CHAPTER 23

“Aegri Somnia”*

*Latin: “troubled dreams.” Ed.

THE FOLLOWING DAY, January 10, the Nautilus resumed its travels in

midwater but at a remarkable speed that I estimated to be at least

thirty-five miles per hour. The propeller was going so fast I could

neither follow nor count its revolutions.

I thought about how this marvelous electric force not only gave

motion, heat, and light to the Nautilus but even protected it against

outside attack, transforming it into a sacred ark no profane hand

could touch without being blasted; my wonderment was boundless, and it

went from the submersible itself to the engineer who had created it.

We were traveling due west and on January 11 we doubled Cape Wessel,

located in longitude 135 degrees and latitude 10 degrees north, the

western tip of the Gulf of Carpentaria. Reefs were still numerous but

more widely scattered and were fixed on the chart with the greatest

accuracy. The Nautilus easily avoided the Money breakers to port and

the Victoria reefs to starboard, positioned at longitude 130 degrees

on the tenth parallel, which we went along rigorously.

On January 13, arriving in the Timor Sea, Captain Nemo raised the

island of that name at longitude 122 degrees. This island, whose

surface area measures 1,625 square leagues, is governed by

rajahs. These aristocrats deem themselves the sons of crocodiles, in

other words, descendants with the most exalted origins to which a

human being can lay claim. Accordingly, their scaly ancestors infest

the island’s rivers and are the subjects of special veneration. They

are sheltered, nurtured, flattered, pampered, and offered a ritual

diet of nubile maidens; and woe to the foreigner who lifts a finger

against these sacred saurians.

But the Nautilus wanted nothing to do with these nasty animals. Timor

Island was visible for barely an instant at noon while the chief

officer determined his position. I also caught only a glimpse of

little Roti Island, part of this same group, whose women have a

well-established reputation for beauty in the Malaysian marketplace.

After our position fix, the Nautilus’s latitude bearings were

modulated to the southwest. Our prow pointed to the Indian

Ocean. Where would Captain Nemo’s fancies take us? Would he head up to

the shores of Asia? Would he pull nearer to the beaches of Europe?

Unlikely choices for a man who avoided populated areas! So would he go

down south? Would he double the Cape of Good Hope, then Cape Horn, and

push on to the Antarctic pole? Finally, would he return to the seas of

the Pacific, where his Nautilus could navigate freely and easily? Time

would tell.

After cruising along the Cartier, Hibernia, Seringapatam, and Scott

reefs, the solid element’s last exertions against the liquid element,

we were beyond all sight of shore by January 14. The Nautilus slowed

down in an odd manner, and very unpredictable in its ways, it

sometimes swam in the midst of the waters, sometimes drifted on their

surface.

During this phase of our voyage, Captain Nemo conducted interesting

experiments on the different temperatures in various strata of the

sea. Under ordinary conditions, such readings are obtained using some

pretty complicated instruments whose findings are dubious to say the

least, whether they’re thermometric sounding lines, whose glass often

shatters under the water’s pressure, or those devices based on the

varying resistance of metals to electric currents. The results so

obtained can’t be adequately double-checked. By contrast, Captain Nemo

would seek the sea’s temperature by going himself into its depths, and

when he placed his thermometer in contact with the various layers of

liquid, he found the sought-for degree immediately and with certainty.

And so, by loading up its ballast tanks, or by sinking obliquely with

its slanting fins, the Nautilus successively reached depths of 3,000,

4,000, 5,000, 7,000, 9,000, and 10,000 meters, and the ultimate

conclusion from these experiments was that, in all latitudes, the sea

had a permanent temperature of 4.5 degrees centigrade at a depth of

1,000 meters.

I watched these experiments with the most intense fascination. Captain

Nemo brought a real passion to them. I often wondered why he took

these observations. Were they for the benefit of his fellow man? It

was unlikely, because sooner or later his work would perish with him

in some unknown sea! Unless he intended the results of his experiments

for me. But that meant this strange voyage of mine would come to an

end, and no such end was in sight.

Be that as it may, Captain Nemo also introduced me to the different

data he had obtained on the relative densities of the water in our

globe’s chief seas. From this news I derived some personal

enlightenment having nothing to do with science.

It happened the morning of January 15. The captain, with whom I was

strolling on the platform, asked me if I knew how salt water differs

in density from sea to sea. I said no, adding that there was a lack of

rigorous scientific observations on this subject.

“I’ve taken such observations,” he told me, “and I can vouch for their

reliability.”

“Fine,” I replied, “but the Nautilus lives in a separate world, and

the secrets of its scientists don’t make their way ashore.”

“You’re right, professor,” he told me after a few moments of

silence. “This is a separate world. It’s as alien to the earth as the

planets accompanying our globe around the sun, and we’ll never become

familiar with the work of scientists on Saturn or Jupiter. But since

fate has linked our two lives, I can reveal the results of my

observations to you.”

“I’m all attention, captain.”

“You’re aware, professor, that salt water is denser than fresh water,

but this density isn’t uniform. In essence, if I represent the density

of fresh water by 1.000, then I find 1.028 for the waters of the

Atlantic, 1.026 for the waters of the Pacific, 1.030 for the waters of

the Mediterranean—”

Aha, I thought, so he ventures into the Mediterranean?

“—1.018 for the waters of the Ionian Sea, and 1.029 for the waters of

the Adriatic.”

Assuredly, the Nautilus didn’t avoid the heavily traveled seas of

Europe, and from this insight I concluded that the ship would take us

back—perhaps very soon—to more civilized shores. I expected Ned Land

to greet this news with unfeigned satisfaction.

For several days our work hours were spent in all sorts of

experiments, on the degree of salinity in waters of different depths,

or on their electric properties, coloration, and transparency, and in

every instance Captain Nemo displayed an ingenuity equaled only by his

graciousness toward me. Then I saw no more of him for some days and

again lived on board in seclusion.

On January 16 the Nautilus seemed to have fallen asleep just a few

meters beneath the surface of the water. Its electric equipment had

been turned off, and the motionless propeller let it ride with the

waves. I assumed that the crew were busy with interior repairs,

required by the engine’s strenuous mechanical action.

My companions and I then witnessed an unusual sight. The panels in the

lounge were open, and since the Nautilus’s beacon was off, a hazy

darkness reigned in the midst of the waters. Covered with heavy

clouds, the stormy sky gave only the faintest light to the ocean’s

upper strata.

I was observing the state of the sea under these conditions, and even

the largest fish were nothing more than ill-defined shadows, when the

Nautilus was suddenly transferred into broad daylight. At first I

thought the beacon had gone back on and was casting its electric light

into the liquid mass. I was mistaken, and after a hasty examination I

discovered my error.

The Nautilus had drifted into the midst of some phosphorescent strata,

which, in this darkness, came off as positively dazzling. This effect

was caused by myriads of tiny, luminous animals whose brightness

increased when they glided over the metal hull of our submersible. In

the midst of these luminous sheets of water, I then glimpsed flashes

of light, like those seen inside a blazing furnace from streams of

molten lead or from masses of metal brought to a white heat—flashes so

intense that certain areas of the light became shadows by comparison,

in a fiery setting from which every shadow should seemingly have been

banished. No, this was no longer the calm emission of our usual

lighting! This light throbbed with unprecedented vigor and activity!

You sensed that it was alive!

In essence, it was a cluster of countless open-sea infusoria, of

noctiluca an eighth of an inch wide, actual globules of transparent

jelly equipped with a threadlike tentacle, up to 25,000 of which have

been counted in thirty cubic centimeters of water. And the power of

their light was increased by those glimmers unique to medusas,

starfish, common jellyfish, angel-wing clams, and other phosphorescent

zoophytes, which were saturated with grease from organic matter

decomposed by the sea, and perhaps with mucus secreted by fish.

For several hours the Nautilus drifted in this brilliant tide, and our

wonderment grew when we saw huge marine animals cavorting in it, like

the fire-dwelling salamanders of myth. In the midst of these flames

that didn’t burn, I could see swift, elegant porpoises, the tireless

pranksters of the seas, and sailfish three meters long, those shrewd

heralds of hurricanes, whose fearsome broadswords sometimes banged

against the lounge window. Then smaller fish appeared: miscellaneous

triggerfish, leather jacks, unicornfish, and a hundred others that

left stripes on this luminous atmosphere in their course.

Some magic lay behind this dazzling sight! Perhaps some atmospheric

condition had intensified this phenomenon? Perhaps a storm had been

unleashed on the surface of the waves? But only a few meters down, the

Nautilus felt no tempest’s fury, and the ship rocked peacefully in the

midst of the calm waters.

And so it went, some new wonder constantly delighting us. Conseil

observed and classified his zoophytes, articulates, mollusks, and

fish. The days passed quickly, and I no longer kept track of

them. Ned, as usual, kept looking for changes of pace from our

standard fare. Like actual snails, we were at home in our shell, and I

can vouch that it’s easy to turn into a full-fledged snail.

So this way of living began to seem simple and natural to us, and we

no longer envisioned a different lifestyle on the surface of the

planet earth, when something happened to remind us of our strange

circumstances.

On January 18 the Nautilus lay in longitude 105 degrees and latitude

15 degrees south. The weather was threatening, the sea rough and

billowy. The wind was blowing a strong gust from the east. The

barometer, which had been falling for some days, forecast an

approaching struggle of the elements.

I had climbed onto the platform just as the chief officer was taking

his readings of hour angles. Out of habit I waited for him to

pronounce his daily phrase. But that day it was replaced by a

different phrase, just as incomprehensible. Almost at once I saw

Captain Nemo appear, lift his spyglass, and inspect the horizon.

For some minutes the captain stood motionless, rooted to the spot

contained within the field of his lens. Then he lowered his spyglass

and exchanged about ten words with his chief officer. The latter

seemed to be in the grip of an excitement he tried in vain to

control. More in command of himself, Captain Nemo remained

cool. Furthermore, he seemed to be raising certain objections that his

chief officer kept answering with flat assurances. At least that’s

what I gathered from their differences in tone and gesture.

As for me, I stared industriously in the direction under observation

but without spotting a thing. Sky and water merged into a perfectly

clean horizon line.

Meanwhile Captain Nemo strolled from one end of the platform to the

other, not glancing at me, perhaps not even seeing me. His step was

firm but less regular than usual. Sometimes he would stop, cross his

arms over his chest, and observe the sea. What could he be looking for

over that immense expanse? By then the Nautilus lay hundreds of miles

from the nearest coast!

The chief officer kept lifting his spyglass and stubbornly examining

the horizon, walking up and down, stamping his foot, in his nervous

agitation a sharp contrast to his superior.

But this mystery would inevitably be cleared up, and soon, because

Captain Nemo gave orders to increase speed; at once the engine stepped

up its drive power, setting the propeller in swifter rotation.

Just then the chief officer drew the captain’s attention anew. The

latter interrupted his strolling and aimed his spyglass at the point

indicated. He observed it a good while. As for me, deeply puzzled, I

went below to the lounge and brought back an excellent long-range

telescope I habitually used. Leaning my elbows on the beacon housing,

which jutted from the stern of the platform, I got set to scour that

whole stretch of sky and sea.

But no sooner had I peered into the eyepiece than the instrument was

snatched from my hands.

I spun around. Captain Nemo was standing before me, but I almost

didn’t recognize him. His facial features were transfigured. Gleaming

with dark fire, his eyes had shrunk beneath his frowning brow. His

teeth were half bared. His rigid body, clenched fists, and head drawn

between his shoulders, all attested to a fierce hate breathing from

every pore. He didn’t move. My spyglass fell from his hand and rolled

at his feet.

Had I accidentally caused these symptoms of anger? Did this

incomprehensible individual think I had detected some secret forbidden

to guests on the Nautilus?

No! I wasn’t the subject of his hate because he wasn’t even looking at

me; his eyes stayed stubbornly focused on that inscrutable point of

the horizon.

Finally Captain Nemo regained his self-control. His facial appearance,

so profoundly changed, now resumed its usual calm. He addressed a few

words to his chief officer in their strange language, then he turned

to me:

“Professor Aronnax,” he told me in a tone of some urgency, “I ask that

you now honor one of the binding agreements between us.”

“Which one, captain?”

“You and your companions must be placed in confinement until I see fit

to set you free.”

“You’re in command,” I answered, gaping at him. “But may I address a

question to you?”

“You may not, sir.”

After that, I stopped objecting and started obeying, since resistance

was useless.

I went below to the cabin occupied by Ned Land and Conseil, and I

informed them of the captain’s decision. I’ll let the reader decide

how this news was received by the Canadian. In any case, there was no

time for explanations. Four crewmen were waiting at the door, and they

led us to the cell where we had spent our first night aboard the

Nautilus.

Ned Land tried to lodge a complaint, but the only answer he got was a

door shut in his face.

“Will master tell me what this means?” Conseil asked me.

I told my companions what had happened. They were as astonished as I

was, but no wiser.

Then I sank into deep speculation, and Captain Nemo’s strange facial

seizure kept haunting me. I was incapable of connecting two ideas in

logical order, and I had strayed into the most absurd hypotheses, when

I was snapped out of my mental struggles by these words from Ned Land:

“Well, look here! Lunch is served!”

Indeed, the table had been laid. Apparently Captain Nemo had given

this order at the same time he commanded the Nautilus to pick up

speed.

“Will master allow me to make him a recommendation?” Conseil asked me.

“Yes, my boy,” I replied.

“Well, master needs to eat his lunch! It’s prudent, because we have no

idea what the future holds.”

“You’re right, Conseil.”

“Unfortunately,” Ned Land said, “they’ve only given us the standard

menu.”

“Ned my friend,” Conseil answered, “what would you say if they’d given

us no lunch at all?”

This dose of sanity cut the harpooner’s complaints clean off.

We sat down at the table. Our meal proceeded pretty much in silence. I

ate very little. Conseil, everlastingly prudent, “force-fed” himself;

and despite the menu, Ned Land didn’t waste a bite. Then, lunch over,

each of us propped himself in a corner.

Just then the luminous globe lighting our cell went out, leaving us in

profound darkness. Ned Land soon dozed off, and to my astonishment,

Conseil also fell into a heavy slumber. I was wondering what could

have caused this urgent need for sleep, when I felt a dense torpor

saturate my brain. I tried to keep my eyes open, but they closed in

spite of me. I was in the grip of anguished hallucinations. Obviously

some sleep-inducing substance had been laced into the food we’d just

eaten! So imprisonment wasn’t enough to conceal Captain Nemo’s plans

from us—sleep was needed as well!

Then I heard the hatches close. The sea’s undulations, which had been

creating a gentle rocking motion, now ceased. Had the Nautilus left

the surface of the ocean? Was it reentering the motionless strata deep

in the sea?

I tried to fight off this drowsiness. It was impossible. My breathing

grew weaker. I felt a mortal chill freeze my dull, nearly paralyzed

limbs. Like little domes of lead, my lids fell over my eyes. I

couldn’t raise them. A morbid sleep, full of hallucinations, seized my

whole being. Then the visions disappeared and left me in utter

oblivion.