Двадцать тысяч лье под водой / Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Жюль Верн

      Someone was massaging me vigorously. I half opened my eyes.

      “Conseil!” I muttered.

      Just then, in the last light of a moon, I saw a face that wasn’t Conseil’s but which I recognized at once.

      “Ned!” I exclaimed.

      “In person, sir, and still after his prize!” the Canadian replied.

      “You were thrown overboard after the frigate’s collision?”

      “Yes, professor, but I was luckier than you, and right away I was able to set foot on this floating islet.”

      “Islet?”

      “Or in other words, on our gigantic narwhale.”

      “Explain yourself, Ned.”

      “It’s just that I soon realized why my harpoon couldn’t puncture its hide.”

      “Why, Ned, why?”

      “Because, professor, this beast is made of steel!”

      The Canadian’s last words caused a sudden upheaval in my brain. I swiftly hoisted myself to the summit of this half-submerged creature or object that was serving as our refuge. I tested it with my foot. Obviously it was some hard, impenetrable substance, not the soft matter that makes up the bodies of our big marine mammals.

      The blackish back supporting me was smooth and polished. And it was made of riveted plates[22].

      No doubts were possible! This animal, this monster, this natural phenomenon that had puzzled the whole scientific world, was an even more astonishing phenomenon—a phenomenon made by the hand of man.

      Even if I had discovered that some fabulous, mythological creature really existed, it wouldn’t have given me such a terrific mental jolt.

      There was no question now. We were lying on the back of some kind of underwater boat that boasted the shape of an immense steel fish.

      “But then,” I said, “does this contraption contain some sort of locomotive mechanism, and a crew to run it?”

      “Apparently,” the harpooner replied. “And yet for the three hours I’ve lived on this floating island, it hasn’t shown a sign of life.”

      “This boat hasn’t moved at all?”

      “No, Professor Aronnax. It just rides with the waves.”

      “But we know that it’s certainly gifted with great speed. Now then, since an engine is needed to generate that speed, and a mechanic to run that engine, I conclude: we’re saved.”

      “Humph!” Ned Land muttered. “As long as it swims, I’ve no complaints. But if it dives, I wouldn’t give $2.00 for my life!”

      So it was imperative to make contact with someone inside the plating of this machine. I searched its surface for an opening or a hatch; but the lines of rivets were straight and uniform.

      Moreover, the moon then disappeared and left us in profound darkness. We had to wait for daylight to find some way of getting inside this underwater boat.

      Near four o’clock in the morning, the submersible picked up speed. We could barely cope with this dizzying rush.

      Finally the long night was over. I thought I heard indistinct sounds, a sort of elusive harmony produced by distant musical chords. What beings lived inside this strange boat? What mechanical force allowed it to move about with such prodigious speed?

      Daylight appeared. The morning mists surrounded us. I was about to proceed with a careful examination of the hull, when I felt it sinking little by little.

      “Oh, damnation!” Ned Land shouted, stamping his foot on the resonant sheet iron. “Open up there, you navigators!”

      Fortunately this submerging movement stopped. From inside the boat, there suddenly came noises of iron fastenings. One of the steel plates flew up, a man appeared, gave a bizarre yell, and instantly disappeared.

      A few moments later, eight fellows appeared silently, their faces like masks, and dragged us down into their fearsome machine.

      Chapter 8

      This capture was carried out with lightning speed. My companions and I had no time to collect ourselves. I don’t know how they felt, but as for me, I was shivering all over. With whom were we dealing? Surely with some pirates.

      The narrow hatch had barely closed over me when I was surrounded by profound darkness. I felt my naked feet clinging to the steps of an iron ladder. Ned Land and Conseil were behind me. At the foot of the ladder, a door opened and instantly closed behind us.

      We were alone. Where? I couldn’t say, I couldn’t even imagine. All was darkness.

      “Damnation!” Ned Land exclaimed. “These people are not very hospitable! I wouldn’t be surprised if they were cannibals!”

      “Calm yourself, Ned my friend,” Conseil replied serenely. “We aren’t in a kettle yet!”

      “In a kettle, no,” the Canadian shot back, “but in an oven for sure. Luckily my knife hasn’t left me, and I can still see well enough to use it. The first one of these bandits who lays a hand on me—”

      “Don’t be so irritable, Ned,” I then told the harpooner, “and don’t ruin things for us. Who knows whether they might be listening to us? Instead, let’s try to find out where we are!”

      Half an hour had already gone by without our situation changing, when our eyes saw blinding light. Our prison lit up all at once. I recognized the electric glow.

      “Finally! It’s light enough to see!” Ned Land exclaimed, knife in hand.

      “Yes,” I replied. “But as for our situation, we’re still in the dark.”

      “Master must learn patience,” said the emotionless Conseil.

      This sudden illumination of our cabin enabled me to examine its details. It contained only a table and five stools. Its invisible door must have been hermetically sealed. Not a sound reached our ears. Everything seemed dead inside this boat. Was it in motion, or stationary on the surface of the ocean, or sinking into the depths? I couldn’t tell.

      A door opened, and two men appeared. One was short and stocky, powerfully muscled, broad shouldered, robust of limbs, the hair black and luxuriant, the mustache heavy, the eyes bright and penetrating.

      The second stranger was a man of great pride, his calm, firm gaze seemed to reflect thinking on an elevated plane. Whether this individual was thirty-five or fifty years of age, I could not precisely state. He was tall, his forehead broad, his nose straight, his mouth clearly etched, his teeth magnificent, his hands refined. One unusual detail: his eyes were spaced a little far from each other and could instantly take in nearly a quarter of the horizon.

      Wearing caps made of sea-otter fur, and shod in sealskin fishing boots, these two strangers were dressed in clothing made from some unique fabric that allowed great freedom of movement.

      The taller of the two—apparently the leader on board—examined us with the greatest care but without pronouncing a word. Then, turning to his companion, he conversed with him in a language I didn’t recognize. It was a sonorous, harmonious, flexible dialect.

      The other replied with a shake of the head and added two or three incomprehensible words. Then he looked at me.

      I replied in clear French that I wasn’t familiar with his language; but he didn’t seem to understand