The Last Words Of Captain Nemo

: PART TWO

The panels had closed on this dreadful vision, but light had not

returned to the saloon: all was silence and darkness within the

Nautilus. At wonderful speed, a hundred feet beneath the water, it was

leaving this desolate spot. Whither was it going? To the north or

south? Where was the man flying to after such dreadful retaliation? I

had returned to my room, where Ned and Conseil had remained silent

enough. I fe t an insurmountable horror for Captain Nemo. Whatever he

had suffered at the hands of these men, he had no right to punish thus.

He had made me, if not an accomplice, at least a witness of his

vengeance. At eleven the electric light reappeared. I passed into the

saloon. It was deserted. I consulted the different instruments. The

Nautilus was flying northward at the rate of twenty-five miles an hour,

now on the surface, and now thirty feet below it. On taking the

bearings by the chart, I saw that we were passing the mouth of the

Manche, and that our course was hurrying us towards the northern seas

at a frightful speed. That night we had crossed two hundred leagues of

the Atlantic. The shadows fell, and the sea was covered with darkness

until the rising of the moon. I went to my room, but could not sleep.

I was troubled with dreadful nightmare. The horrible scene of

destruction was continually before my eyes. From that day, who could

tell into what part of the North Atlantic basin the Nautilus would take

us? Still with unaccountable speed. Still in the midst of these

northern fogs. Would it touch at Spitzbergen, or on the shores of Nova

Zembla? Should we explore those unknown seas, the White Sea, the Sea

of Kara, the Gulf of Obi, the Archipelago of Liarrov, and the unknown

coast of Asia? I could not say. I could no longer judge of the time

that was passing. The clocks had been stopped on board. It seemed, as

in polar countries, that night and day no longer followed their regular

course. I felt myself being drawn into that strange region where the

foundered imagination of Edgar Poe roamed at will. Like the fabulous

Gordon Pym, at every moment I expected to see "that veiled human

figure, of larger proportions than those of any inhabitant of the

earth, thrown across the cataract which defends the approach to the

pole." I estimated (though, perhaps, I may be mistaken)--I estimated

this adventurous course of the Nautilus to have lasted fifteen or

twenty days. And I know not how much longer it might have lasted, had

it not been for the catastrophe which ended this voyage. Of Captain

Nemo I saw nothing whatever now, nor of his second. Not a man of the

crew was visible for an instant. The Nautilus was almost incessantly

under water. When we came to the surface to renew the air, the panels

opened and shut mechanically. There were no more marks on the

planisphere. I knew not where we were. And the Canadian, too, his

strength and patience at an end, appeared no more. Conseil could not

draw a word from him; and, fearing that, in a dreadful fit of madness,

he might kill himself, watched him with constant devotion. One morning

(what date it was I could not say) I had fallen into a heavy sleep

towards the early hours, a sleep both painful and unhealthy, when I

suddenly awoke. Ned Land was leaning over me, saying, in a low voice,

"We are going to fly." I sat up.



"When shall we go?" I asked.



"To-night. All inspection on board the Nautilus seems to have ceased.

All appear to be stupefied. You will be ready, sir?"



"Yes; where are we?"



"In sight of land. I took the reckoning this morning in the

fog--twenty miles to the east."



"What country is it?"



"I do not know; but, whatever it is, we will take refuge there."



"Yes, Ned, yes. We will fly to-night, even if the sea should swallow

us up."



"The sea is bad, the wind violent, but twenty miles in that light boat

of the Nautilus does not frighten me. Unknown to the crew, I have been

able to procure food and some bottles of water."



"I will follow you."



"But," continued the Canadian, "if I am surprised, I will defend

myself; I will force them to kill me."



"We will die together, friend Ned."



I had made up my mind to all. The Canadian left me. I reached the

platform, on which I could with difficulty support myself against the

shock of the waves. The sky was threatening; but, as land was in those

thick brown shadows, we must fly. I returned to the saloon, fearing

and yet hoping to see Captain Nemo, wishing and yet not wishing to see

him. What could I have said to him? Could I hide the involuntary

horror with which he inspired me? No. It was better that I should not

meet him face to face; better to forget him. And yet---- How long

seemed that day, the last that I should pass in the Nautilus. I

remained alone. Ned Land and Conseil avoided speaking, for fear of

betraying themselves. At six I dined, but I was not hungry; I forced

myself to eat in spite of my disgust, that I might not weaken myself.

At half-past six Ned Land came to my room, saying, "We shall not see

each other again before our departure. At ten the moon will not be

risen. We will profit by the darkness. Come to the boat; Conseil and

I will wait for you."



The Canadian went out without giving me time to answer. Wishing to

verify the course of the Nautilus, I went to the saloon. We were

running N.N.E. at frightful speed, and more than fifty yards deep. I

cast a last look on these wonders of nature, on the riches of art

heaped up in this museum, upon the unrivalled collection destined to

perish at the bottom of the sea, with him who had formed it. I wished

to fix an indelible impression of it in my mind. I remained an hour

thus, bathed in the light of that luminous ceiling, and passing in

review those treasures shining under their glasses. Then I returned to

my room.



I dressed myself in strong sea clothing. I collected my notes, placing

them carefully about me. My heart beat loudly. I could not check its

pulsations. Certainly my trouble and agitation would have betrayed me

to Captain Nemo's eyes. What was he doing at this moment? I listened

at the door of his room. I heard steps. Captain Nemo was there. He

had not gone to rest. At every moment I expected to see him appear,

and ask me why I wished to fly. I was constantly on the alert. My

imagination magnified everything. The impression became at last so

poignant that I asked myself if it would not be better to go to the

Captain's room, see him face to face, and brave him with look and

gesture.



It was the inspiration of a madman; fortunately I resisted the desire,

and stretched myself on my bed to quiet my bodily agitation. My nerves

were somewhat calmer, but in my excited brain I saw over again all my

existence on board the Nautilus; every incident, either happy or

unfortunate, which had happened since my disappearance from the Abraham

Lincoln--the submarine hunt, the Torres Straits, the savages of Papua,

the running ashore, the coral cemetery, the passage of Suez, the Island

of Santorin, the Cretan diver, Vigo Bay, Atlantis, the iceberg, the

South Pole, the imprisonment in the ice, the fight among the poulps,

the storm in the Gulf Stream, the Avenger, and the horrible scene of

the vessel sunk with all her crew. All these events passed before my

eyes like scenes in a drama. Then Captain Nemo seemed to grow

enormously, his features to assume superhuman proportions. He was no

longer my equal, but a man of the waters, the genie of the sea.



It was then half-past nine. I held my head between my hands to keep it

from bursting. I closed my eyes; I would not think any longer. There

was another half-hour to wait, another half-hour of a nightmare, which

might drive me mad.



At that moment I heard the distant strains of the organ, a sad harmony

to an undefinable chant, the wail of a soul longing to break these

earthly bonds. I listened with every sense, scarcely breathing;

plunged, like Captain Nemo, in that musical ecstasy, which was drawing

him in spirit to the end of life.



Then a sudden thought terrified me. Captain Nemo had left his room.

He was in the saloon, which I must cross to fly. There I should meet

him for the last time. He would see me, perhaps speak to me. A

gesture of his might destroy me, a single word chain me on board.



But ten was about to strike. The moment had come for me to leave my

room, and join my companions.



I must not hesitate, even if Captain Nemo himself should rise before

me. I opened my door carefully; and even then, as it turned on its

hinges, it seemed to me to make a dreadful noise. Perhaps it only

existed in my own imagination.



I crept along the dark stairs of the Nautilus, stopping at each step to

check the beating of my heart. I reached the door of the saloon, and

opened it gently. It was plunged in profound darkness. The strains of

the organ sounded faintly. Captain Nemo was there. He did not see me.

In the full light I do not think he would have noticed me, so entirely

was he absorbed in the ecstasy.



I crept along the carpet, avoiding the slightest sound which might

betray my presence. I was at least five minutes reaching the door, at

the opposite side, opening into the library.



I was going to open it, when a sigh from Captain Nemo nailed me to the

spot. I knew that he was rising. I could even see him, for the light

from the library came through to the saloon. He came towards me

silently, with his arms crossed, gliding like a spectre rather than

walking. His breast was swelling with sobs; and I heard him murmur

these words (the last which ever struck my ear):



"Almighty God! enough! enough!"



Was it a confession of remorse which thus escaped from this man's

conscience?



In desperation, I rushed through the library, mounted the central

staircase, and, following the upper flight, reached the boat. I crept

through the opening, which had already admitted my two companions.



"Let us go! let us go!" I exclaimed.



"Directly!" replied the Canadian.



The orifice in the plates of the Nautilus was first closed, and

fastened down by means of a false key, with which Ned Land had provided

himself; the opening in the boat was also closed. The Canadian began

to loosen the bolts which still held us to the submarine boat.



Suddenly a noise was heard. Voices were answering each other loudly.

What was the matter? Had they discovered our flight? I felt Ned Land

slipping a dagger into my hand.



"Yes," I murmured, "we know how to die!"



The Canadian had stopped in his work. But one word many times

repeated, a dreadful word, revealed the cause of the agitation

spreading on board the Nautilus. It was not we the crew were looking

after!



"The maelstrom! the maelstrom!" Could a more dreadful word in a more

dreadful situation have sounded in our ears! We were then upon the

dangerous coast of Norway. Was the Nautilus being drawn into this gulf

at the moment our boat was going to leave its sides? We knew that at

the tide the pent-up waters between the islands of Ferroe and Loffoden

rush with irresistible violence, forming a whirlpool from which no

vessel ever escapes. From every point of the horizon enormous waves

were meeting, forming a gulf justly called the "Navel of the Ocean,"

whose power of attraction extends to a distance of twelve miles.

There, not only vessels, but whales are sacrificed, as well as white

bears from the northern regions.



It is thither that the Nautilus, voluntarily or involuntarily, had been

run by the Captain.



It was describing a spiral, the circumference of which was lessening by

degrees, and the boat, which was still fastened to its side, was

carried along with giddy speed. I felt that sickly giddiness which

arises from long-continued whirling round.



We were in dread. Our horror was at its height, circulation had

stopped, all nervous influence was annihilated, and we were covered

with cold sweat, like a sweat of agony! And what noise around our

frail bark! What roarings repeated by the echo miles away! What an

uproar was that of the waters broken on the sharp rocks at the bottom,

where the hardest bodies are crushed, and trees worn away, "with all

the fur rubbed off," according to the Norwegian phrase!



What a situation to be in! We rocked frightfully. The Nautilus

defended itself like a human being. Its steel muscles cracked.

Sometimes it seemed to stand upright, and we with it!



"We must hold on," said Ned, "and look after the bolts. We may still

be saved if we stick to the Nautilus."



He had not finished the words, when we heard a crashing noise, the

bolts gave way, and the boat, torn from its groove, was hurled like a

stone from a sling into the midst of the whirlpool.



My head struck on a piece of iron, and with the violent shock I lost

all consciousness.