Chapter 28
CHAPTER IV. THE RED SEA During the day of January 29th, the island of Ceylon disappeared below the horizon, and at a speed of 20 mph, the Nautilus glided into the labyrinthine channels that separate the Maldive and Lackadive Islands. It likewise hugged Kilton Island, a shore of Madriporic origin, discovered by Vasco da Gama in 1499, and one of the 19 chief islands in the group of the Lackadives, located between latitude 10º and 14º 30 minutes north, and between longitude 50º 72 minutes and 69 degrees east. By then we had fared 16,220 miles, or 7,500 leagues, from our starting point in the seas of Japan. The next day, January 30th, when the Nautilus rose to the surface of the ocean, there was no more land in sight.
Setting its course to the north-northwest, the ship headed toward the Gulf of Oman, carved out between Arabia and the Indian Peninsula, and providing access to the Persian Gulf. This was obviously a blind alley with no possible outlet. So where was Captain Nemo taking us? I was unable to say, which didn't satisfy the Canadian who that day asked me where we were going. We're going, Mr. Ned, where the captain's fancy takes us.
His fancy, the Canadian replied, won't take us very far. The Persian Gulf has no outlet, and if we enter those waters, it won't be long before we return in our tracks. All right, we'll return, Mr. Land, and after the Persian Gulf, if the Nautilus wants to visit the Red Sea, the Strait of Bob-el-Mandeb is still there to let us in. I don't have to tell you, sir, Ned Land replied, that the Red Sea is just as landlocked as the Gulf, since the Isthmus of Suez hasn't been cut all the way through yet. And even if it was, a boat as secretive as ours wouldn't risk a canal intersected with locks, so the Red Sea won't be our way back to Europe either.
But I didn't say we'd return to Europe. What do you figure, then? I figure that after visiting these unusual waterways of Arabia and Egypt, the Nautilus will go back down to the Indian Ocean, perhaps through Mozambique Channel, perhaps off the Masquerine Islands, and then make for the Cape of Good Hope. And once we're at the Cape of Good Hope, the Canadian asked with typical persistence. Well, then, we'll enter the Atlantic Ocean, with which we aren't yet familiar.
What's wrong, Ned, my friend? Are you still tired of this voyage under the seas? Are you bored with the constantly changing sight of these underwater wonders? Speaking for myself, I'll be extremely distressed to see the end of a voyage so few men will ever have a chance to make. But don't you realize, Professor Aranax, the Canadian replied, that soon we'll have been imprisoned for three whole months aboard this Nautilus? No, Ned, I didn't realize it. I don't want to realize it, and I don't keep track of every day and every hour. But when will it be over?
In its appointed time. Meanwhile, there's nothing we can do about it, and our discussions are futile. Well, my gallant Ned, if you come and tell me, a chance of escape is available to us, then I'll discuss it with you. But that isn't the case, and in all honesty, I don't think Captain Nemo ever ventures into European seas. This short dialogue reveals that in my mania for the Nautilus, I was turning into the spitting image of its commander.
As for Ned Land, he ended our talk in his best speechifying style. That's all fine and dandy, but in my humble opinion, a life in jail is a life without joy. For four days, until February 3rd, the Nautilus inspected the Gulf of Omon at various speeds and depths. It seemed to be traveling at random, as if hesitating over which course to follow, but it never crossed the Tropic of Cancer. After leaving this Gulf, we raised Muscat for an instant, the most important town in the country of Omon.
I marveled at its strange appearance in the midst of the black rocks surrounding it, against which the white of its houses and forts stood out sharply. I spotted the rounded domes of its mosques, the elegant tips of its minarets, and its fresh leafy terraces. But it was only a fleeting vision, and the Nautilus soon sank beneath the dark waves of these waterways. Then our ship went along at a distance of six miles from the Arabian coast of Mara and Hadramat, their undulating lines of mountains relieved by a few ancient ruins.
On February 5th, we finally put into the Gulf of Aden, a genuine funnel stuck into the neck of Bob Elmandeb, and bottling these Indian waters in the Red Sea. On February 6th, the Nautilus cruised in sight of the city of Aden, perched on a promontory connected to the continent by a narrow isthmus, a sort of inaccessible Gibraltar whose fortifications the English rebuilt after capturing it in 1839. I glimpsed the octagonal minarets of this town, which used to be one of the wealthiest, busiest commercial centers along this coast,
as the Arab historian Idrisi tells it. I was convinced that when Captain Nemo reached this point he would back out again, but I was mistaken, and much to my surprise, he did nothing of the sort. The next day, February 7th, we entered the Strait of Bob Elmandeb, whose name means Gate of Tears in the Arabic language. Twenty miles wide, it's only 52 kilometers long, and with the Nautilus launched at full speed, clearing it was the work of barely an hour.
But I didn't see a thing. Not even Parham Island, where the British government built fortifications to strengthen Aden's position. There were many English and French steamers plowing this narrow passageway, liners going from Suez to Bombay, Calcutta, Melbourne, Reunion Island, and Mauritius. Far too much traffic for the Nautilus to make an appearance on the surface, so it wisely stayed in mid-water.
Finally, at noon, we were plowing the waves of the Red Sea. The Red Sea, that great lake so famous in biblical traditions, seldom replenished by rains, fed by no important rivers, continually drained by a high rate of evaporation, its water level dropping a meter and a half every year. If it were fully landlocked like a lake, this odd gulf might dry up completely.
On this score, it's inferior to its neighbors, the Caspian Sea and the Dead Sea, whose levels lower only to the point where their evaporation exactly equals the amounts of water they take to their hearts. This Red Sea is 2,600 kilometers long, with an average width of 240. In the days of the Ptolemies and the Roman Emperors, it was a great commercial artery for the world, and when its isthmus has been cut through,
it will completely regain that bygone importance that the Suez Railways have already brought back in part. I would not even attempt to understand the wind that induced Captain Nemo to take us into this gulf, but I wholeheartedly approved of the Nautiluses entering it. It adopted a medium pace, sometimes staying on the surface, sometimes diving to avoid some ship, and so I could observe both the inside and the topside of this highly unusual sea.
On February 8th, as early as the first hours of daylight, Mocha appeared before us, a town now in ruins, whose walls would collapse at the mere sound of a cannon, and which shelters a few leafy date-trees here and there. This once important city used to contain six public market-places, plus 26 mosques, and its walls, protected by 14 forts, fashioned a 3-kilometer girdle around it.
Then the Nautilus drew near the beaches of Africa, where the sea is considerably deeper. There, through the open panels and in a mid-water of crystal clarity, our ship enabled us to study wonderful bushes of shining coral and huge chunks of rock wrapped in splendid green furs of algae and fucus. What an indescribable sight, and what a variety of settings and scenery
were these reefs and volcanic islands leveled off by the Libyan coast. But soon the Nautilus hugged the eastern shore, where these tree-forms appear in all their glory. This was off the coast of Tehama, and there, such zoophyte displays not only flourished below sea level, but they also fashioned picturesque networks that unreeled as high as ten fathoms above it. The latter were more whimsical, but less colorful than the former,
which kept their blooms thanks to the moist vitality of the waters. How many delightful hours I spent in this way at the lounge window! How many new specimens of underwater flora and fauna I marveled at beneath the light of our electric beacon! Mushroom-shaped fungus coral, some slate-colored sea anemone including the species Thalassianthus aster, among others, organ-pipe coral arranged like flutes and just begging for a puff from the god Pan,
shells unique to this sea that dwell in madripoor cavities and whose bases are twisted into squat spirals, and finally a thousand samples of a polyporea I hadn't observed until then, the common sponge. The class spongiaria has been created by scientists precisely for this unusual exhibit whose usefulness is beyond dispute. The sponge is definitely not a plant, as some naturalists still believe, but an animal of the lowest order, a polyporea inferior even to coral.
Its animal nature isn't in doubt, and we can't accept even the view of the ancients who regarded it as halfway between plant and animal, but I must say that naturalists are not in agreement on the structural mode of sponges. For some, it's a polyporea, and for others, such as Professor Milne Edwards, it's a single, solitary individual. The class spongiaria contains about 300 species that are encountered in a large number of seas, and even in certain streams, where they've been given the name freshwater sponges.
But their waters of choice are the Red Sea and the Mediterranean near the Greek islands or the coast of Syria. These waters witness the reproduction and growth of soft, delicate bath sponges whose prices run as high as 150 francs apiece, the yellow sponge from Syria, the horn sponge from Barbary, etc. But since I had no hope of studying these zoophytes in the seaports of the Levant,
from which we were separated by the insuperable Isthmus of Suez, I had to be content with observing them in the waters of the Red Sea. So I called Concelle to my side. While at an average depth of 8 to 9 meters, the Nautilus slowly skimmed every beautiful rock on the easterly coast.
There, sponges grew in every shape, globular, star-like, leaf-like, finger-like. With reasonable accuracy, they lived up to their nicknames of basket sponges, chalice sponges, distaff sponges, elkhorn sponges, lion's paws, peacock's tails, and Neptune's gloves, designations bestowed on them by fishermen more poetically inclined than scientists. A gelatinous semi-fluid substance coated the fibrous tissue of these sponges,
and from this tissue there escaped a steady trickle of water that, after carrying sustenance to each cell, was expelled by a contracting movement. This jelly-like substance disappears when the polyp dies, emitting ammonia as it rots. Finally, nothing remains but the fibers, either gelatinous or made of horn, that constitute your household sponge,
which takes on a russet hue and is used for various tasks depending upon its degree of elasticity, permeability, or resistance to saturation. These polypries were sticking to rocks, shells of mollusks, and even the stalks of water plants. They adorned the smallest crevices, some sprawling, others standing or hanging like coral outgrowths. I told Concelle that sponges are fished up in two ways, either by dragnet or by hand.
The latter method calls for the services of a diver, but it's preferable because it spares the polypries tissue, leaving it with a much higher market value. Other zoophytes swarming near the sponges consisted chiefly of a very elegant species of jellyfish. Mollusks were represented by varieties of squid that, according to Professor Orbigny,
are unique to the Red Sea, and reptiles by the vergata turtles belonging to the genus Chelonia, which furnished our table with a dainty but wholesome dish. As for fish, they were numerous and often remarkable. Here are the ones the Nautilus' nets most frequently hauled on board.
Rays, including spotted rays that were oval in shape and brick-red in color, their bodies strewn with erratic blue speckles and identifiable by their jagged double stings, silver-backed skates, common stingrays with stippled tails, butterfly rays that looked like huge two-meter cloaks flapping at mid-depth,
toothless guitarfish that were a type of cartilaginous fish closer to the shark, trunkfish, known as dromedaries, that were one and a half feet long and had humps ending in backward-curving stings, serpentine moray eels with silver tails and bluish backs, plus brown pectorals trimmed in gray piping,
a species of butterfish called the fiatola, decked out in thin gold stripes and the three colors of the French flag, montagu blennies four decimeters long, superb jacks handsomely embellished by seven black crosswise streaks with blue and yellow fins,
plus gold and silver scales, snooks, standard mullet with yellow heads, parrotfish, wrasse,
tigerfish, gobies, etc., plus a thousand other fish common to the oceans we had already crossed. On February 9th,
the Nautilus cruised in the widest part of the Red Sea, measuring 190 miles straight across from Sawkin on the west coast to Cunfida on the east coast. At noon, that day after our position fix, Captain Nemo climbed onto the platform where I happened to be. I vowed not to let him go below again without at least sounding him out on his future plans.
As soon as he saw me, he came over, graciously offered me a cigar, and said to me, Well, Professor, are you pleased with this Red Sea? Have you seen enough of its hidden wonders, its fish and zoofights,
its garden of sponges and forests of coral? Have you glimpsed the towns built on its shores? Yes, Captain Nemo, I replied, and the Nautilus is wonderfully suited to this whole survey. Ah, it's a clever boat.
Yes, sir, clever and daring, and invulnerable. It fears neither the Red Sea's dreadful storms nor its currents and reefs. Indeed, I said, this sea is mentioned as one of the worst, and in the days of the ancients, if I'm not mistaken,
it had an abominable reputation. Thoroughly abominable, Professor Aranax. The Greek and Latin historians can find nothing to say in its favor, and the Greek geographer Strabo adds it's especially rough during the rainy season
and the period of summer prevailing winds. The Arab Adresi, referring to it by the name of Gulf of Colzum, relates that ships perished in large numbers on its sandbanks, and that no one risked navigating it by night. This, he claims, is a sea subject to fearful hurricanes,
strewn with inhospitable islands, and with nothing good to offer, either on its surface or in its steps. As a matter of fact, the same views can also be found in Arian,
Agatharchides, and Artemidurus. One can easily see, I answered, that those historians didn't navigate aboard the Nautilus. Indeed, the captain replied with a smile, and in this respect,
the moderns aren't much further along than the ancients. It took many centuries to discover the mechanical power of steam. Who knows whether we'll see a second Nautilus within the next hundred years. Progress is slow, Professor Aranax.
It's true, I replied. Your ship is a century ahead of its time, perhaps several centuries. It would be most unfortunate if such a secret were to die with its inventor. Captain Nemo did not reply.
After some minutes of silence, we were discussing, he said, the views of ancient historians on the dangers of navigating the Red Sea. True, I replied. But weren't their fears exaggerated?
Yes and no, Professor Aranax, answered Captain Nemo, who seemed to know his Red Sea by heart. To a modern ship, well-rigged,
solidly constructed, and in control of its course, thanks to obedient steam, some conditions are no longer hazardous that offered all sorts of dangers to the vessels of the ancients.
Picture those early navigators venturing forth in sailboats, built from planks lashed together with palm-tree ropes, caulked with powdered resin, and coated with dogfish grease. They didn't even have instruments for taking their bearings.
They went by guesswork, in the midst of currents they barely knew. Under such conditions, shipwrecks had to be numerous. But nowadays,
steamers providing service between Suez and the South Seas have nothing to fear from the fury of this gulf, despite the contrary winds of its monsoons. Their captains and passengers no longer prepare for departure with sacrifices to placate the gods.
And after returning, they don't traipse in wreaths and gold ribbons to say thanks at the local temple. Agreed, I said. And steam seems to have killed off all gratitude
in seamen's hearts. But since you seem to have made a special study of this sea, Captain, can you tell me how it got its name? Many explanations exist on the subject,
Professor Aranax. Would you like to hear the views of one chronicler in the fourteenth century? Gladly. This fanciful fellow claims the sea was given its name
after the crossing of the Israelites, when the Pharaoh perished in those waves that came together again at Moses' command. To mark that miraculous sequel, the sea turned red without e...
Thus no other course would do but to name it for its hue. An artistic explanation, Captain Nemo, I replied,
but I'm unable to rest content with it, so I'll ask you for your own personal views. Here they come. To my thinking, Professor Aranax,
this Red Sea designation must be regarded as a translation of the Hebrew word Edrum. And if the ancients gave it that name,
it was because of the unique color of its waters. Until now, however, I've only seen clear waves without any unique hue. Surely.
But as we move ahead to the far end of the sculf, you will notice its odd appearance. I recall seeing the Bay of Altour completely red,
like a lake of blood. And you attribute this color to the presence of microscopic algae? Yes. It's a purplish,
mucilaginous substance produced by those tiny buds known by the name Trichodesmia, 40,000 of which
are needed to occupy the space of one square millimeter. Perhaps you'll encounter them when we reach Altour. Hence, Captain Nemo,
this isn't the first time you've gone through the Red Sea aboard the Nautilus. No, sir. Then,
since you've already mentioned the crossing of the Israelites and the catastrophe that befell the Egyptians, I would ask
if you've ever discovered any traces under the waters of that great historic event. No, professor, and for an excellent reason.
What's that? It's because the same locality where Moses crossed with all his people
is now so clogged with sand camels can barely get their legs wet. You can understand that my Nautilus
wouldn't have enough water for itself. And that locality is? I asked. That locality
lies a little above Suez in a sound that used to form a deep estuary when the Red Sea
stretched as far as the Bitter Lakes. Now, whether or not their crossing
was literally miraculous, the Israelites did cross there in returning to the Promised Land.
And the Pharaoh's army did perish at precisely that locality. So I think that excavating
those sands would bring to light a great many weapons and tools of Egyptian origin.
Obviously, I replied, and for the sake of archaeology, let's hope
that sooner or later such excavations do take place. Once new towns are settled
on the Isthmus after the Suez Canal has been cut through, a canal, by the way,
of little use to a ship such as the Nautilus. Surely, but of great use
to the world at large, Captain Nemo said. The ancients well understood the usefulness
to commerce of connecting the Red Sea with the Mediterranean, but they never dreamed
of cutting a canal between the two. Instead, they picked the Nile as their link.
If we can trust tradition, it was probably Egypt's king, Sestostris, who started digging
the canal needed to join the Nile with the Red Sea. What's certain
is that by 615 B.C., King Necho II was hard at work on a canal that was fed
by Nile water and ran through the Egyptian plains opposite Arabia. This canal
could be traveled in four days, and it was so wide two triple-tiered galleys could pass
through it abreast. Its construction was continued by Darius the Great, son of Hystaspes,
and probably completed by King Ptolemy II. Strabo saw it used for shipping, but the weakness
of its slope between its starting point near Bubastus and the Red Sea left it navigable
only a few months out of the year. This canal served commerce until the century
of Rome's Antonine emperors. It was then abandoned and covered with sand, subsequently reinstated
by Arabius Caliph Omar I, and finally filled in for good in 761 or 762 A.D. by Caliph al-Mansur
in an effort to prevent supplies from reaching Mohammed ibn Abdullah, who had rebelled
against him. During his Egyptian campaign, your general Napoleon Bonaparte discovered traces
of this old canal in the Suez desert, and when the tide caught him by surprise, he well-nigh perished
just a few hours before rejoining his regiment at Hajaroth, the very place
where Moses had pitched camp 3,300 years before him. Well, Captain, what the ancients
hesitated to undertake, Mr. de Lesseps is now finishing up. His joining of these two seas
will shorten the route from Cadiz to the East Indies by 9,000 kilometers,
and he'll soon change Africa into an immense island. Yes, Professor Aranax, and you have every right
to be proud of your fellow countrymen. Such a man brings a nation more honor
than the greatest commanders. Like so many others, he began with difficulties and setbacks, but he triumphed
because he has the volunteer spirit, and it's sad to think that this deed, which should have been
international indeed, which would have ensured that any administration went down in history, will succeed only
through the efforts of one man. So all hail to Mr. de Lesseps. Yes, all hail
to that great French citizen, I replied, quite startled by how emphatically Captain Nemo
had just spoken. Unfortunately, he went on, I can't take you through that Suez Canal,
but the day after tomorrow you'll be able to see the long jetties of Port Said when we're in
the Mediterranean. In the Mediterranean, I exclaimed. Yes, Professor, does that amaze you?
What amazes me is thinking that we'll be there the day after tomorrow. Oh, really?
Yes, Captain, although, since I've been aboard your vessel, I should have formed
the habit of not being amazed by anything. But what is it that startles you?
The thought of how hideously fast the Nautilus will need to go if we'll double
the Cape of Good Hope, circle around Africa, and lie in the open Mediterranean by the day after tomorrow.
And who says it will circle Africa, Professor? What is this talk of doubling
the Cape of Good Hope? But unless the Nautilus navigates on dry land and crosses over the Isthmus, or under it,
Professor Aranax? Under it? Surely, Captain Nemo replied sternly.
Under that tongue of land, nature long ago made what man today is making
on its surface. What? There is a passageway? Yes, an underground passageway
that I've named the Arabian Tunnel. It starts below Suez and leads to the Bay of Pelusium.
But isn't that Isthmus only composed of quicksand? To a certain depth, but at merely fifty meters one encounters
a firm foundation of rock. And it's by luck that you discovered this passageway? I asked more and more startled.
Luck plus logic, Professor. And logic even more than luck. Captain, I hear you, but I can't believe my ears. Oh, sir.
The old saying still holds. Aris habent et non audient. Latin. They have ears, but do not hear.
Editor. Not only does this passageway exist, but I've taken advantage of it on several occasions. Without it,
I wouldn't have ventured today into such a blind alley as the Red Sea. Is it indiscreet to ask how you discovered this tunnel?
Sir, the captain answered me, there can be no secrets between men who will never leave each other. I ignored this innuendo
and waited for Captain Nemo's explanation. Professor, he told me, the simple logic of the naturalist led me to discover this passageway, and I alone am familiar with it.
I noted that in the Red Sea and the Mediterranean there exist a number of absolutely identical species of fish, eel,
butterfish, greenfish, bass, jewelfish, flyingfish.
