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 the 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 of the species of the shark's proper.

It was more than 25 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. Kansai looked at it with purely scientific fascination, and I'm sure he placed it, not without good reason, in the class of the cartilaginous fish order chondropterodontus. And while I was contemplating this inert mass, suddenly a dozen of these voracious

monoptera 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 aboard the nautilus. There I felt a thinking about the incidents that marked our journey. After a long boat boat and a small Nautilus. There I fell to thinking about the incidents that marked our excursion over the Manar oyster bank. Two impressions inevitably stood out. One concerned Captain Nemo's matchless

bravery. The other the 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.