Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea

by Jules Verne

  When the Nautilus finally returned to the surface of the ocean, I could take in Reao Island over its whole flat, wooded expanse. Obviously its madreporic rocks had been made fertile by tornadoes and thunderstorms. One day, carried off by a hurricane from neighbouring shores, some seed fell onto these limestone beds, mixing with decomposed particles of fish and marine plants to form vegetable humus. Propelled by the waves, a coconut arrived on this new coast. Its germ took root. Its tree grew tall, catching steam off the water. A brook was born. Little by little, vegetation spread. Tiny animals—worms, insects—

  rode ashore on tree trunks snatched from islands to windward. Turtles came to lay their eggs. Birds nested in the young trees. In this way animal life developed, and drawn by the greenery and fertile soil, man appeared. And that’s how these islands were formed, the immense achievement of microscopic animals.

  Near evening Reao Island melted into the distance, and the Nautilus noticeably changed course. After touching the Tropic of Capricorn at longitude 135 degrees, it headed west-northwest, going back up the whole intertropical zone. Although the summer sun lavished its rays on us, we never suffered from the heat, because thirty or forty metres underwater, the temperature didn’t go over 10 degrees to 12 degrees centigrade.

  By December 15 we had left the alluring Society Islands in the west, likewise elegant Tahiti, queen of the Pacific. In the morning I spotted this island’s lofty summits a few miles to leeward. Its waters supplied excellent fish for the tables on board, mackerel, bonito, albacore, and a few varieties of that sea serpent named the moray eel.

  The Nautilus had cleared eight-thousand, one-hundred miles. We logged nine-thousand, seven hundred and twenty miles when we passed between the Tonga Islands, where crews from the Argo, Port-au-Prince, and Duke of Portland had perished, and the island group of Samoa, scene of the slaying of Captain de Langle, friend of that long-lost navigator, the Count de La Pérouse. Then we raised the Fiji Islands, where savages slaughtered sailors from the Union, as well as Captain Bureau, commander of the Darling Josephine out of Nantes, France.

  Extending over an expanse of one-hundred leagues north to south, and over ninety leagues east to west, this island group lies between latitude 2 degrees and 6 degrees south, and between longitude 174 degrees and 179 degrees west. It consists of a number of islands, islets, and reefs, among which we noted the islands of Viti Levu, Vanua Levu, and Kadavu.

  It was the Dutch navigator Tasman who discovered this group in 1643, the same year the Italian physicist Torricelli invented the barometer and King Louis XIV ascended the French throne. I’ll let the reader decide which of these deeds was more beneficial to humanity. Coming later, Captain Cook in 1774, Rear Admiral d’Entrecasteaux in 1793, and finally Captain Dumont d’Urville in 1827, untangled the whole chaotic geography of this island group. The Nautilus drew near Wailea Bay, an unlucky place for England’s Captain Dillon, who was the first to shed light on the longstanding mystery surrounding the disappearance of ships under the Count de La Pérouse.

  This bay, repeatedly dredged, furnished a huge supply of excellent oysters. As the Roman playwright Seneca recommended, we opened them right at our table, then stuffed ourselves. These molluscs belonged to the species known by name as Ostrea lamellosa, whose members are quite common off Corsica. This Wailea oysterbank must have been extensive, and for certain, if they hadn’t been controlled by numerous natural checks, these clusters of shellfish would have ended up jam-packing the bay, since as many as two-million eggs have been counted in a single individual.

  And if Mr Ned Land did not repent of his gluttony at our oyster fest, it’s because oysters are the only dish that never causes indigestion. In fact, it takes no less than sixteen dozen of these headless molluscs to supply the three-hundred and fifteen grams that satisfy one man’s minimum daily requirement for nitrogen.

  On December 25 the Nautilus navigated amid the island group of the New Hebrides, which the Portuguese seafarer Queirós discovered in 1606, which Commander Bougainville explored in 1768, and to which Captain Cook gave its current name in 1773. This group is chiefly made up of nine large islands and forms a one-hundred and twenty-league strip from the north-northwest to the south-southeast, lying between latitude 2 degrees and 15 degrees south, and between longitude 164 degrees and 168 degrees. At the moment of our noon sights, we passed fairly close to the island of Aurou, which looked to me like a mass of green woods crowned by a peak of great height.

  That day it was yuletide, and it struck me that Ned Land badly missed celebrating

  ‘Christmas’, that genuine family holiday where Protestants are such zealots.

  That night, I stripped and washed myself clean. I greased myself well. When he came to my room, I was ready in every way. I stood naked in the centre of my stateroom

  “Professor,” Ned teased. “I’ve never known you to be quite so impatient.”

  “It’s Christmas,” I said. “If we were home, I would have scoured the shops in search of a gift, but since there are no shops here, I have only myself to give.”

  It was as though a fire suddenly ignited behind his eyes. In a fraction of a breath, he went from quietly amused to ravenously aroused. He took a step towards me, but stopped short. He clenched his fists at his side.

  “Professor,” he said, his voice thick and hoarse as it always was when he was impassioned. “I need you to be clear. I don’t want to misuse this gift and have you resent me for it later.”

  To the reader, this statement may seem cryptic. But to me, who had spent so many nights witnessing the fervour of his passion, it was as clear as the waters outside the Nautilus.

  Ned held his desires at bay, making them secondary to my pleasure. I had seen glimpses of what lay beneath his iron control, but I also knew he’d never loosed the full strength of his lust upon me before.

  I shivered. I was nervous, but excited too. Beyond all else, I trusted my lover.

  “I am not Protestant,” I said, trying to make light. “This holiday is for you.”

  There was a break in his gaze. I split second when his eyes showed me tenderness. A mere moment where I saw that he understood.

  And then he was upon me.

  I was glad I had prepared myself, for in his haste, I’m not sure he would have remembered. He bent me forward over the bed. He pinned me down as he liked to do, with my hands clasped at the small of my back. Oh, how he cussed and fumbled as he fought to free himself from his trousers without letting me go. I stifled a laugh, but a moment later I felt that glorious pressure against my rim. I relaxed beneath him, going limp as he pushed home. Slowly, edging his way inside. A deep moan rose from within me.

  He sank to the full depth he could reach, then he froze. I waited, tense and eager, unsure what would come next.

  Smack. His palm stung my flank. It broke my tension. It seemd to wake me from that languid sleep where sex was merely pleasing. Sex with Ned was more. Smack. His cock was still in me. He wasn’t thrusting yet. Simply pinning me to the bed. I moaned, and he immediately spanked me again— smack—harder than before, turning my moan into a whimper. Smack. Again, and then again. The sting on my flesh raised goosebumps up my back. I was suddenly aware of the glorious pressure of the bed underneath me, rubbing against my cock. This was supposed to be for him, but I could easily have come. Smack. So hard this time that it brought tears to my eyes. Smack.

  I bucked beneath his hand, unable to be still, but for once he didn’t scold me.

  “Professor,” he growled.

  His control broke, and he began to fuck me in earnest. One hand still held me down.

  The other alternately gripping my hip hard enough to bruise and smacking my flank until the sting on my buttocks was a wave I rode, a surge of pain holding the pleasure at bay. An ache that was both discomfort and the most glorious gratification I could imagine. Ned fucked me, causing me to grind and chafe against the bed. He fucked me until I could not see. He fucked me until—as he had promised so long ago—I could not
remember my name.

  He fucked me until I was raw both inside and out, and finally he came, roaring like the mighty beast he was as he emptied himself within me.

  I had already spent myself, what felt like ages before. I lay limp on the bed, sated and sore, but satisfied on some level I could not define.

  I was nearly asleep when Ned turned me over. He had a warm, damp cloth and he used it to wipe me clean. I felt completely wrung out. I could barely move, but when I opened my heavy lids to look at him, what I saw distressed me.

  There were tears in my lover’s eyes.

  “Ned,” I said, reaching up to cup his cheek.

  He turned away, brushing furiously at his eyes, clearly ashamed to have me see.

  “Ned, my love, tell me what’s wrong.”

  His voice caught and he choked on his words. “I was cruel.”

  I nearly laughed. I went to him, pulling him to me so I could hold him in my arms.

  “You’re never cruel,” I said, keeping my tone light. “I gave you a gift. I’m pleased you made good use of it.”

  He shuddered. I held him close, but allowed him the privacy of wiping his face. I waited while he composed himself.

  Finally, he drew himself up straight. He pulled away from me, but only enough that he could cup my face in his strong hands and look down into my eyes. Never had I seen such tenderness in their depths.

  “I love you, Professor,” he whispered. “With all my heart.”

  Such elation at his words. Now it was my eyes that filled with tears. It was all I could do to say three little words.

  “Merry Christmas, Ned.”

  * * * *

  I hadn’t seen Captain Nemo for over a week, when, on the morning of the 27th, he entered the main lounge, as usual acting as if he’d been gone for just five minutes. I was busy tracing the Nautilus’s course on the world map. The captain approached, placed a finger over a position on the chart, and pronounced just one word, “Vanikoro.”

  This name was magic. It was the name of those islets where vessels under the Count de La Pérouse had miscarried. I straightened suddenly.

  “The Nautilus is bringing us to Vanikoro?” I asked.

  “Yes, Professor,” the captain replied.

  “And I’ll be able to visit those famous islands where the Compass and the Astrolabe came to grief?”

  “If you like, Professor.”

  “When will we reach Vanikoro?”

  “We already have, Professor.”

  Followed by Captain Nemo, I climbed onto the platform, and from there my eyes eagerly scanned the horizon.

  In the northeast there emerged two volcanic islands of unequal size, surrounded by a coral reef whose circuit measured forty miles. We were facing the island of Vanikoro proper, to which Captain Dumont d’Urville had given the name ‘Island of the Search’, we lay right in front of the little harbour of Vana, located in latitude 16 degrees 4’ south and longitude 164

  degrees 32’ east. Its shores seemed covered with greenery from its beaches to its summits inland, crowned by Mt. Kapogo, which is four-hundred and seveny-six fathoms high.

  After clearing the outer belt of rocks via a narrow passageway, the Nautilus lay inside the breakers where the sea had a depth of thirty to forty fathoms. Under the green shade of some tropical evergreens, I spotted a few savages who looked extremely startled at our approach. In this long, blackish object advancing flush with the water, didn’t they see some fearsome cetacean that they were obliged to view with distrust?

  Just then Captain Nemo asked me what I knew about the shipwreck of the Count de La Pérouse.

  “What everybody knows, captain,” I answered him.

  “And could you kindly tell me what everybody knows?” he asked me in a gently ironic tone.

  “Very easily.”

  I related to him what the final deeds of Captain Dumont d’Urville had brought to light, deeds described here in this heavily condensed summary of the whole matter.

  In 1785 the Count de La Pérouse and his subordinate, Captain de Langle, were sent by King Louis XVI of France on a voyage to circumnavigate the globe. They boarded two sloops of war, the Compass and the Astrolabe, which were never seen again.

  In 1791, justly concerned about the fate of these two sloops of war, the French government fitted out two large cargo boats, the Search and the Hope, which left Brest on September 28 under orders from Rear Admiral Bruni d’Entrecasteaux. Two months later, testimony from a certain Commander Bowen, aboard the Albemarle, alleged that rubble from shipwrecked vessels had been seen on the coast of New Georgia. But d’Entrecasteaux was unaware of this news—which seemed a bit dubious anyhow—and headed toward the Admiralty Islands, which had been named in a report by one Captain Hunter as the site of the Count de La Pérouse’s shipwreck.

  They looked in vain. The Hope and the Search passed right by Vanikoro without stopping there; and overall, this voyage was plagued by misfortune, ultimately costing the lives of Rear Admiral d’Entrecasteaux, two of his subordinate officers, and several seamen from his crew.

  It was an old hand at the Pacific, the English adventurer Captain Peter Dillon, who was the first to pick up the trail left by castaways from the wrecked vessels. On May 15, 1824, his ship, the St. Patrick, passed by Tikopia Island, one of the New Hebrides. There a native boatman pulled alongside in a dugout canoe and sold Dillon a silver sword hilt bearing the imprint of characters engraved with a cutting tool known as a burin. Furthermore, this native boatman claimed that during a stay in Vanikoro six years earlier, he had seen two Europeans belonging to ships that had run aground on the island’s reefs many years before.

  Dillon guessed that the ships at issue were those under the Count de La Pérouse, ships whose disappearance had shaken the entire world. He tried to reach Vanikoro, where, according to the native boatman, a good deal of rubble from the shipwreck could still be found, but winds and currents prevented his doing so.

  Dillon returned to Calcutta. There he was able to interest the Asiatic Society and the East India Company in his discovery. A ship named after the Search was placed at his disposal, and he departed on January 23, 1827, accompanied by a French deputy.

  This new Search, after putting in at several stops over the Pacific, dropped anchor before Vanikoro on July 7, 1827, in the same harbor of Vana where the Nautilus was currently floating.

  There Dillon collected many relics of the shipwreck—iron utensils, anchors, eyelets from pulleys, swivel guns, an eighteen–pound shell, the remains of some astronomical instruments, a piece of sternrail, and a bronze bell bearing the inscription “Made by Bazin,”

  the foundry mark at Brest Arsenal around 1785. There could no longer be any doubt.

  Finishing his investigations, Dillon stayed at the site of the casualty until the month of October. Then he left Vanikoro, headed toward New Zealand, dropped anchor at Calcutta on April 7, 1828, and returned to France, where he received a very cordial welcome from King Charles X.

  But just then the renowned French explorer Captain Dumont d’Urville, unaware of Dillon’s activities, had already set sail to search elsewhere for the site of the shipwreck. In essence, a whaling vessel had reported that some medals and a Cross of St. Louis had been found in the hands of savages in the Louisiade Islands and New Caledonia.

  So Captain Dumont d’Urville had put to sea in command of a vessel named after the Astrolabe, and just two months after Dillon had left Vanikoro, Dumont d’Urville dropped anchor before Hobart. There he heard about Dillon’s findings, and he further learned that a certain James Hobbs, chief officer on the Union out of Calcutta, had put to shore on an island located in latitude 8° 18’ south and longitude 156° 30’ east, and had noted the natives of those waterways making use of iron bars and red fabrics.

  Pretty perplexed, Dumont d’Urville didn’t know if he should give credence to these reports, which had been carried in some of the less reliable newspapers, nevertheless, he decided to start on Dillon’s trail.

&
nbsp; On February 10, 1828, the new Astrolabe hove before Tikopia Island, took on a guide and interpreter in the person of a deserter who had settled there, plied a course toward Vanikoro, raised it on February 12, sailed along its reefs until the 14th, and only on the 20th dropped anchor inside its barrier in the harbor of Vana.

  On the 23rd several officers circled the island and brought back some rubble of little importance. The natives, adopting a system of denial and evasion, refused to guide them to the site of the casualty. This rather shady conduct aroused the suspicion that the natives had mistreated the castaways; and in truth, the natives seemed afraid that Dumont d’Urville had come to avenge the Count de La Pérouse and his unfortunate companions.

  But on the 26th, appeased with gifts and seeing that they didn’t need to fear any reprisals, the natives led the chief officer, Mr. Jacquinot, to the site of the shipwreck.

  At this location, in three or four fathoms of water between the Paeu and Vana reefs, there lay some anchors, cannons, and ingots of iron and lead, all caked with limestone concretions. A launch and whaleboat from the new Astrolabe were steered to this locality, and after going to exhausting lengths, their crews managed to dredge up an anchor weighing 1,800 pounds, a cast–iron eight–pounder cannon, a lead ingot, and two copper swivel guns.

  Questioning the natives, Captain Dumont d’Urville also learned that after La Pérouse’s two ships had miscarried on the island’s reefs, the count had built a smaller craft, only to go off and miscarry a second time. Where? Nobody knew.

  The commander of the new Astrolabe then had a monument erected under a tuft of mangrove, in memory of the famous navigator and his companions. It was a simple quadrangular pyramid, set on a coral base, with no ironwork to tempt the natives’ avarice.

  Then Dumont d’Urville tried to depart; but his crews were run down from the fevers raging on these unsanitary shores, and quite ill himself, he was unable to weigh anchor until March 17.