We stared toward the edge of the forest without moving.
My hand stopped halfway as I was about to bring food to my mouth. Ned Land was still holding his own meal, completely focused on eating.
“Stones do not fall from the sky,” Conseil said calmly. “If they did, we would have to call them meteorites.”
A second stone flew through the air with perfect aim. It knocked a delicious piece of pigeon from Conseil’s hand.
That made his point even stronger.
All three of us immediately stood up. We grabbed our guns and prepared ourselves for whatever attack was coming.
“Are they monkeys?” Ned Land shouted.
“Almost,” I answered. “They are savages.”
“Back to the boat!” I ordered.
We had no choice but to retreat.
From the edge of the woods on the right side, about a hundred steps away, a group of nearly twenty natives appeared. They carried bows and slings, and their movements clearly showed hostility.
Our small boat was only about sixty feet away.
The natives moved toward us without running, but they continued throwing stones and shooting arrows.
Ned Land refused to leave behind the food he had collected. Even with danger coming closer, he carried the pig meat on one side and the kangaroo meat on the other, somehow still moving quickly.
Within two minutes, we reached the shore.
We loaded the boat with our supplies and weapons, pushed it into the water, and jumped aboard as quickly as possible.
We had barely moved two cable lengths away when nearly a hundred natives rushed into the sea. They came waist-deep into the water, shouting and waving their weapons.
I looked toward the Nautilus, expecting that the attack might bring some of the crew onto the platform.
But nothing happened.
The enormous submarine remained there quietly.
No one appeared.
It seemed completely abandoned.
Twenty minutes later, we reached the Nautilus.
The entrance panels were still open.
After securing the boat, we quickly entered the submarine.
I went down into the large saloon.
From inside, I heard music.
Captain Nemo was there, sitting at the organ. His head was lowered, and he seemed completely lost in the beauty of his own playing.
“Captain!”
He did not hear me.
“Captain!” I repeated, touching his hand.
He suddenly trembled and turned around.
“Ah, Professor,” he said. “It is you. Tell me, did you enjoy your hunt? Were your botanical studies successful?”
“Yes, Captain. But unfortunately, we have brought back something else with us.”
“Something else?”
“A group of two-legged creatures whose presence is causing me some concern.”
“What creatures?”
“Savages.”
“Savages?” Captain Nemo repeated with a slight smile. “So you are surprised, Professor, that after landing on an unknown island, you found savages there?”
“Savages! Where are there no savages?”
“But Captain—”
“How many have you seen?”
“At least one hundred.”
Captain Nemo calmly placed his fingers back on the organ keys.
“M. Aronnax, even if all the natives of Papua gathered together on this shore, the Nautilus would have nothing to fear from them.”
His fingers moved across the instrument again.
I noticed that he only played the black keys. The strange melody had a distinctly Scottish feeling.
Soon he had completely forgotten my presence.
I did not wish to disturb him.
I returned to the platform.
Night had already fallen. In these tropical regions, sunset comes quickly, with almost no twilight.
The island was barely visible in the darkness.
However, many fires burning along the beach showed that the natives had no intention of leaving.
I stayed alone there for several hours.
Sometimes I thought about the islanders, but I felt no real fear. Captain Nemo’s complete confidence was strangely contagious.
At other moments, I forgot about them completely and admired the magnificent tropical night.
My thoughts traveled back to France, following the stars of the zodiac that would soon appear above me.
The moon shone brightly among the stars near the center of the sky.
The night passed without any trouble.
Perhaps the islanders had been frightened by the sight of this strange monster lying in their bay.
The entrance panels remained open, which should have allowed them an easy way into the Nautilus.
Yet they did not come.
At six o’clock on the morning of January 8th, I returned to the platform.
Dawn was breaking.
Slowly, the island appeared through the fading mist.
First came the shoreline.
Then the mountains.
The natives were still there.
There were far more of them than the day before—perhaps five or six hundred.
Some had taken advantage of the low tide and walked across the coral reef until they were less than two cable lengths from the Nautilus.
I could see them clearly.
They were true Papuans.
They had strong, athletic bodies and impressive features. Their foreheads were high, their teeth were white, and their dark shining skin contrasted with their reddish woolly hair.
Their stretched earlobes carried strings of bone ornaments.
Most of the men were completely naked.
Among them were some women wearing skirts made from plants, covering their bodies from the waist to the knees.
Several chiefs wore necklaces decorated with red and white glass beads. Nearly all carried bows, arrows, shields, and small nets filled with round stones used for their slings.
One chief came especially close to the Nautilus and examined it carefully.
He was probably a person of high rank.
He wore a banana-leaf cloak with decorated edges and bright colors.
He was close enough that I could easily have shot him.
But I decided not to.
A European should defend himself against a savage attack, not begin one.
During low tide, the natives continued walking around the Nautilus, but they did not attack.
I often heard them repeat one word:
“Assai.”
From their gestures, I understood that they were inviting me to come ashore.
I refused.
Because of this, the boat did not leave that day.
Ned Land was extremely disappointed because he could not collect more supplies.
Instead, the Canadian spent his time preparing the meat and food he had already brought back.
As for the natives, they returned to the shore around eleven o’clock when the rising tide began covering the coral.
But I noticed that their numbers had greatly increased.
Perhaps they had come from nearby islands.
Or perhaps they had arrived from Papua itself.
Strangely, I had not seen a single native canoe.
With nothing else to do, I decided to explore the clear waters around the Nautilus.
Below the surface, I could see countless shells, coral creatures, and marine plants.
Besides, according to Captain Nemo’s promise, this would be our final day in this area.
The next day, the Nautilus would return to open sea.
I called Conseil.
He brought me a small dredging net, similar to those used by oyster fishermen.
We began our work.
For two hours, we searched constantly.
Unfortunately, we found no rare treasures.
The net brought up many ordinary shells—midas ears, harps, melames, and especially some of the most beautiful hammer shells I had ever seen.
We also collected sea slugs, pearl oysters, and twelve small turtles that were saved for the ship’s kitchen.
Then, when I least expected it, I discovered something extraordinary.
I would almost call it a natural accident.
Conseil had just pulled up another load of ordinary shells when suddenly he saw me quickly plunge my hand into the net.
A moment later, I cried out.
“What happened, sir?” Conseil asked in surprise. “Were you bitten?”
“No, my boy. But I would gladly have sacrificed a finger for this discovery.”
“What discovery?”
“This shell.”
I held up my treasure.
“It is only an olive shell,” Conseil said. “A member of the olive family, belonging to the gastropods.”
“Yes, Conseil, but look carefully.”
“Is something unusual about it?”
“Yes. Most olive shells spiral from right to left.”
“And this one?”
“This one spirals from left to right.”
“Impossible!”
“Yet it is true.”
“It is a left-handed shell.”
Shells are almost always right-handed.
A left-handed shell is extremely rare.
Collectors would pay enormous sums for one.
Conseil and I were completely fascinated by our discovery.
I was already imagining adding it to the museum collection.
Then suddenly—
A stone thrown by one of the natives struck Conseil’s hand.
The precious shell shattered.
I cried out in despair.
Conseil immediately grabbed his gun.
He aimed at the savage who had thrown the stone.
I tried to stop him.
But before I could, his shot hit the native’s arm ornament and broke the bracelet of charms around it.
“Conseil!” I shouted.
“Yes, sir?”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because, sir, the savage started the attack!”
“A shell is not worth a man’s life,” I replied.
“But he destroyed your discovery!”
Conseil was serious.
However, I did not agree with him.
At that moment, we finally noticed that the situation had changed.
We had been surrounded.
Twenty native canoes were approaching the Nautilus.
They were long, narrow boats carved from tree trunks.
A large bamboo pole floating beside each canoe kept them balanced.
The paddlers were skilled and moved quickly.
I watched their approach with growing concern.
Clearly, these Papuans had already encountered Europeans before.
They knew about ships.
But what could they think of this strange iron cylinder lying in the bay?
A vessel with no sails.
No chimney.
No ordinary signs of a ship.
Certainly, they could not have thought anything good.
At first, they stayed far away.
But as they saw the Nautilus remain motionless, they slowly became braver.
They began moving closer.
And that was exactly what we needed to prevent.
Our weapons made almost no sound.
Against people who respected only loud displays of power, silent weapons might not frighten them.
A thunderbolt without thunder would not seem frightening.
The danger was in the lightning, not the noise.
At that moment, the canoes reached the Nautilus.
A storm of arrows fell onto the submarine.
I hurried down to the saloon.
No one was there.
I knocked on the door of Captain Nemo’s room.
“Come in,” he answered.
I entered.
Captain Nemo was sitting there, deeply focused on mathematical calculations.
“I am disturbing you,” I said politely.
“That is true, M. Aronnax,” he replied. “But I assume you have an important reason.”
“A very serious reason. The natives are surrounding us with their canoes. In a few minutes, hundreds of them may attack.”
“Ah,” Captain Nemo said calmly. “They have arrived with their canoes?”
“Yes.”
“Then we must close the hatches.”
“Exactly. That is why I came to tell you—”
“Nothing could be simpler.”
He pressed an electric button.
A command was immediately sent through the submarine.
A few moments later he said:
“It is done. The small boat is secured, and the hatches are closed.”
“But Captain, there is still danger.”
“What danger?”
“Tomorrow at this time, we must open the hatches to replace the air inside the Nautilus. If the natives are standing on the platform then, they could enter.”
“Do you believe they will board us?”
“I am certain of it.”
Captain Nemo smiled.
“Then let them come.”
“You would allow them?”
“Why should I stop them? They are poor creatures. I do not wish my visit to their island to cost even one of their lives.”
I was about to leave.
But Captain Nemo stopped me.
“Sit down, Professor.”
He asked about our trip ashore and our hunting.
He seemed unable to understand Ned Land’s endless desire for fresh meat.
Our conversation moved to many subjects.
Although Captain Nemo revealed nothing about himself, he seemed friendlier than usual.
We eventually discussed the position of the Nautilus, which was stranded in the same area where the French explorer Dumont d’Urville had once nearly been lost.
Captain Nemo looked thoughtful.
“D’Urville was one of your greatest sailors,” he said.
“One of your most intelligent explorers.”
“He was the Captain Cook of France.”
“Imagine that man. After surviving the ice of the South Pole, the coral reefs of Oceania, and the dangers of Pacific islands, he finally died in a railway accident.”
“If he had been able to think during his final moments, what do you suppose filled his last thoughts?”
Captain Nemo seemed deeply moved.
His emotion gave me a better impression of him.
With a map in hand, we discussed D’Urville’s voyages, his discoveries near the South Pole, and his exploration of Oceania.
“What your D’Urville accomplished on the surface of the oceans,” Captain Nemo said, “I have accomplished beneath them.”
“And I have done so more easily and more completely.”
“The Astrolabe and the Zelee were constantly attacked by storms.”
“But the Nautilus is a quiet laboratory, perfectly still in the middle of the ocean.”
“Tomorrow,” he added while standing, “tomorrow at twenty minutes before three in the afternoon, the Nautilus will float again and leave the Torres Strait safely.”
After saying this, Captain Nemo gave a slight bow.
The conversation was over.
I returned to my room.
Conseil was waiting there.
He wanted to know what had happened.
“My boy,” I told him, “I pretended that the Papuans could threaten the Nautilus.”
“And Captain Nemo answered almost sarcastically.”
“I can tell you only one thing: trust him, and sleep peacefully.”
“Do you need my help, sir?”
“No. What is Ned Land doing?”
“If you do not mind me saying so, sir, friend Ned is preparing a kangaroo pie.”
“And it will be a masterpiece.”
I was left alone.
I went to bed.
But my sleep was not peaceful.
I could hear the natives walking on the platform above us.
They shouted wildly throughout the night.
Yet the crew remained completely calm.
To them, these attackers were no more important than ants crawling on the wall of a fortress.
At six o’clock in the morning, I woke.
The hatches were still closed.
The air inside had not been renewed.
But the emergency oxygen tanks were opened, releasing fresh oxygen into the exhausted atmosphere.
I worked in my room until noon.
I did not see Captain Nemo even once.
There was no sign that we were preparing to leave.
I waited longer.
Then I entered the large saloon.
The clock showed half past two.
In ten minutes, high tide would arrive.
If Captain Nemo had not been certain of his promise, the Nautilus might remain trapped for months on the coral reef.
Then I felt something.
A vibration.
The keel was moving against the rough coral below.
At twenty-five minutes before three, Captain Nemo entered.
“We are about to leave,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yes. I have ordered the hatches opened.”
“And the Papuans?”
“The Papuans?”
He simply shrugged.
“Will they not enter the Nautilus?”
“How?”
“By jumping through the open hatches.”
“M. Aronnax,” he said calmly, “they will not enter that way.”
I looked at him.
“You still do not understand?”
“Not completely.”
“Come with me.”
I followed him toward the central staircase.
There, Ned Land and Conseil were secretly watching the crew open the hatches.
Outside, the natives were screaming with anger.
The outer covers opened.
Twenty terrifying faces appeared.
The first native reached out and grabbed the handrail.
Immediately, he was thrown backward by an invisible force.
He screamed and twisted in terror.
Ten more followed.
They suffered exactly the same fate.
Conseil was delighted.
Ned Land, driven by his bold nature, rushed forward.
He grabbed the railing with both hands.
A second later, he was thrown backward too.
“I have been struck by lightning!” he shouted.
Now everything was clear.
The handrail was not an ordinary rail.
It was a metal conductor connected to the electrical system of the Nautilus.
Anyone who touched it received a powerful electric shock.
If Captain Nemo had released the full power of the current, the shock could have been deadly.
Between himself and his enemies, he had created an invisible wall of electricity.
No one could pass it safely.
The terrified Papuans finally retreated.
Ned Land was furious.
We laughed while helping him recover.
But at that exact moment, the final waves of the tide lifted the Nautilus.
The submarine escaped from its coral prison precisely at the time Captain Nemo had predicted.
The propeller began turning slowly.
Then faster.
The Nautilus moved forward majestically across the ocean surface.
Safe and unharmed, it left the dangerous waters of the Torres Strait behind.