The storm had pushed the Nautilus eastward again.
All hope of escaping by reaching the shores of New York or the Saint Lawrence River had disappeared. Poor Ned Land was completely crushed. Like Captain Nemo, he shut himself away from everyone, refusing to speak or share his thoughts.
Conseil and I, however, stayed together as we always had.
I had said that the Nautilus had turned toward the east, but to be more accurate, it had moved northeast.
For several days, the submarine traveled partly on the surface and partly beneath the waves, wandering through the thick fogs that sailors feared so much.
Those endless fogs had caused countless disasters.
How many ships had crashed into hidden reefs because the wind drowned out the sound of breaking waves?
How many vessels had collided despite their warning lights, whistles, and alarm bells?
The ocean floor beneath these waters looked like a battlefield.
There, the defeated ships of the sea rested forever.
Some were ancient, covered completely with shells and marine growth.
Others were more recent, their iron plates and copper coverings still shining under the powerful lights of the Nautilus.
On May 15th, we reached the southern edge of the Newfoundland Bank.
This underwater plateau was made from layers of material carried there by ocean currents.
Some came from the Equator, brought by the Gulf Stream.
Others came from the Arctic regions, carried south by the cold current flowing along the American coast.
Huge rocks transported by drifting ice had also gathered there.
Nearby was an enormous graveyard of shellfish, where millions of creatures had died and fallen to the bottom.
The sea around Newfoundland was not very deep, only a few hundred fathoms.
But farther south, the ocean suddenly dropped into a huge depression reaching 1,500 fathoms.
There the Gulf Stream spread out.
It became slower and colder, but it also became a true ocean current.
On May 17th, about 500 miles from Heart’s Content, I saw something lying on the seabed more than 1,400 fathoms below the surface.
It was the electric cable connecting Europe and America.
I had not told Conseil about it.
At first, the poor fellow believed he was looking at a gigantic sea serpent.
I quickly corrected his mistake and explained the history of this remarkable achievement.
The first cable had been laid in 1857 and 1858.
After sending around 400 messages, however, it stopped working completely.
In 1863, engineers built another cable.
It was 2,000 miles long and weighed 4,500 tons.
The huge ship Great Eastern carried it across the Atlantic.
But this attempt also ended in failure.
On May 25th, the Nautilus reached the exact location where that cable had broken.
We were more than 1,900 fathoms beneath the surface and only about 638 miles from the Irish coast.
At half past two in the afternoon, the operators on the ship discovered that communication with Europe had suddenly stopped.
They decided to cut the cable and bring the damaged section aboard.
By eleven o’clock that night, they had recovered the broken part.
They repaired it, connected the wires again, and lowered the cable back into the ocean.
But several days later, it broke once more.
This time, it disappeared forever into the depths and could not be recovered.
The Americans, however, refused to give up.
Cyrus Field, the man who had devoted his fortune to the project, organized a new effort.
A new cable was built with stronger protection.
Each bundle of wires was covered with gutta-percha, wrapped in hemp, and protected by a metal covering.
The Great Eastern began its voyage on July 13th, 1866.
This time, everything went smoothly.
There was only one strange incident.
Several times, the crew noticed that nails had recently been driven into the cable.
Someone was clearly trying to destroy it.
Captain Anderson, the officers, and the engineers discussed the matter.
They announced that if the person responsible was caught, he would be thrown into the sea immediately.
After that warning, the attempts stopped.
On July 23rd, the Great Eastern was only 500 miles from Newfoundland when a message arrived from Ireland.
It announced the peace agreement between Prussia and Austria after the Battle of Sadowa.
On July 27th, after passing through heavy fog, the ship reached Heart’s Content.
The great project had succeeded.
The first official message sent from America to Europe carried these words:
“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill towards men.”
I had not expected the cable to still look almost unchanged after years beneath the sea.
The long underwater “serpent” was covered with shells and tiny marine creatures.
A thick protective layer had formed around it, shielding it from creatures that might damage it.
It rested peacefully on the ocean floor, protected from strong waves and surrounded by the perfect pressure needed for electric signals.
The spark traveling through the cable could cross from Europe to America in only a fraction of a second.
The cable would probably last for many years because seawater actually strengthened the gutta-percha covering.
At this depth, the cable was also protected from sudden tension that could break it.
The Nautilus followed the cable down to its greatest depth, more than 2,200 fathoms below the surface.
There it lay freely on the seabed without any support.
Soon we reached the place where the accident of 1863 had happened.
The ocean floor there formed a valley almost 100 miles wide.
A mountain as high as Mont Blanc could have stood there without its peak rising above the waves.
To the east, the valley ended at a huge vertical underwater wall more than 2,000 yards high.
We arrived there on May 28th.
The Nautilus was then only 120 miles from Ireland.
I wondered whether Captain Nemo intended to land on the British Isles.
But no.
To my great surprise, he turned south again and moved back toward European waters.
As we passed around the Emerald Isle, I briefly saw Cape Clear and the lighthouse guiding thousands of ships leaving Glasgow and Liverpool.
A question immediately entered my mind.
Would the Nautilus dare to enter the English Channel?
Ned Land, who had finally appeared again as we approached land, constantly questioned me.
But what answer could I give him?
Captain Nemo remained hidden.
After showing the Canadian a glimpse of American shores, was he now going to show me the coast of France?
But the Nautilus continued south.
On May 30th, we passed near Land’s End, the western tip of England, with the Scilly Isles on our right.
If Captain Nemo wanted to enter the English Channel, he would have turned directly east.
He did not.
Throughout May 31st, the Nautilus moved in wide circles across the ocean.
It seemed to be searching for a particular location.
At noon, Captain Nemo came up himself to record the ship’s position.
He said nothing to me.
But he looked more troubled than ever.
What could have caused such sadness?
Was it because he was near European shores?
Did these waters remind him of his lost homeland?
Or was he feeling regret for something in his past?
For a long time, these thoughts stayed in my mind.
I had a strange feeling that the secrets of Captain Nemo would soon be revealed.
The next day, June 1st, the Nautilus continued searching.
It was clearly looking for a specific place beneath the ocean.
Captain Nemo once again measured the sun’s position.
The sea was calm.
The sky was clear.
About eight miles to the east, a large steamship appeared on the horizon.
No flag flew from its mast, so I could not tell what country it belonged to.
A few minutes before noon, Captain Nemo took his sextant and carefully measured the sun’s height.
The perfectly still sea made his calculation easier.
The Nautilus remained completely motionless.
It neither rolled nor moved forward.
I stood on the platform while the Captain finished his calculation.
Then he quietly said:
“It is here.”
He turned and went below.
Had he noticed the steamship changing course and moving toward us?
I could not tell.
I returned to the saloon.
The panels closed, and I heard water rushing into the tanks.
The Nautilus began sinking straight downward.
Its propeller was not turning.
A few minutes later, we stopped more than 420 fathoms below the surface and rested on the ocean floor.
The glowing ceiling of the submarine darkened.
Then the windows opened.
Through the glass, I saw the ocean illuminated by our powerful lights for more than half a mile in every direction.
I looked to the left.
Nothing could be seen except endless, silent water.
But on the right side, something large appeared on the seabed.
It immediately caught my attention.
At first, it looked like an ancient ruin covered with a white layer, like snow.
But as I examined it more carefully, I recognized the shape of a ship.
Its masts were gone.
It had sunk long ago.
The entire hull was covered with layers of shells and minerals from the sea.
It must have rested there for many years.
What ship was this?
Why had the Nautilus come to visit its underwater grave?
I was still wondering when I heard Captain Nemo speak beside me in a quiet voice.
“Long ago, this ship was called the Marseillais.”
“It carried seventy-four guns and was launched in 1762.”
“In 1778, on August 13th, under the command of La Poype-Vertrieux, it fought bravely against the Preston.”
“In 1779, on July 4th, it took part in the capture of Grenada with Admiral d’Estaing’s fleet.”
“In 1781, on September 5th, it fought in the battle led by the Count de Grasse in Chesapeake Bay.”
“In 1794, during the French Republic, its name was changed.”
“On April 16th of that year, it joined Villaret-Joyeuse’s fleet at Brest.”
“It was assigned to protect a grain convoy coming from America under Admiral Van Stabel.”
“On the 11th and 12th of Prairial in the second year of the Republic, this fleet met an English squadron.”
“Today is June 1st, 1868.”
“Exactly seventy-four years ago, on this very day and at this very location—latitude 47°24′, longitude 17°28′—this ship fought its final battle.”
“It lost all three masts.”
“Water filled its lower decks.”
“A third of its crew was wounded or disabled.”
“Yet it refused to surrender.”
“With 356 sailors aboard, it chose to sink beneath the waves rather than lower its flag.”
“While its colors were still nailed to the stern, it disappeared into the ocean.”
“And its sailors shouted their final cry: ‘Long live the Republic!’”
“The Avenger!” I cried.
“Yes,” Captain Nemo whispered, crossing his arms.
“The Avenger. A fitting name.”