CHAPTER 16

Strolling the Plains

THIS CELL, properly speaking, was the Nautilus’s arsenal and

wardrobe. Hanging from its walls, a dozen diving outfits were waiting

for anybody who wanted to take a stroll.

After seeing these, Ned Land exhibited an obvious distaste for the

idea of putting one on.

“But my gallant Ned,” I told him, “the forests of Crespo Island are

simply underwater forests!”

“Oh great!” put in the disappointed harpooner, watching his dreams of

fresh meat fade away. “And you, Professor Aronnax, are you going to

stick yourself inside these clothes?”

“It has to be, Mr. Ned.”

“Have it your way, sir,” the harpooner replied, shrugging his

shoulders. “But speaking for myself, I’ll never get into those things

unless they force me!”

“No one will force you, Mr. Land,” Captain Nemo said.

“And is Conseil going to risk it?” Ned asked.

“Where master goes, I go,” Conseil replied.

At the captain’s summons, two crewmen came to help us put on these

heavy, waterproof clothes, made from seamless India rubber and

expressly designed to bear considerable pressures. They were like

suits of armor that were both yielding and resistant, you might

say. These clothes consisted of jacket and pants. The pants ended in

bulky footwear adorned with heavy lead soles. The fabric of the jacket

was reinforced with copper mail that shielded the chest, protected it

from the water’s pressure, and allowed the lungs to function freely;

the sleeves ended in supple gloves that didn’t impede hand movements.

These perfected diving suits, it was easy to see, were a far cry from

such misshapen costumes as the cork breastplates, leather jumpers,

seagoing tunics, barrel helmets, etc., invented and acclaimed in the

18th century.

Conseil and I were soon dressed in these diving suits, as were Captain

Nemo and one of his companions—a herculean type who must have been

prodigiously strong. All that remained was to encase one’s head in its

metal sphere. But before proceeding with this operation, I asked the

captain for permission to examine the rifles set aside for us.

One of the Nautilus’s men presented me with a streamlined rifle whose

butt was boilerplate steel, hollow inside, and of fairly large

dimensions. This served as a tank for the compressed air, which a

trigger-operated valve could release into the metal chamber. In a

groove where the butt was heaviest, a cartridge clip held some twenty

electric bullets that, by means of a spring, automatically took their

places in the barrel of the rifle. As soon as one shot had been fired,

another was ready to go off.

“Captain Nemo,” I said, “this is an ideal, easy-to-use weapon. I ask

only to put it to the test. But how will we reach the bottom of the

sea?”

“Right now, professor, the Nautilus is aground in ten meters of water,

and we’ve only to depart.”

“But how will we set out?”

“You’ll see.”

Captain Nemo inserted his cranium into its spherical headgear. Conseil

and I did the same, but not without hearing the Canadian toss us a

sarcastic “happy hunting.” On top, the suit ended in a collar of

threaded copper onto which the metal helmet was screwed. Three holes,

protected by heavy glass, allowed us to see in any direction with

simply a turn of the head inside the sphere. Placed on our backs, the

Rouquayrol device went into operation as soon as it was in position,

and for my part, I could breathe with ease.

The Ruhmkorff lamp hanging from my belt, my rifle in hand, I was ready

to go forth. But in all honesty, while imprisoned in these heavy

clothes and nailed to the deck by my lead soles, it was impossible for

me to take a single step.

But this circumstance had been foreseen, because I felt myself

propelled into a little room adjoining the wardrobe. Towed in the same

way, my companions went with me. I heard a door with watertight seals

close after us, and we were surrounded by profound darkness.

After some minutes a sharp hissing reached my ears. I felt a distinct

sensation of cold rising from my feet to my chest. Apparently a

stopcock inside the boat was letting in water from outside, which

overran us and soon filled up the room. Contrived in the Nautilus’s

side, a second door then opened. We were lit by a subdued light. An

instant later our feet were treading the bottom of the sea.

And now, how can I convey the impressions left on me by this stroll

under the waters. Words are powerless to describe such wonders! When

even the painter’s brush can’t depict the effects unique to the liquid

element, how can the writer’s pen hope to reproduce them?

Captain Nemo walked in front, and his companion followed us a few

steps to the rear. Conseil and I stayed next to each other, as if

daydreaming that through our metal carapaces, a little polite

conversation might still be possible! Already I no longer felt the

bulkiness of my clothes, footwear, and air tank, nor the weight of the

heavy sphere inside which my head was rattling like an almond in its

shell. Once immersed in water, all these objects lost a part of their

weight equal to the weight of the liquid they displaced, and thanks to

this law of physics discovered by Archimedes, I did just fine. I was

no longer an inert mass, and I had, comparatively speaking, great

freedom of movement.

Lighting up the seafloor even thirty feet beneath the surface of the

ocean, the sun astonished me with its power. The solar rays easily

crossed this aqueous mass and dispersed its dark colors. I could

easily distinguish objects 100 meters away. Farther on, the bottom was

tinted with fine shades of ultramarine; then, off in the distance, it

turned blue and faded in the midst of a hazy darkness. Truly, this

water surrounding me was just a kind of air, denser than the

atmosphere on land but almost as transparent. Above me I could see the

calm surface of the ocean.

We were walking on sand that was fine-grained and smooth, not wrinkled

like beach sand, which preserves the impressions left by the

waves. This dazzling carpet was a real mirror, throwing back the sun’s

rays with startling intensity. The outcome: an immense vista of

reflections that penetrated every liquid molecule. Will anyone believe

me if I assert that at this thirty-foot depth, I could see as if it

was broad daylight?

For a quarter of an hour, I trod this blazing sand, which was strewn

with tiny crumbs of seashell. Looming like a long reef, the Nautilus’s

hull disappeared little by little, but when night fell in the midst of

the waters, the ship’s beacon would surely facilitate our return on

board, since its rays carried with perfect distinctness. This effect

is difficult to understand for anyone who has never seen light beams

so sharply defined on shore. There the dust that saturates the air

gives such rays the appearance of a luminous fog; but above water as

well as underwater, shafts of electric light are transmitted with

incomparable clarity.

Meanwhile we went ever onward, and these vast plains of sand seemed

endless. My hands parted liquid curtains that closed again behind me,

and my footprints faded swiftly under the water’s pressure.

Soon, scarcely blurred by their distance from us, the forms of some

objects took shape before my eyes. I recognized the lower slopes of

some magnificent rocks carpeted by the finest zoophyte specimens, and

right off, I was struck by an effect unique to this medium.

By then it was ten o’clock in the morning. The sun’s rays hit the

surface of the waves at a fairly oblique angle, decomposing by

refraction as though passing through a prism; and when this light came

in contact with flowers, rocks, buds, seashells, and polyps, the edges

of these objects were shaded with all seven hues of the solar

spectrum. This riot of rainbow tints was a wonder, a feast for the

eyes: a genuine kaleidoscope of red, green, yellow, orange, violet,

indigo, and blue; in short, the whole palette of a color-happy

painter! If only I had been able to share with Conseil the intense

sensations rising in my brain, competing with him in exclamations of

wonderment! If only I had known, like Captain Nemo and his companion,

how to exchange thoughts by means of prearranged signals! So, for lack

of anything better, I talked to myself: I declaimed inside this copper

box that topped my head, spending more air on empty words than was

perhaps advisable.

Conseil, like me, had stopped before this splendid sight. Obviously,

in the presence of these zoophyte and mollusk specimens, the fine lad

was classifying his head off. Polyps and echinoderms abounded on the

seafloor: various isis coral, cornularian coral living in isolation,

tufts of virginal genus Oculina formerly known by the name “white

coral,” prickly fungus coral in the shape of mushrooms, sea anemone

holding on by their muscular disks, providing a literal flowerbed

adorned by jellyfish from the genus Porpita wearing collars of azure

tentacles, and starfish that spangled the sand, including veinlike

feather stars from the genus Asterophyton that were like fine lace

embroidered by the hands of water nymphs, their festoons swaying to

the faint undulations caused by our walking. It filled me with real

chagrin to crush underfoot the gleaming mollusk samples that littered

the seafloor by the thousands: concentric comb shells, hammer shells,

coquina (seashells that actually hop around), top-shell snails, red

helmet shells, angel-wing conchs, sea hares, and so many other

exhibits from this inexhaustible ocean. But we had to keep walking,

and we went forward while overhead there scudded schools of Portuguese

men-of-war that let their ultramarine tentacles drift in their wakes,

medusas whose milky white or dainty pink parasols were festooned with

azure tassels and shaded us from the sun’s rays, plus jellyfish of the

species Pelagia panopyra that, in the dark, would have strewn our path

with phosphorescent glimmers!

All these wonders I glimpsed in the space of a quarter of a mile,

barely pausing, following Captain Nemo whose gestures kept beckoning

me onward. Soon the nature of the seafloor changed. The plains of sand

were followed by a bed of that viscous slime Americans call “ooze,”

which is composed exclusively of seashells rich in limestone or

silica. Then we crossed a prairie of algae, open-sea plants that the

waters hadn’t yet torn loose, whose vegetation grew in wild

profusion. Soft to the foot, these densely textured lawns would have

rivaled the most luxuriant carpets woven by the hand of man. But while

this greenery was sprawling under our steps, it didn’t neglect us

overhead. The surface of the water was crisscrossed by a floating

arbor of marine plants belonging to that superabundant algae family

that numbers more than 2,000 known species. I saw long ribbons of

fucus drifting above me, some globular, others tubular: Laurencia,

Cladostephus with the slenderest foliage, Rhodymenia palmata

resembling the fan shapes of cactus. I observed that green-colored

plants kept closer to the surface of the sea, while reds occupied a

medium depth, which left blacks and browns in charge of designing

gardens and flowerbeds in the ocean’s lower strata.

These algae are a genuine prodigy of creation, one of the wonders of

world flora. This family produces both the biggest and smallest

vegetables in the world. Because, just as 40,000 near-invisible buds

have been counted in one five-square-millimeter space, so also have

fucus plants been gathered that were over 500 meters long!

We had been gone from the Nautilus for about an hour and a half. It

was almost noon. I spotted this fact in the perpendicularity of the

sun’s rays, which were no longer refracted. The magic of these solar

colors disappeared little by little, with emerald and sapphire shades

vanishing from our surroundings altogether. We walked with steady

steps that rang on the seafloor with astonishing intensity. The

tiniest sounds were transmitted with a speed to which the ear is

unaccustomed on shore. In fact, water is a better conductor of sound

than air, and under the waves noises carry four times as fast.

Just then the seafloor began to slope sharply downward. The light took

on a uniform hue. We reached a depth of 100 meters, by which point we

were undergoing a pressure of ten atmospheres. But my diving clothes

were built along such lines that I never suffered from this

pressure. I felt only a certain tightness in the joints of my fingers,

and even this discomfort soon disappeared. As for the exhaustion bound

to accompany a two-hour stroll in such unfamiliar trappings—it was

nil. Helped by the water, my movements were executed with startling

ease.

Arriving at this 300-foot depth, I still detected the sun’s rays, but

just barely. Their intense brilliance had been followed by a reddish

twilight, a midpoint between day and night. But we could see well

enough to find our way, and it still wasn’t necessary to activate the

Ruhmkorff device.

Just then Captain Nemo stopped. He waited until I joined him, then he

pointed a finger at some dark masses outlined in the shadows a short

distance away.

“It’s the forest of Crespo Island,” I thought; and I was not mistaken.