We had now entered the second part of our journey beneath the sea.
The first part had ended with the unforgettable scene in the coral cemetery. The memory of that strange and moving place remained deeply engraved in my mind.
In the middle of this endless ocean, Captain Nemo had built a life completely separated from the world above. He had even prepared his own final resting place in the deepest parts of the sea.
There, no creature of the ocean would ever disturb the last sleep of the Nautilus’s crew — those companions who would remain united in death just as they had been in life.
And Captain Nemo had added one more sentence:
“Nor will any man disturb us.”
Those words revealed the same fierce hatred and absolute rejection of human society that had always surrounded him.
I could no longer accept the simple explanation that satisfied Conseil.
My loyal friend still believed that Captain Nemo was only an unknown genius, one of those forgotten scientists who had become bitter because humanity failed to appreciate them.
According to Conseil, Nemo was a misunderstood genius who had grown tired of the disappointments of the world and had escaped into the ocean, where he could live freely according to his own desires.
But I felt that this explanation showed only one side of Captain Nemo’s personality.
The mystery of that terrible night when we had been locked away like prisoners, the strange sleep that had overcome us, the way the Captain had suddenly pulled the telescope from my hands when I tried to examine the horizon, and the deadly injury of the man caused by that unexplained collision with the Nautilus — all of these things pointed toward another possibility.
No.
Captain Nemo was not simply trying to avoid mankind.
His incredible submarine was not only a tool for his desire for freedom.
Perhaps it was also an instrument created for some terrible act of revenge.
At that time, however, I understood very little.
Through all the darkness surrounding this mysterious man, I could only see a faint glimmer of truth.
Therefore, I decided to record events exactly as they happened and let the future reveal the answer.
On January 24th, 1868, at noon, the second officer came onto the platform to measure the height of the sun.
I followed him up, lit a cigar, and watched his work.
I began to suspect that this man did not understand French.
Several times I spoke loudly about what I was observing. If he had understood my words, he would surely have shown some sign of interest.
But he remained completely silent and continued his work without the slightest reaction.
While he was using the sextant, one of the Nautilus’s sailors came onto the platform to clean the glass covers of the searchlights.
I examined the construction of this powerful lighting system.
Its strength was increased many times by curved glass lenses arranged much like those in a lighthouse. They focused the light into a powerful horizontal beam.
The electric lamp itself had been designed to produce the greatest possible brightness.
It worked inside a vacuum, which gave it both stability and extraordinary power.
This vacuum also reduced the loss of the carbon rods between which the electric arc was created.
That was an important advantage for Captain Nemo, because replacing these materials would not have been easy.
Under these conditions, the carbon points wore away so slowly that the waste was almost impossible to notice.
When the Nautilus was ready to continue her underwater journey, I returned to the saloon.
The entrance panel closed above us.
Our course was set directly toward the west.
We were now cutting through the waters of the Indian Ocean, a huge sea covering an area of nearly 1.2 billion acres.
Its waters were so clear and transparent that anyone looking down into them from above could easily feel dizzy.
The Nautilus usually traveled between fifty and one hundred fathoms below the surface.
This continued for several days.
To anyone who did not love the sea as deeply as I did, these endless hours might have seemed dull and boring.
But for me, life aboard the submarine remained full of interest.
My daily walks on the platform allowed me to breathe the fresh ocean air.
The incredible views through the saloon windows fascinated me.
The books in the library occupied my free time.
Writing my notes and organizing my observations gave me constant work.
I never felt boredom or exhaustion.
For several days, we saw many seabirds flying above us — especially gulls and sea-mews.
Some were caught, prepared carefully, and became surprisingly good food.
Among the birds with enormous wings that had traveled far from land and rested on the waves after their long flights, I saw magnificent albatrosses.
Their cries were harsh and unpleasant, almost like the braying of a donkey.
I also observed many other birds belonging to the long-winged family.
The fish were even more fascinating.
Whenever the observation windows were opened, allowing us to look directly into the underwater world, we discovered countless creatures whose secret lives had always been hidden from mankind.
Many species appeared before my eyes that I had never had the chance to study before.
Among them, I especially noticed the ostracions.
These unusual fish lived mainly in the Red Sea, the Indian Ocean, and the tropical waters near the American coast.
Like turtles, armadillos, sea urchins, and certain shellfish, they protected themselves with a hard covering.
But unlike those animals, their armor was not made of shell or stone.
It was made of true bone.
Some had bodies shaped like solid triangles, while others had four-sided bodies.
Among the triangular species, I saw some about an inch and a half long.
Their meat was healthy and delicious.
Their tails were brown, and their fins were yellow.
I even thought they might adapt well to freshwater environments, since some ocean fish can easily become accustomed to new conditions.
I also noticed four-sided ostracions with four large bumps on their backs.
Some had white spots covering the lower part of their bodies and could perhaps even be tamed like birds.
There were also trigons, whose sharp spikes were formed by extensions of their bony shells.
Because of their strange grunting sounds, sailors called them “sea pigs.”
Another curious species was the dromedary fish, which had a large cone-shaped hump.
Unfortunately, its flesh was extremely tough and almost impossible to enjoy.
I will now record some of Conseil’s careful observations from his daily notes.
He wrote:
“Among the fish of these seas, I observed several species of petrodons. They had red backs, white bellies, and three rows of long lines running along their bodies.”
“There were also electric fish about seven inches long, covered in the brightest colors.”
“Other examples included ovoid fish, shaped like dark brown eggs with white stripes and no tails.”
“I saw diodons as well — true sea porcupines covered with spikes. When frightened, they could inflate themselves until they looked like round cushions covered with needles.”
“There were hippocampi, the little creatures found in almost every ocean.”
“There were pegasi with long noses and enormous wing-like fins. They could not truly fly, but they could leap out of the water.”
“There were pigeon spatulas with tails covered in many rings of shell.”
“There were macrognathi with long jaws. They were excellent fish, about nine inches long, and decorated with beautiful colors.”
“There were pale calliomores with rough heads.”
“And there were many chaetodons with long tube-shaped mouths. They caught insects by shooting a single drop of water at them, just like a tiny underwater air gun.”
“These fish could truly be called the flycatchers of the sea.”
Conseil continued:
“Among another group of fish classified by Lacepède, I noticed scorpaenas. Their heads were covered with spikes, and they had only one dorsal fin.”
“Some were protected by small shells, while others had no such covering.”
“I also saw didactyles fourteen or fifteen inches long, with yellow rays and extremely strange-looking heads.”
“But the most unusual were the creatures called sea frogs.”
“They had enormous heads, sometimes full of holes, sometimes covered with swollen growths.”
“They were covered with spikes, bumps, strange horns, and rough patches.”
“Their bodies and tails looked covered with hard lumps.”
“Their sting could cause dangerous wounds.”
“They were among the ugliest and most frightening creatures one could imagine.”
From January 21st to January 23rd, the Nautilus traveled at a speed of 250 leagues every twenty-four hours.
That meant about 540 miles per day, or nearly 22 miles per hour.
If we were able to observe so many different kinds of fish, it was because the creatures were attracted by the electric light of the submarine.
They followed us through the darkness.
However, most of them were soon left behind by our incredible speed.
Only a few were able to remain beside the Nautilus for any length of time.
On the morning of January 24th, at latitude 12°5′ south and longitude 94°33′ east, we saw Keeling Island.
It was a beautiful coral island covered with magnificent coconut trees.
The famous naturalist Darwin and Captain FitzRoy had once visited it.
The Nautilus passed close along its deserted shores.
Our nets brought up many specimens of coral animals and strange mollusk shells.
Among them were several valuable examples of delphinula shells, which added to Captain Nemo’s already impressive collection.
I also contributed an astraea punctifera, a type of parasitic coral animal often found attached to shells.
Soon Keeling Island vanished from sight.
Our course turned northwest toward the Indian Peninsula.
After leaving the island, the Nautilus slowed down and changed direction frequently.
We often descended into much deeper waters.
Several times Captain Nemo used the submarine’s inclined planes.
These were controlled by internal mechanisms placed at an angle beneath the waterline.
Using them, we descended about two miles deeper.
However, we still did not reach the greatest depths of the Indian Ocean.
Some areas had never been measured, even with soundings reaching seven thousand fathoms.
The temperature of the deepest waters remained constant.
The thermometer always showed about four degrees above freezing.
I also noticed that in the upper layers of the ocean, the water became colder as we moved farther away from the surface.
On January 25th, the ocean was completely empty.
The Nautilus traveled on the surface all day, its powerful propeller beating the waves and throwing water high into the air.
Under such conditions, who would not have mistaken it for some enormous sea creature?
I spent most of the day on the platform, watching the endless ocean.
Nothing appeared on the horizon.
Then, around four o’clock, a steamship crossed our path, moving westward.
For a moment, we saw its masts.
But the ship could not see the Nautilus, because our submarine was too low in the water.
I imagined that the vessel belonged to the P&O Company, which operated between Ceylon and Sydney, stopping at King George’s Point and Melbourne.
At five in the evening, just before the brief tropical twilight connected day and night, Conseil and I witnessed a remarkable sight.
A huge group of argonauts was traveling across the surface of the ocean.
There were hundreds of them.
They belonged to a species found especially in the Indian seas.
These graceful mollusks moved backward by pushing water through their special breathing tube.
Of their eight arms, six stretched freely across the surface.
The other two were rolled flat and spread out like delicate sails.
I admired their spiral shells, with their beautiful ridges.
Cuvier had correctly compared them to elegant little boats.
And indeed, they were boats.
The creature itself created the shell that carried it, yet it was not attached permanently to its vessel.
For almost an hour, the Nautilus floated among this strange fleet.
Then suddenly, I do not know what frightened them.
As if receiving a single command, every tiny sail disappeared.
Their arms folded.
Their bodies withdrew.
Their shells turned over.
And the entire group vanished beneath the waves.
Never had I seen a fleet of ships perform a maneuver with such perfect unity.
At that moment, darkness suddenly covered the sea.
The reeds floating nearby barely moved in the gentle breeze beside the Nautilus.
The following day, January 26th, we crossed the equator at the eighty-second meridian and entered the Northern Hemisphere.
During that day, a terrifying army of sharks followed us.
These dangerous creatures were extremely common in these waters.
Among them were cestracion sharks, with brown backs and pale bellies.
They possessed eleven rows of teeth.
Their heads carried a strange black mark surrounded by white, resembling an eye.
There were also Isabella sharks with rounded noses covered in dark spots.
These powerful animals repeatedly threw themselves against the windows of the saloon with such force that we felt uneasy.
At such moments, Ned Land completely lost control of himself.
He wanted to return to the surface and hunt them with his harpoon.
He especially admired the smooth-hound sharks, whose mouths were filled with teeth arranged like a mosaic.
He was also fascinated by the enormous tiger sharks, nearly six yards long.
But the Nautilus simply increased her speed and easily escaped even the fastest of them.
On January 27th, as we entered the enormous Bay of Bengal, we witnessed a terrible sight.
Dead bodies were floating on the surface of the water.
They were the bodies of people from Indian villages, carried down by the Ganges River into the sea.
The vultures, which served as the natural undertakers of the region, had not been able to consume them all.
But the sharks quickly continued the work of nature.
Around seven in the evening, the Nautilus was half-submerged and sailing through a sea of white.
At first glance, the ocean appeared to have turned into milk.
Was it the reflection of moonlight?
No.
The moon was only two days old and still hidden below the horizon.
The sky itself looked dark despite the stars, because it contrasted so strongly with the strange whiteness of the water.
Conseil stared in disbelief.
“Professor,” he asked, “what is causing this extraordinary sight?”
Fortunately, I knew the answer.
“This phenomenon is called a milk sea,” I explained.
“It is a vast area of white waves that has often been observed near Amboyna and in these parts of the ocean.”
“But sir,” said Conseil, “what creates such an effect? Surely the water has not actually become milk?”
“No, my boy. The whiteness comes from millions upon millions of tiny organisms called infusoria.”
“They are small, glowing creatures, almost like tiny worms.”
“They are soft, transparent, and no thicker than a hair.”
“Their length is only about seven-thousandths of an inch.”
“These creatures sometimes gather together over distances of several leagues.”
“Several leagues?” Conseil exclaimed.
“Yes, my boy.”
“And there is no point trying to calculate their number.”
“You could never count them.”
“Ships have even traveled across these white seas for more than forty miles.”
Near midnight, the ocean suddenly returned to its normal appearance.
But behind us, all the way to the horizon, the sky still reflected the whitened waves.
For a long time, it seemed as if the entire ocean had left behind a faint, mysterious glow, like a distant northern aurora.