________________________________________________
_ THIS CELL, properly speaking, was the Nautilus's arsenal and wardrobe.
Hanging from its walls, a dozen diving outfits were waiting for
anybody who wanted to take a stroll.
After seeing these, Ned Land exhibited an obvious distaste for the idea
of putting one on.
"But my gallant Ned," I told him, "the forests of Crespo Island
are simply underwater forests!"
"Oh great!" put in the disappointed harpooner, watching his dreams
of fresh meat fade away. "And you, Professor Aronnax, are you
going to stick yourself inside these clothes?"
"It has to be, Mr. Ned."
"Have it your way, sir," the harpooner replied, shrugging his shoulders.
"But speaking for myself, I'll never get into those things unless
they force me!"
"No one will force you, Mr. Land," Captain Nemo said.
"And is Conseil going to risk it?" Ned asked.
"Where master goes, I go," Conseil replied.
At the captain's summons, two crewmen came to help us put
on these heavy, waterproof clothes, made from seamless india
rubber and expressly designed to bear considerable pressures.
They were like suits of armor that were both yielding and resistant,
you might say. These clothes consisted of jacket and pants.
The pants ended in bulky footwear adorned with heavy lead soles.
The fabric of the jacket was reinforced with copper mail that shielded
the chest, protected it from the water's pressure, and allowed
the lungs to function freely; the sleeves ended in supple gloves
that didn't impede hand movements.
These perfected diving suits, it was easy to see, were a far cry from
such misshapen costumes as the cork breastplates, leather jumpers,
seagoing tunics, barrel helmets, etc., invented and acclaimed
in the 18th century.
Conseil and I were soon dressed in these diving suits, as were
Captain Nemo and one of his companions--a herculean type who must
have been prodigiously strong. All that remained was to encase one's
head in its metal sphere. But before proceeding with this operation,
I asked the captain for permission to examine the rifles set
aside for us.
One of the Nautilus's men presented me with a streamlined rifle
whose butt was boilerplate steel, hollow inside, and of fairly
large dimensions. This served as a tank for the compressed air,
which a trigger-operated valve could release into the metal chamber.
In a groove where the butt was heaviest, a cartridge clip
held some twenty electric bullets that, by means of a spring,
automatically took their places in the barrel of the rifle.
As soon as one shot had been fired, another was ready to go off.
"Captain Nemo," I said, "this is an ideal, easy-to-use weapon.
I ask only to put it to the test. But how will we reach the bottom
of the sea?"
"Right now, professor, the Nautilus is aground in ten meters of water,
and we've only to depart."
"But how will we set out?"
"You'll see."
Captain Nemo inserted his cranium into its spherical headgear.
Conseil and I did the same, but not without hearing the Canadian
toss us a sarcastic "happy hunting." On top, the suit ended in a
collar of threaded copper onto which the metal helmet was screwed.
Three holes, protected by heavy glass, allowed us to see in any
direction with simply a turn of the head inside the sphere.
Placed on our backs, the Rouquayrol device went into operation as soon
as it was in position, and for my part, I could breathe with ease.
The Ruhmkorff lamp hanging from my belt, my rifle in hand,
I was ready to go forth. But in all honesty, while imprisoned
in these heavy clothes and nailed to the deck by my lead soles,
it was impossible for me to take a single step.
But this circumstance had been foreseen, because I felt
myself propelled into a little room adjoining the wardrobe.
Towed in the same way, my companions went with me. I heard a door
with watertight seals close after us, and we were surrounded
by profound darkness.
After some minutes a sharp hissing reached my ears.
I felt a distinct sensation of cold rising from my feet to my chest.
Apparently a stopcock inside the boat was letting in water
from outside, which overran us and soon filled up the room.
Contrived in the Nautilus's side, a second door then opened.
We were lit by a subdued light. An instant later our feet were
treading the bottom of the sea.
And now, how can I convey the impressions left on me by this stroll
under the waters. Words are powerless to describe such wonders!
When even the painter's brush can't depict the effects unique to
the liquid element, how can the writer's pen hope to reproduce them?
Captain Nemo walked in front, and his companion followed us a few steps
to the rear. Conseil and I stayed next to each other, as if daydreaming
that through our metal carapaces, a little polite conversation
might still be possible! Already I no longer felt the bulkiness
of my clothes, footwear, and air tank, nor the weight of the heavy
sphere inside which my head was rattling like an almond in its shell.
Once immersed in water, all these objects lost a part of their
weight equal to the weight of the liquid they displaced, and thanks
to this law of physics discovered by Archimedes, I did just fine.
I was no longer an inert mass, and I had, comparatively speaking,
great freedom of movement.
Lighting up the seafloor even thirty feet beneath the surface
of the ocean, the sun astonished me with its power. The solar rays
easily crossed this aqueous mass and dispersed its dark colors.
I could easily distinguish objects 100 meters away. Farther on,
the bottom was tinted with fine shades of ultramarine; then, off in
the distance, it turned blue and faded in the midst of a hazy darkness.
Truly, this water surrounding me was just a kind of air,
denser than the atmosphere on land but almost as transparent.
Above me I could see the calm surface of the ocean.
We were walking on sand that was fine-grained and smooth,
not wrinkled like beach sand, which preserves the impressions
left by the waves. This dazzling carpet was a real mirror,
throwing back the sun's rays with startling intensity. The outcome:
an immense vista of reflections that penetrated every liquid molecule.
Will anyone believe me if I assert that at this thirty-foot depth,
I could see as if it was broad daylight?
For a quarter of an hour, I trod this blazing sand, which was
strewn with tiny crumbs of seashell. Looming like a long reef,
the Nautilus's hull disappeared little by little, but when night fell
in the midst of the waters, the ship's beacon would surely facilitate
our return on board, since its rays carried with perfect distinctness.
This effect is difficult to understand for anyone who has never
seen light beams so sharply defined on shore. There the dust that
saturates the air gives such rays the appearance of a luminous fog;
but above water as well as underwater, shafts of electric light
are transmitted with incomparable clarity.
Meanwhile we went ever onward, and these vast plains of sand
seemed endless. My hands parted liquid curtains that closed again
behind me, and my footprints faded swiftly under the water's pressure.
Soon, scarcely blurred by their distance from us, the forms of some
objects took shape before my eyes. I recognized the lower slopes
of some magnificent rocks carpeted by the finest zoophyte specimens,
and right off, I was struck by an effect unique to this medium.
By then it was ten o'clock in the morning. The sun's rays hit
the surface of the waves at a fairly oblique angle, decomposing by
refraction as though passing through a prism; and when this light came
in contact with flowers, rocks, buds, seashells, and polyps, the edges
of these objects were shaded with all seven hues of the solar spectrum.
This riot of rainbow tints was a wonder, a feast for the eyes:
a genuine kaleidoscope of red, green, yellow, orange, violet, indigo,
and blue; in short, the whole palette of a color-happy painter!
If only I had been able to share with Conseil the intense sensations
rising in my brain, competing with him in exclamations of wonderment!
If only I had known, like Captain Nemo and his companion,
how to exchange thoughts by means of prearranged signals!
So, for lack of anything better, I talked to myself: I declaimed
inside this copper box that topped my head, spending more air
on empty words than was perhaps advisable.
Conseil, like me, had stopped before this splendid sight.
Obviously, in the presence of these zoophyte and mollusk specimens,
the fine lad was classifying his head off. Polyps and echinoderms
abounded on the seafloor: various isis coral, cornularian coral
living in isolation, tufts of virginal genus Oculina formerly
known by the name "white coral," prickly fungus coral in the shape
of mushrooms, sea anemone holding on by their muscular disks,
providing a literal flowerbed adorned by jellyfish from the genus
Porpita wearing collars of azure tentacles, and starfish that spangled
the sand, including veinlike feather stars from the genus Asterophyton
that were like fine lace embroidered by the hands of water nymphs,
their festoons swaying to the faint undulations caused by our walking.
It filled me with real chagrin to crush underfoot the gleaming
mollusk samples that littered the seafloor by the thousands:
concentric comb shells, hammer shells, coquina (seashells that actually
hop around), top-shell snails, red helmet shells, angel-wing conchs,
sea hares, and so many other exhibits from this inexhaustible ocean.
But we had to keep walking, and we went forward while overhead there
scudded schools of Portuguese men-of-war that let their ultramarine
tentacles drift in their wakes, medusas whose milky white or dainty
pink parasols were festooned with azure tassels and shaded us from
the sun's rays, plus jellyfish of the species Pelagia panopyra that,
in the dark, would have strewn our path with phosphorescent glimmers!
All these wonders I glimpsed in the space of a quarter of a mile,
barely pausing, following Captain Nemo whose gestures kept beckoning
me onward. Soon the nature of the seafloor changed. The plains of sand
were followed by a bed of that viscous slime Americans call "ooze,"
which is composed exclusively of seashells rich in limestone or silica.
Then we crossed a prairie of algae, open-sea plants that the waters
hadn't yet torn loose, whose vegetation grew in wild profusion.
Soft to the foot, these densely textured lawns would have
rivaled the most luxuriant carpets woven by the hand of man.
But while this greenery was sprawling under our steps, it didn't
neglect us overhead. The surface of the water was crisscrossed
by a floating arbor of marine plants belonging to that superabundant
algae family that numbers more than 2,000 known species.
I saw long ribbons of fucus drifting above me, some globular,
others tubular: Laurencia, Cladostephus with the slenderest foliage,
Rhodymenia palmata resembling the fan shapes of cactus.
I observed that green-colored plants kept closer to the surface
of the sea, while reds occupied a medium depth, which left
blacks and browns in charge of designing gardens and flowerbeds
in the ocean's lower strata.
These algae are a genuine prodigy of creation, one of the wonders
of world flora. This family produces both the biggest and smallest
vegetables in the world. Because, just as 40,000 near-invisible
buds have been counted in one five-square-millimeter space, so also
have fucus plants been gathered that were over 500 meters long!
We had been gone from the Nautilus for about an hour and a half.
It was almost noon. I spotted this fact in the perpendicularity
of the sun's rays, which were no longer refracted. The magic
of these solar colors disappeared little by little, with emerald
and sapphire shades vanishing from our surroundings altogether.
We walked with steady steps that rang on the seafloor with
astonishing intensity. The tiniest sounds were transmitted
with a speed to which the ear is unaccustomed on shore.
In fact, water is a better conductor of sound than air, and under
the waves noises carry four times as fast.
Just then the seafloor began to slope sharply downward.
The light took on a uniform hue. We reached a depth of 100 meters,
by which point we were undergoing a pressure of ten atmospheres.
But my diving clothes were built along such lines that I never
suffered from this pressure. I felt only a certain tightness in
the joints of my fingers, and even this discomfort soon disappeared.
As for the exhaustion bound to accompany a two-hour stroll
in such unfamiliar trappings--it was nil. Helped by the water,
my movements were executed with startling ease.
Arriving at this 300-foot depth, I still detected the sun's rays,
but just barely. Their intense brilliance had been followed
by a reddish twilight, a midpoint between day and night.
But we could see well enough to find our way, and it still wasn't
necessary to activate the Ruhmkorff device.
Just then Captain Nemo stopped. He waited until I joined him,
then he pointed a finger at some dark masses outlined in the shadows
a short distance away.
"It's the forest of Crespo Island," I thought; and I was not mistaken. _
Read next: FIRST PART: Chapter 17. An Underwater Forest
Read previous: FIRST PART: Chapter 15. An Invitation in Writing
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