20,000 Leagues Under The Sea. Жюль Верн
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collision had happened about 11 p.m. About 1 a.m. I was taken with extreme fatigue, and all my limbs became stiff with cramp. Conseil was obliged to keep me up, and the care of our preservation depended upon him alone. I heard the poor fellow breathing hard, and knew he could not keep up much longer.
‘Let me go! Leave me!’ I cried.
‘Leave monsieur? Never!’ he answered. ‘I shall drown with him.’
Just then the moon appeared through the fringe of a large cloud that the wind was driving eastward. The surface of the sea shone under her rays. I lifted my head and saw the frigate. She was five miles from us, and only looked like a dark mass, scarcely distinguishable. I saw no boats.
I tried to call out, but it was useless at that distance. My swollen lips would not utter a sound. Conseil could still speak, and I heard him call out ‘Help!’ several times.
We suspended our movements for an instant and listened. It might be only a singing in our ears, but it seemed to me that a cry answered Conseil’s.
‘Did you hear?’ I murmured.
‘Yes, yes!’
And Conseil threw another despairing cry into space. This time there could be no mistake. A human voice answered ours. Was it the voice of some other victim of the shock, or a boat hailing us in the darkness? Conseil made a supreme effort, and, leaning on my shoulder whilst I made a last struggle for us both, he raised himself half out of the water, and I heard him shout. Then my strength was exhausted, my fingers slipped, my mouth filled with salt water, I went cold all over, raised my head for the last time, and began to sink.
At that moment I hit against something hard, and I clung to it in desperation. Then I felt myself lifted up out of the water, and I fainted. I soon came to, thanks to the vigorous friction that was being applied to my body, and I half opened my eyes.
‘Conseil!’ I murmured.
‘Did monsieur ring?’ answered Conseil.
Just then, by the light of the moon that was getting lower on the horizon, I perceived a face that was not Conseil’s, but which I immediately recognised.
‘Ned!’ I cried.
‘The same, sir, looking after his prize,’ replied the Canadian.
‘Were you thrown into the sea when the frigate was struck?’
‘Yes, sir, but, luckier than you, I soon got upon a floating island.’
‘An island.’
‘Yes, or if you like better, on our giant narwhal.’
‘What do you mean, Ned?’
‘I mean that I understand now why my harpoon did not stick into the skin, but was blunted.’
‘Why, Ned, why?’
‘Because the beast is made of sheet-iron plates.’
I wriggled myself quickly to the top of the half-submerged being or object on which we had found refuge. I struck my foot against it. It was evidently a hard and impenetrable body, and not the soft substance which forms the mass of great marine mammalia. But this hard body could not be a bony carapace like that of antediluvian animals. I could not even class it amongst amphibious reptiles, such as tortoises and alligators, for the blackish back that supported me was not scaly but smooth and polished.
The blow produced a metallic sound, and, strange as it may appear, seemed caused by being struck on riveted plates. Doubt was no longer possible. The animal, monster, natural phenomenon that had puzzled the entire scientific world, and misled the imagination of sailors in the two hemispheres, was, it must be acknowledged, a still more astonishing phenomenon, a phenomenon of man’s making. The discovery of the existence of the most fabulous and mythological being would not have astonished me in the same degree. It seems quite simple that anything prodigious should come from the hand of the Creator, but to find the impossible realised by the hand of man was enough to confound the imagination.
We were lying upon the top of a sort of submarine boat, which looked to me like an immense steel fish. Ned Land’s mind was made up on that point, and Conseil and I could only agree with him.
‘But then,’ said I, ‘this apparatus must have a locomotive machine, and a crew inside of it to work it.’
‘Evidently,’ replied the harpooner, ‘and yet for the three hours that I have inhabited this floating island, it has not given sign of life.’
‘The vessel has not moved?’
‘No, M. Aronnax. It is cradled in the waves, but it does not move.’
‘We know, without the slightest doubt, however, that it is endowed with great speed, and as a machine is necessary to produce the speed, and a mechanician to guide it, I conclude from that that we are saved.’
‘Hum,’ said Ned Land in a reserved tone of voice.
At that moment, and as if to support my arguments, a boiling was heard at the back of the strange apparatus, the propeller of which was evidently a screw, and it began to move. We only had time to hold on to its upper part, which emerged about a yard out of the water. Happily its speed was not excessive.
‘As long as it moves horizontally,’ murmured Ned Land, ‘I have nothing to say. But if it takes it into its head to plunge, I would not give two dollars for my skin!’
The Canadian might have said less still. It therefore became urgent to communicate with whatever beings were shut up in the machine. I looked on its surface for an opening, a panel, a ‘man hole,’ to use the technical expression; but the lines of bolts, solidly fastened down on the joints of the plates, were clear and uniform.
Besides, the moon then disappeared and left us in profound obscurity. We were obliged to wait till daybreak to decide upon the means of penetrating to the interior of this submarine boat.
Thus, then, our safety depended solely upon the caprice of the mysterious steersmen who directed this apparatus, and if they plunged we were lost! Unless that happened I did not doubt the possibility of entering into communication with them. And it was certain that unless they made their own air they must necessarily return from time to time to the surface of the ocean to renew their provision of breathable molecules. Therefore there must be an opening which put the interior of the boat into communication with the atmosphere.
As to the hope of being saved by Commander Farragut, that had to be completely renounced. We were dragged westward, and I estimated that our speed, relatively moderate, attained twelve miles an hour. The screw beat the waves with mathematical regularity, sometimes emerging and throwing the phosphorescent water to a great height.
About 4 a.m. the rapidity of the apparatus increased. We resisted with difficulty this vertiginous impulsion, when the waves beat upon us in all their fury. Happily Ned touched with his hand a wide balustrade fastened on to the upper part of the iron top, and we succeeded in holding on to it solidly.
At last this long night slipped away. My incomplete memory does not allow me to retrace all the impressions of it. A single detail returns to my mind. During certain lullings of the sea and wind, I thought several times I heard vague sounds, a sort of fugitive harmony produced by far-off chords. What, then, was the mystery of this submarine navigation, of which the entire world vainly sought the explanation? What beings lived in this strange boat? What mechanical agent allowed it to move with such prodigious speed?
When daylight appeared the morning mists enveloped us, but they soon rose, and I proceeded to make an attentive examination of the sort of horizontal platform we were on, when I felt myself gradually sinking.
‘Mille diables!’ cried Land, kicking against the sonorous metal, ‘open, inhospitable creatures!’
But it was difficult to make oneself heard amidst the deafening noise made by the screw. Happily the sinking ceased.
Suddenly a noise like iron bolts being violently withdrawn was heard from the