CHAPTER 6

The Greek Islands

AT SUNRISE the next morning, February 12, the Nautilus rose to the

surface of the waves.

I rushed onto the platform. The hazy silhouette of Pelusium was

outlined three miles to the south. A torrent had carried us from one

sea to the other. But although that tunnel was easy to descend, going

back up must have been impossible.

Near seven o’clock Ned and Conseil joined me. Those two inseparable

companions had slept serenely, utterly unaware of the Nautilus’s feat.

“Well, Mr. Naturalist,” the Canadian asked in a gently mocking tone,

“and how about that Mediterranean?”

“We’re floating on its surface, Ned my friend.”

“What!” Conseil put in. “Last night . . . ?”

“Yes, last night, in a matter of minutes, we cleared that insuperable

isthmus.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” the Canadian replied.

“And you’re in the wrong, Mr. Land,” I went on. “That flat coastline

curving southward is the coast of Egypt.”

“Tell it to the marines, sir,” answered the stubborn Canadian.

“But if master says so,” Conseil told him, “then so be it.”

“What’s more, Ned,” I said, “Captain Nemo himself did the honors in

his tunnel, and I stood beside him in the pilothouse while he steered

the Nautilus through that narrow passageway.”

“You hear, Ned?” Conseil said.

“And you, Ned, who have such good eyes,” I added, “you can spot the

jetties of Port Said stretching out to sea.”

The Canadian looked carefully.

“Correct,” he said. “You’re right, professor, and your captain’s a

superman. We’re in the Mediterranean. Fine. So now let’s have a chat

about our little doings, if you please, but in such a way that nobody

overhears.”

I could easily see what the Canadian was driving at. In any event, I

thought it best to let him have his chat, and we all three went to sit

next to the beacon, where we were less exposed to the damp spray from

the billows.

“Now, Ned, we’re all ears,” I said. “What have you to tell us?”

“What I’ve got to tell you is very simple,” the Canadian

replied. “We’re in Europe, and before Captain Nemo’s whims take us

deep into the polar seas or back to Oceania, I say we should leave

this Nautilus.”

I confess that such discussions with the Canadian always baffled me. I

didn’t want to restrict my companions’ freedom in any way, and yet I

had no desire to leave Captain Nemo. Thanks to him and his

submersible, I was finishing my undersea research by the day, and I

was rewriting my book on the great ocean depths in the midst of its

very element. Would I ever again have such an opportunity to observe

the ocean’s wonders? Absolutely not! So I couldn’t entertain this idea

of leaving the Nautilus before completing our course of inquiry.

“Ned my friend,” I said, “answer me honestly. Are you bored with this

ship? Are you sorry that fate has cast you into Captain Nemo’s hands?”

The Canadian paused for a short while before replying. Then, crossing

his arms:

“Honestly,” he said, “I’m not sorry about this voyage under the

seas. I’ll be glad to have done it, but in order to have done it, it

has to finish. That’s my feeling.”

“It will finish, Ned.”

“Where and when?”

“Where? I don’t know. When? I can’t say. Or, rather, I suppose it will

be over when these seas have nothing more to teach us. Everything that

begins in this world must inevitably come to an end.”

“I think as master does,” Conseil replied, “and it’s extremely

possible that after crossing every sea on the globe, Captain Nemo will

bid the three of us a fond farewell.”

“Bid us a fond farewell?” the Canadian exclaimed. “You mean beat us to

a fare-thee-well!”

“Let’s not exaggerate, Mr. Land,” I went on. “We have nothing to fear

from the captain, but neither do I share Conseil’s views. We’re privy

to the Nautilus’s secrets, and I don’t expect that its commander, just

to set us free, will meekly stand by while we spread those secrets all

over the world.”

“But in that case what do you expect?” the Canadian asked.

“That we’ll encounter advantageous conditions for escaping just as

readily in six months as now.”

“Great Scott!” Ned Land put in. “And where, if you please, will we be

in six months, Mr. Naturalist?”

“Perhaps here, perhaps in China. You know how quickly the Nautilus

moves. It crosses oceans like swallows cross the air or express trains

continents. It doesn’t fear heavily traveled seas. Who can say it

won’t hug the coasts of France, England, or America, where an escape

attempt could be carried out just as effectively as here.”

“Professor Aronnax,” the Canadian replied, “your arguments are rotten

to the core. You talk way off in the future: ‘We’ll be here, we’ll be

there!’ Me, I’m talking about right now: we are here, and we must take

advantage of it!”

I was hard pressed by Ned Land’s common sense, and I felt myself

losing ground. I no longer knew what arguments to put forward on my

behalf.

“Sir,” Ned went on, “let’s suppose that by some impossibility, Captain

Nemo offered your freedom to you this very day. Would you accept?”

“I don’t know,” I replied.

“And suppose he adds that this offer he’s making you today won’t ever

be repeated, then would you accept?”

I did not reply.

“And what thinks our friend Conseil?” Ned Land asked.

“Your friend Conseil,” the fine lad replied serenely, “has nothing to

say for himself. He’s a completely disinterested party on this

question. Like his master, like his comrade Ned, he’s a

bachelor. Neither wife, parents, nor children are waiting for him back

home. He’s in master’s employ, he thinks like master, he speaks like

master, and much to his regret, he can’t be counted on to form a

majority. Only two persons face each other here: master on one side,

Ned Land on the other. That said, your friend Conseil is listening,

and he’s ready to keep score.”

I couldn’t help smiling as Conseil wiped himself out of

existence. Deep down, the Canadian must have been overjoyed at not

having to contend with him.

“Then, sir,” Ned Land said, “since Conseil is no more, we’ll have this

discussion between just the two of us. I’ve talked, you’ve

listened. What’s your reply?”

It was obvious that the matter had to be settled, and evasions were

distasteful to me.

“Ned my friend,” I said, “here’s my reply. You have right on your side

and my arguments can’t stand up to yours. It will never do to count on

Captain Nemo’s benevolence. The most ordinary good sense would forbid

him to set us free. On the other hand, good sense decrees that we take

advantage of our first opportunity to leave the Nautilus.”

“Fine, Professor Aronnax, that’s wisely said.”

“But one proviso,” I said, “just one. The opportunity must be the real

thing. Our first attempt to escape must succeed, because if it

misfires, we won’t get a second chance, and Captain Nemo will never

forgive us.”

“That’s also well put,” the Canadian replied. “But your proviso

applies to any escape attempt, whether it happens in two years or two

days. So this is still the question: if a promising opportunity comes

up, we have to grab it.”

“Agreed. And now, Ned, will you tell me what you mean by a promising

opportunity?”

“One that leads the Nautilus on a cloudy night within a short distance

of some European coast.”

“And you’ll try to get away by swimming?”

“Yes, if we’re close enough to shore and the ship’s afloat on the

surface. No, if we’re well out and the ship’s navigating under the

waters.”

“And in that event?”

“In that event I’ll try to get hold of the skiff. I know how to handle

it. We’ll stick ourselves inside, undo the bolts, and rise to the

surface, without the helmsman in the bow seeing a thing.”

“Fine, Ned. Stay on the lookout for such an opportunity, but don’t

forget, one slipup will finish us.”

“I won’t forget, sir.”

“And now, Ned, would you like to know my overall thinking on your

plan?”

“Gladly, Professor Aronnax.”

“Well then, I think—and I don’t mean ‘I hope’—that your promising

opportunity won’t ever arise.”

“Why not?”

“Because Captain Nemo recognizes that we haven’t given up all hope of

recovering our freedom, and he’ll keep on his guard, above all in seas

within sight of the coasts of Europe.”

“I’m of master’s opinion,” Conseil said.

“We’ll soon see,” Ned Land replied, shaking his head with a determined

expression.

“And now, Ned Land,” I added, “let’s leave it at that. Not another

word on any of this. The day you’re ready, alert us and we’re with

you. I turn it all over to you.”

That’s how we ended this conversation, which later was to have such

serious consequences. At first, I must say, events seemed to confirm

my forecasts, much to the Canadian’s despair. Did Captain Nemo view us

with distrust in these heavily traveled seas, or did he simply want to

hide from the sight of those ships of every nation that plowed the

Mediterranean? I have no idea, but usually he stayed in midwater and

well out from any coast. Either the Nautilus surfaced only enough to

let its pilothouse emerge, or it slipped away to the lower depths,

although, between the Greek Islands and Asia Minor, we didn’t find

bottom even at 2,000 meters down.

Accordingly, I became aware of the isle of Karpathos, one of the

Sporades Islands, only when Captain Nemo placed his finger over a spot

on the world map and quoted me this verse from Virgil:

Est in Carpathio Neptuni gurgite vates

Caeruleus Proteus . . .*

*Latin: “There in King Neptune’s domain by Karpathos, his spokesman /

is azure-hued Proteus . . . ” Ed.

It was indeed that bygone abode of Proteus, the old shepherd of King

Neptune’s flocks: an island located between Rhodes and Crete, which

Greeks now call Karpathos, Italians Scarpanto. Through the lounge

window I could see only its granite bedrock.

The next day, February 14, I decided to spend a few hours studying the

fish of this island group; but for whatever reason, the panels

remained hermetically sealed. After determining the Nautilus’s

heading, I noted that it was proceeding toward the ancient island of

Crete, also called Candia. At the time I had shipped aboard the

Abraham Lincoln, this whole island was in rebellion against its

tyrannical rulers, the Ottoman Empire of Turkey. But since then I had

absolutely no idea what happened to this revolution, and Captain Nemo,

deprived of all contact with the shore, was hardly the man to keep me

informed.

So I didn’t allude to this event when, that evening, I chanced to be

alone with the captain in the lounge. Besides, he seemed silent and

preoccupied. Then, contrary to custom, he ordered that both panels in

the lounge be opened, and going from the one to the other, he

carefully observed the watery mass. For what purpose? I hadn’t a

guess, and for my part, I spent my time studying the fish that passed

before my eyes.

Among others I noted that sand goby mentioned by Aristotle and

commonly known by the name sea loach, which is encountered exclusively

in the salty waters next to the Nile Delta. Near them some

semiphosphorescent red porgy rolled by, a variety of gilthead that the

Egyptians ranked among their sacred animals, lauding them in religious

ceremonies when their arrival in the river’s waters announced the

fertile flood season. I also noticed some wrasse known as the tapiro,

three decimeters long, bony fish with transparent scales whose bluish

gray color is mixed with red spots; they’re enthusiastic eaters of

marine vegetables, which gives them an exquisite flavor; hence these

tapiro were much in demand by the epicures of ancient Rome, and their

entrails were dressed with brains of peacock, tongue of flamingo, and

testes of moray to make that divine platter that so enraptured the

Roman emperor Vitellius.

Another resident of these seas caught my attention and revived all my

memories of antiquity. This was the remora, which travels attached to

the bellies of sharks; as the ancients tell it, when these little fish

cling to the undersides of a ship, they can bring it to a halt, and

by so impeding Mark Antony’s vessel during the Battle of Actium, one

of them facilitated the victory of Augustus Caesar. From such slender

threads hang the destinies of nations! I also observed some wonderful

snappers belonging to the order Lutianida, sacred fish for the Greeks,

who claimed they could drive off sea monsters from the waters they

frequent; their Greek name anthias means “flower,” and they live up to

it in the play of their colors and in those fleeting reflections that

turn their dorsal fins into watered silk; their hues are confined to a

gamut of reds, from the pallor of pink to the glow of ruby. I couldn’t

take my eyes off these marine wonders, when I was suddenly jolted by an

unexpected apparition.

In the midst of the waters, a man appeared, a diver carrying a little

leather bag at his belt. It was no corpse lost in the waves. It was a

living man, swimming vigorously, sometimes disappearing to breathe at

the surface, then instantly diving again.

I turned to Captain Nemo, and in an agitated voice:

“A man! A castaway!” I exclaimed. “We must rescue him at all cost!”

The captain didn’t reply but went to lean against the window.

The man drew near, and gluing his face to the panel, he stared at us.

To my deep astonishment, Captain Nemo gave him a signal. The diver

answered with his hand, immediately swam up to the surface of the sea,

and didn’t reappear.

“Don’t be alarmed,” the captain told me. “That’s Nicolas from Cape

Matapan, nicknamed ‘Il Pesce.’* He’s well known throughout the

Cyclades Islands. A bold diver! Water is his true element, and he

lives in the sea more than on shore, going constantly from one island

to another, even to Crete.”

*Italian: “The Fish.” Ed.

“You know him, captain?”

“Why not, Professor Aronnax?”

This said, Captain Nemo went to a cabinet standing near the lounge’s

left panel. Next to this cabinet I saw a chest bound with hoops of

iron, its lid bearing a copper plaque that displayed the Nautilus’s

monogram with its motto Mobilis in Mobili.

Just then, ignoring my presence, the captain opened this cabinet, a

sort of safe that contained a large number of ingots.

They were gold ingots. And they represented an enormous sum of

money. Where had this precious metal come from? How had the captain

amassed this gold, and what was he about to do with it?

I didn’t pronounce a word. I gaped. Captain Nemo took out the ingots

one by one and arranged them methodically inside the chest, filling it

to the top. At which point I estimate that it held more than 1,000

kilograms of gold, in other words, close to 5,000,000 francs.

After securely fastening the chest, Captain Nemo wrote an address on

its lid in characters that must have been modern Greek.

This done, the captain pressed a button whose wiring was in

communication with the crew’s quarters. Four men appeared and, not

without difficulty, pushed the chest out of the lounge. Then I heard

them hoist it up the iron companionway by means of pulleys.

Just then Captain Nemo turned to me:

“You were saying, professor?” he asked me.

“I wasn’t saying a thing, captain.”

“Then, sir, with your permission, I’ll bid you good evening.”

And with that, Captain Nemo left the lounge.

I reentered my stateroom, very puzzled, as you can imagine. I tried in

vain to fall asleep. I kept searching for a relationship between the

appearance of the diver and that chest filled with gold. Soon, from

certain rolling and pitching movements, I sensed that the Nautilus had

left the lower strata and was back on the surface of the water.

Then I heard the sound of footsteps on the platform. I realized that

the skiff was being detached and launched to sea. For an instant it

bumped the Nautilus’s side, then all sounds ceased.

Two hours later, the same noises, the same comings and goings, were

repeated. Hoisted on board, the longboat was readjusted into its

socket, and the Nautilus plunged back beneath the waves.

So those millions had been delivered to their address. At what spot on

the continent? Who was the recipient of Captain Nemo’s gold?

The next day I related the night’s events to Conseil and the Canadian,

events that had aroused my curiosity to a fever pitch. My companions

were as startled as I was.

“But where does he get those millions?” Ned Land asked.

To this no reply was possible. After breakfast I made my way to the

lounge and went about my work. I wrote up my notes until five o’clock

in the afternoon. Just then—was it due to some personal

indisposition?—I felt extremely hot and had to take off my jacket made

of fan mussel fabric. A perplexing circumstance because we weren’t in

the low latitudes, and besides, once the Nautilus was submerged, it

shouldn’t be subject to any rise in temperature. I looked at the

pressure gauge. It marked a depth of sixty feet, a depth beyond the

reach of atmospheric heat.

I kept on working, but the temperature rose to the point of becoming

unbearable.

“Could there be a fire on board?” I wondered.

I was about to leave the lounge when Captain Nemo entered. He

approached the thermometer, consulted it, and turned to me:

“42 degrees centigrade,” he said.

“I’ve detected as much, captain,” I replied, “and if it gets even

slightly hotter, we won’t be able to stand it.”

“Oh, professor, it won’t get any hotter unless we want it to!”

“You mean you can control this heat?”

“No, but I can back away from the fireplace producing it.”

“So it’s outside?”

“Surely. We’re cruising in a current of boiling water.”

“It can’t be!” I exclaimed.

“Look.”

The panels had opened, and I could see a completely white sea around

the Nautilus. Steaming sulfurous fumes uncoiled in the midst of waves

bubbling like water in a boiler. I leaned my hand against one of the

windows, but the heat was so great, I had to snatch it back.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“Near the island of Santorini, professor,” the captain answered me,

“and right in the channel that separates the volcanic islets of Nea

Kameni and Palea Kameni. I wanted to offer you the unusual sight of an

underwater eruption.”

“I thought,” I said, “that the formation of such new islands had come

to an end.”

“Nothing ever comes to an end in these volcanic waterways,” Captain

Nemo replied, “and thanks to its underground fires, our globe is

continuously under construction in these regions. According to the

Latin historians Cassiodorus and Pliny, by the year 19 of the

Christian era, a new island, the divine Thera, had already appeared in

the very place these islets have more recently formed. Then Thera sank

under the waves, only to rise and sink once more in the year 69

A.D. From that day to this, such plutonic construction work has been

in abeyance. But on February 3, 1866, a new islet named George Island

emerged in the midst of sulfurous steam near Nea Kameni and was fused

to it on the 6th of the same month. Seven days later, on February 13,

the islet of Aphroessa appeared, leaving a ten-meter channel between

itself and Nea Kameni. I was in these seas when that phenomenon

occurred and I was able to observe its every phase. The islet of

Aphroessa was circular in shape, measuring 300 feet in diameter and

thirty feet in height. It was made of black, glassy lava mixed with

bits of feldspar. Finally, on March 10, a smaller islet called Reka

appeared next to Nea Kameni, and since then, these three islets have

fused to form one single, selfsame island.”

“What about this channel we’re in right now?” I asked.

“Here it is,” Captain Nemo replied, showing me a chart of the Greek

Islands. “You observe that I’ve entered the new islets in their

place.”

“But will this channel fill up one day?”

“Very likely, Professor Aronnax, because since 1866 eight little lava

islets have surged up in front of the port of St. Nicolas on Palea

Kameni. So it’s obvious that Nea and Palea will join in days to

come. In the middle of the Pacific, tiny infusoria build continents,

but here they’re built by volcanic phenomena. Look, sir! Look at the

construction work going on under these waves.”

I returned to the window. The Nautilus was no longer moving. The heat

had become unbearable. From the white it had recently been, the sea

was turning red, a coloration caused by the presence of iron

salts. Although the lounge was hermetically sealed, it was filling

with an intolerable stink of sulfur, and I could see scarlet flames of

such brightness, they overpowered our electric light.

I was swimming in perspiration, I was stifling, I was about to be

cooked. Yes, I felt myself cooking in actual fact!

“We can’t stay any longer in this boiling water,” I told the captain.

“No, it wouldn’t be advisable,” replied Nemo the Emotionless.

He gave an order. The Nautilus tacked about and retreated from this

furnace it couldn’t brave with impunity. A quarter of an hour later,

we were breathing fresh air on the surface of the waves.

It then occurred to me that if Ned had chosen these waterways for our

escape attempt, we wouldn’t have come out alive from this sea of fire.

The next day, February 16, we left this basin, which tallies depths of

3,000 meters between Rhodes and Alexandria, and passing well out from

Cerigo Island after doubling Cape Matapan, the Nautilus left the Greek

Islands behind.