The Gulf Stream

This terrible scene of the 20th of April none of us can ever forget. I have written it under the influence of violent emotion. Since then I have revised the recital; I have read it to Conseil and to the Canadian. They found it exact as to facts, but insufficient as to effect. To paint such pictures, one must have the pen of the most illustrious of our poets, the author of The Toilers of the Deep.

None of us will ever forget the terrible scene of April 20. I wrote about it while still overwhelmed by emotion. Since then, I have revised the account and read it to Conseil and the Canadian. They found the facts accurate, but felt the account failed to capture the scene’s full impact. To portray such scenes, one needs the pen of the author of The Toilers of the Deep, one of our most renowned poets.

I have said that Captain Nemo wept while watching the waves; his grief was great. It was the second companion he had lost since our arrival on board, and what a death! That friend, crushed, stifled, bruised by the dreadful arms of a poulp, pounded by his iron jaws, would not rest with his comrades in the peaceful coral cemetery! In the midst of the struggle, it was the despairing cry uttered by the unfortunate man that had torn my heart. The poor Frenchman, forgetting his conventional language, had taken to his own mother tongue, to utter a last appeal! Amongst the crew of the Nautilus, associated with the body and soul of the Captain, recoiling like him from all contact with men, I had a fellow-countryman. Did he alone represent France in this mysterious association, evidently composed of individuals of divers nationalities? It was one of these insoluble problems that rose up unceasingly before my mind!

I have said that Captain Nemo wept as he watched the waves. His grief was great. This was the second companion he had lost since we came aboard, and what a death! His friend had been crushed, suffocated, and bruised by the dreadful arms of a poulp and pounded by its iron jaws. He would not rest with his comrades in the peaceful coral cemetery! During the struggle, the unfortunate man’s desperate cry had torn at my heart. The poor Frenchman had forgotten the language he usually spoke and cried out in his own mother tongue, making one last appeal! Among the crew of the Nautilus was a fellow Frenchman. Like the rest of the crew, he was devoted to the Captain in body and soul. And, like the Captain, he shrank from all contact with other people. Was he the only Frenchman in this mysterious group, which was evidently made up of people from various nations? It was one of the unsolvable questions that kept rising in my mind!

Captain Nemo entered his room, and I saw him no more for some time. But that he was sad and irresolute I could see by the vessel, of which he was the soul, and which received all his impressions. The Nautilus did not keep on in its settled course; it floated about like a corpse at the will of the waves. It went at random. He could not tear himself away from the scene of the last struggle, from this sea that had devoured one of his men. Ten days passed thus. It was not till the 1st of May that the Nautilus resumed its northerly course, after having sighted the Bahamas at the mouth of the Bahama Canal. We were then following the current from the largest river to the sea, that has its banks, its fish, and its proper temperatures. I mean the Gulf Stream. It is really a river, that flows freely to the middle of the Atlantic, and whose waters do not mix with the ocean waters. It is a salt river, salter than the surrounding sea. Its mean depth is 1,500 fathoms, its mean breadth ten miles. In certain places the current flows with the speed of two miles and a half an hour. The body of its waters is more considerable than that of all the rivers in the globe. It was on this ocean river that the Nautilus then sailed.

Captain Nemo went into his room, and I did not see him again for some time. But I could see from the vessel that he was sad and uncertain. He was its soul, and it reflected all his feelings. The Nautilus did not stay on its course. It drifted like a corpse at the mercy of the waves, moving aimlessly. Nemo could not tear himself away from the scene of the last struggle, from the sea that had swallowed one of his men. Ten days passed this way. On May 1, the Nautilus finally resumed its course north, after sighting the Bahamas at the mouth of the Bahama Canal. We were now following the current of the largest river flowing into the sea. It has banks, fish, and temperatures of its own. I mean the Gulf Stream. It really is a river, flowing freely into the middle of the Atlantic. Its waters do not mix with the ocean waters. It is a saltwater river, saltier than the surrounding sea. Its average depth is 1,500 fathoms, and its average width is ten miles. In some places, the current flows at two and a half miles an hour. It contains more water than all the rivers in the world. The Nautilus was now sailing on this ocean river.

I must add that, during the night, the phosphorescent waters of the Gulf Stream rivalled the electric power of our watch-light, especially in the stormy weather that threatened us so frequently. May 8th, we were still crossing Cape Hatteras, at the height of North Carolina. The width of the Gulf Stream there is seventy-five miles, and its depth 210 yards. The Nautilus still went at random; all supervision seemed abandoned. I thought that, under these circumstances, escape would be possible. Indeed, the inhabited shores offered anywhere an easy refuge. The sea was incessantly ploughed by the steamers that ply between New York or Boston and the Gulf of Mexico, and overrun day and night by the little schooners coasting about the several parts of the American coast. We could hope to be picked up. It was a favourable opportunity, notwithstanding the thirty miles that separated the Nautilus from the coasts of the Union. One unfortunate circumstance thwarted the Canadian’s plans. The weather was very bad. We were nearing those shores where tempests are so frequent, that country of waterspouts and cyclones actually engendered by the current of the Gulf Stream. To tempt the sea in a frail boat was certain destruction. Ned Land owned this himself. He fretted, seized with nostalgia that flight only could cure.

I must add that at night, the glowing waters of the Gulf Stream rivaled the electric power of our watch-light. This was especially true during the stormy weather that threatened us so often. On May 8th, we were still passing Cape Hatteras, off North Carolina. The Gulf Stream is seventy-five miles wide and 210 yards deep there. The Nautilus was still wandering at random. All supervision seemed to have been abandoned. Under these circumstances, I thought escape would be possible. Indeed, the inhabited shores offered easy refuge anywhere along the coast. Steamers constantly crossed the sea between New York or Boston and the Gulf of Mexico. Small schooners sailed along the various parts of the American coast, day and night. We could hope to be picked up. It was a favorable opportunity, despite the thirty miles between the Nautilus and the coast of the Union. One unfortunate circumstance thwarted the Canadian’s plans. The weather was very bad. We were nearing shores where storms are very frequent. These were waters where the Gulf Stream itself gives rise to waterspouts and cyclones. To venture onto the sea in a fragile boat meant certain destruction. Ned Land admitted this himself. He fretted, gripped by a longing for home that only escape could cure.

“Master,” he said that day to me, “this must come to an end. I must make a clean breast of it. This Nemo is leaving land and going up to the north. But I declare to you that I have had enough of the South Pole, and I will not follow him to the North.”

“Master,” he said to me that day, “this has to end. I have to speak frankly. Nemo is leaving land and heading north. But I’ve had enough of the South Pole, and I won’t follow him to the North.”

“What is to be done, Ned, since flight is impracticable just now?”

“What should we do, Ned, since we can't escape right now?”

“We must speak to the Captain,” said he; “you said nothing when we were in your native seas. I will speak, now we are in mine. When I think that before long the Nautilus will be by Nova Scotia, and that there near New foundland is a large bay, and into that bay the St. Lawrence empties itself, and that the St. Lawrence is my river, the river by Quebec, my native town—when I think of this, I feel furious, it makes my hair stand on end. Sir, I would rather throw myself into the sea! I will not stay here! I am stifled!”

“We must speak to the Captain,” he said. “You said nothing when we were in the seas near your home. Now that we are in mine, I will speak. Before long, the Nautilus will be near Nova Scotia. Near New foundland, there is a large bay, and the St. Lawrence flows into it. The St. Lawrence is my river, the river by Quebec, my hometown. When I think of all this, I feel furious. It makes my hair stand on end. Sir, I would rather throw myself into the sea! I will not stay here! I am suffocating!”

The Canadian was evidently losing all patience. His vigorous nature could not stand this prolonged imprisonment. His face altered daily; his temper became more surly. I knew what he must suffer, for I was seized with home-sickness myself. Nearly seven months had passed without our having had any news from land; Captain Nemo’s isolation, his altered spirits, especially since the fight with the poulps, his taciturnity, all made me view things in a different light.

The Canadian was clearly losing all patience. His energetic nature could not endure such a long imprisonment. His face changed daily, and his temper grew more irritable. I knew how much he must be suffering, because I was homesick myself. Nearly seven months had passed without any news from land. Captain Nemo had grown withdrawn and his mood had changed, especially since the fight with the poulps. His isolation, changed mood, and silence all made me see things differently.

“Well, sir?” said Ned, seeing I did not reply.

“Well, sir?” Ned said, seeing that I didn't answer.

“Well, Ned, do you wish me to ask Captain Nemo his intentions concerning us?”

“Well, Ned, do you want me to ask Captain Nemo what he plans to do with us?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Although he has already made them known?”

“Even though he has already made them known?”

“Yes; I wish it settled finally. Speak for me, in my name only, if you like.”

“Yes, I want it settled once and for all. Speak for me alone, if you like.”

“But I so seldom meet him. He avoids me.”

“But I rarely see him. He avoids me.”

“That is all the more reason for you to go to see him.”

“That’s all the more reason to go see him.”

I went to my room. From thence I meant to go to Captain Nemo’s. It would not do to let this opportunity of meeting him slip. I knocked at the door. No answer. I knocked again, then turned the handle. The door opened, I went in. The Captain was there. Bending over his work-table, he had not heard me. Resolved not to go without having spoken, I approached him. He raised his head quickly, frowned, and said roughly, “You here! What do you want?”

I went to my room. From there, I planned to go to Captain Nemo’s room. I could not let this chance to meet him slip away. I knocked on his door. There was no answer. I knocked again, then turned the handle. The door opened, and I went in. The Captain was there. He was bent over his worktable and had not heard me. Determined not to leave without speaking to him, I approached him. He quickly raised his head, frowned, and said roughly, “You here! What do you want?”

“To speak to you, Captain.”

“To talk to you, Captain.”

“But I am busy, sir; I am working. I leave you at liberty to shut yourself up; cannot I be allowed the same?”

“But I’m busy, sir. I’m working. I let you shut yourself away. Can’t I do the same?”

This reception was not encouraging; but I was determined to hear and answer everything.

This reception was not encouraging, but I was determined to hear and answer everything.

“Sir,” I said coldly, “I have to speak to you on a matter that admits of no delay.”

“Sir,” I said coldly, “I need to speak to you about something urgent.”

“What is that, sir?” he replied, ironically. “Have you discovered something that has escaped me, or has the sea delivered up any new secrets?”

“What is it, sir?” he replied sarcastically. “Have you discovered something I missed, or has the sea revealed any new secrets?”

We were at cross-purposes. But, before I could reply, he showed me an open manuscript on his table, and said, in a more serious tone, “Here, M. Aronnax, is a manuscript written in several languages. It contains the sum of my studies of the sea; and, if it please God, it shall not perish with me. This manuscript, signed with my name, complete with the history of my life, will be shut up in a little floating case. The last survivor of all of us on board the Nautilus will throw this case into the sea, and it will go whither it is borne by the waves.”

We were misunderstanding each other. But before I could reply, he showed me an open manuscript on his table. In a more serious tone, he said, “Here, M. Aronnax, is a manuscript written in several languages. It contains everything I have learned from my studies of the sea. And, God willing, it will not perish with me. The manuscript bears my name and includes the story of my life. It will be sealed in a small floating case. The last survivor of all of us on board the Nautilus will throw the case into the sea. The waves will carry it wherever they go.”

This man’s name! his history written by himself! His mystery would then be revealed some day.

This man’s name! His life story, written by himself! His mystery would be revealed someday.

“Captain,” I said, “I can but approve of the idea that makes you act thus. The result of your studies must not be lost. But the means you employ seem to me to be primitive. Who knows where the winds will carry this case, and in whose hands it will fall? Could you not use some other means? Could not you, or one of yours——”

“Captain,” I said, “I can only approve of the idea behind your actions. The results of your studies must not be lost. But your method seems primitive to me. Who knows where the winds will carry this case or who will find it? Could you not use another method? Could you or one of your men...”

“Never, sir!” he said, hastily interrupting me.

“Never, sir!” he said, quickly interrupting me.

“But I and my companions are ready to keep this manuscript in store; and, if you will put us at liberty——”

“But my companions and I are ready to keep this manuscript safe. And if you will set us free...”

“At liberty?” said the Captain, rising.

“Free?” said the Captain, standing up.

“Yes, sir; that is the subject on which I wish to question you. For seven months we have been here on board, and I ask you to-day, in the name of my companions and in my own, if your intention is to keep us here always?”

“Yes, sir. That is what I want to ask you about. We have been on board for seven months. Today, I ask on behalf of my companions and myself: do you intend to keep us here forever?”

“M. Aronnax, I will answer you to-day as I did seven months ago: Whoever enters the Nautilus, must never quit it.”

“M. Aronnax, my answer today is the same as it was seven months ago: Whoever enters the Nautilus must never leave it.”

“You impose actual slavery upon us!”

“You’re forcing us into actual slavery!”

“Give it what name you please.”

“Call it whatever you like.”

“But everywhere the slave has the right to regain his liberty.”

“But everywhere, a slave has the right to regain his freedom.”

“Who denies you this right? Have I ever tried to chain you with an oath?”

“Who is denying you this right? Have I ever tried to bind you with a promise?”

He looked at me with his arms crossed.

He looked at me with his arms crossed.

“Sir,” I said, “to return a second time to this subject will be neither to your nor to my taste; but, as we have entered upon it, let us go through with it. I repeat, it is not only myself whom it concerns. Study is to me a relief, a diversion, a passion that could make me forget everything. Like you, I am willing to live obscure, in the frail hope of bequeathing one day, to future time, the result of my labours. But it is otherwise with Ned Land. Every man, worthy of the name, deserves some consideration. Have you thought that love of liberty, hatred of slavery, can give rise to schemes of revenge in a nature like the Canadian’s; that he could think, attempt, and try——”

“Sir,” I said, “neither of us will enjoy returning to this subject. But since we have begun, let us see it through. I repeat, this concerns more than just me. Study is a relief, a diversion, and a passion for me. It could make me forget everything. Like you, I am willing to live in obscurity. I have only a faint hope of one day leaving the results of my work to future generations. But Ned Land is different. Every man worthy of the name deserves some consideration. Have you considered that a man like the Canadian might plot revenge out of love of liberty and hatred of slavery? That he might think of something, attempt it, and try to...”

I was silenced; Captain Nemo rose.

I fell silent. Captain Nemo stood up.

“Whatever Ned Land thinks of, attempts, or tries, what does it matter to me? I did not seek him! It is not for my pleasure that I keep him on board! As for you, M. Aronnax, you are one of those who can understand everything, even silence. I have nothing more to say to you. Let this first time you have come to treat of this subject be the last, for a second time I will not listen to you.”

“Why should I care what Ned Land thinks of, attempts, or tries? I did not seek him out! I do not keep him on board for pleasure! As for you, M. Aronnax, you are one of those who can understand everything, even silence. I have nothing more to say to you. Let this be the last time you raise this subject. I will not listen to you a second time.”

I retired. Our situation was critical. I related my conversation to my two companions.

I withdrew. Our situation was critical. I told my two companions about my conversation.

“We know now,” said Ned, “that we can expect nothing from this man. The Nautilus is nearing Long Island. We will escape, whatever the weather may be.”

“We know now,” said Ned, “that we can expect nothing from this man. The Nautilus is approaching Long Island. We will escape, whatever the weather.”

But the sky became more and more threatening. Symptoms of a hurricane became manifest. The atmosphere was becoming white and misty. On the horizon fine streaks of cirrhous clouds were succeeded by masses of cumuli. Other low clouds passed swiftly by. The swollen sea rose in huge billows. The birds disappeared with the exception of the petrels, those friends of the storm. The barometer fell sensibly, and indicated an extreme tension of the vapours. The mixture of the storm glass was decomposed under the influence of the electricity that pervaded the atmosphere. The tempest burst on the 18th of May, just as the Nautilus was floating off Long Island, some miles from the port of New York. I can describe this strife of the elements! for, instead of fleeing to the depths of the sea, Captain Nemo, by an unaccountable caprice, would brave it at the surface. The wind blew from the south-west at first. Captain Nemo, during the squalls, had taken his place on the platform. He had made himself fast, to prevent being washed overboard by the monstrous waves. I had hoisted myself up, and made myself fast also, dividing my admiration between the tempest and this extraordinary man who was coping with it. The raging sea was swept by huge cloud-drifts, which were actually saturated with the waves. The Nautilus, sometimes lying on its side, sometimes standing up like a mast, rolled and pitched terribly. About five o’clock a torrent of rain fell, that lulled neither sea nor wind. The hurricane blew nearly forty leagues an hour. It is under these conditions that it overturns houses, breaks iron gates, displaces twenty-four pounders. However, the Nautilus, in the midst of the tempest, confirmed the words of a clever engineer, “There is no well-constructed hull that cannot defy the sea.” This was not a resisting rock; it was a steel spindle, obedient and movable, without rigging or masts, that braved its fury with impunity. However, I watched these raging waves attentively. They measured fifteen feet in height, and 150 to 175 yards long, and their speed of propagation was thirty feet per second. Their bulk and power increased with the depth of the water. Such waves as these, at the Hebrides, have displaced a mass weighing 8,400 lbs. They are they which, in the tempest of December 23rd, 1864, after destroying the town of Yeddo, in Japan, broke the same day on the shores of America. The intensity of the tempest increased with the night. The barometer, as in 1860 at Reunion during a cyclone, fell seven-tenths at the close of day. I saw a large vessel pass the horizon struggling painfully. She was trying to lie to under half steam, to keep up above the waves. It was probably one of the steamers of the line from New York to Liverpool, or Havre. It soon disappeared in the gloom. At ten o’clock in the evening the sky was on fire. The atmosphere was streaked with vivid lightning. I could not bear the brightness of it; while the captain, looking at it, seemed to envy the spirit of the tempest. A terrible noise filled the air, a complex noise, made up of the howls of the crushed waves, the roaring of the wind, and the claps of thunder. The wind veered suddenly to all points of the horizon; and the cyclone, rising in the east, returned after passing by the north, west, and south, in the inverse course pursued by the circular storm of the southern hemisphere. Ah, that Gulf Stream! It deserves its name of the King of Tempests. It is that which causes those formidable cyclones, by the difference of temperature between its air and its currents. A shower of fire had succeeded the rain. The drops of water were changed to sharp spikes. One would have thought that Captain Nemo was courting a death worthy of himself, a death by lightning. As the Nautilus, pitching dreadfully, raised its steel spur in the air, it seemed to act as a conductor, and I saw long sparks burst from it. Crushed and without strength I crawled to the panel, opened it, and descended to the saloon. The storm was then at its height. It was impossible to stand upright in the interior of the Nautilus. Captain Nemo came down about twelve. I heard the reservoirs filling by degrees, and the Nautilus sank slowly beneath the waves. Through the open windows in the saloon I saw large fish terrified, passing like phantoms in the water. Some were struck before my eyes. The Nautilus was still descending. I thought that at about eight fathoms deep we should find a calm. But no! the upper beds were too violently agitated for that. We had to seek repose at more than twenty-five fathoms in the bowels of the deep. But there, what quiet, what silence, what peace! Who could have told that such a hurricane had been let loose on the surface of that ocean?

But the sky grew more and more threatening. Signs of a hurricane appeared. The air was turning white and misty. On the horizon, fine streaks of cirrus clouds gave way to masses of cumulus clouds. Other low clouds swept swiftly past. The swollen sea rose in huge waves. The birds disappeared, except for the petrels, those friends of the storm. The barometer fell noticeably and showed extreme pressure from the vapors. Electricity in the air caused the mixture in the storm glass to separate. The storm broke on May 18, just as the Nautilus was floating off Long Island, some miles from New York harbor. I can describe this battle of the elements! Instead of fleeing to the depths, Captain Nemo had decided, on an inexplicable whim, to face it at the surface. At first, the wind blew from the southwest. Captain Nemo took his place on the platform during the squalls. He had tied himself down to keep the monstrous waves from washing him overboard. I climbed up and tied myself down too. I admired both the storm and the extraordinary man facing it. Huge clouds swept over the raging sea, soaked through by the waves. The Nautilus rolled and pitched terribly, sometimes lying on its side, sometimes standing upright like a mast. Around five o’clock, rain came down in torrents, but neither sea nor wind grew calmer. The hurricane blew at nearly forty leagues an hour. At such speeds, it overturns houses, breaks iron gates, and moves twenty-four-pound cannons. Yet in the midst of the storm, the Nautilus proved the words of a clever engineer: “There is no well-constructed hull that cannot defy the sea.” It was not a rock standing firm against the waves. It was a steel spindle, flexible and mobile, with no rigging or masts, and it faced the sea’s fury unharmed. I watched the raging waves closely. They were fifteen feet high and 150 to 175 yards long. They traveled at thirty feet per second. Their size and power increased with the depth of the water. In the Hebrides, waves like these have moved a mass weighing 8,400 lbs. Waves like these destroyed the town of Yeddo in Japan during the storm of December 23rd, 1864. That same day, they broke on the shores of America. The storm grew more intense as night fell. By the end of the day, the barometer had fallen seven-tenths, as it had during a cyclone at Reunion in 1860. I saw a large vessel on the horizon, struggling painfully against the sea. It was trying to hold its position at half steam and stay above the waves. It was probably a steamer on the New York to Liverpool or Havre route. It soon disappeared into the darkness. At ten o’clock that evening, the sky was on fire. Brilliant lightning streaked across it. I could not bear its brightness. The captain, however, looked at it as though he envied the spirit of the storm. A terrible noise filled the air. It combined the howls of the crashing waves, the roar of the wind, and the claps of thunder. The wind suddenly shifted through every point of the compass. The cyclone rose in the east, then came around again through the north, west, and south. This was the reverse of the course taken by a circular storm in the southern hemisphere. Ah, that Gulf Stream! It deserves its name, the King of Tempests. It causes those terrible cyclones because of the difference in temperature between its air and its currents. A shower of fire had followed the rain. The drops of water turned into sharp spikes. One might have thought Captain Nemo was courting a death worthy of him, death by lightning. The Nautilus pitched violently, raising its steel spur into the air. The spur seemed to act as a conductor, and I saw long sparks burst from it. Overwhelmed and exhausted, I crawled to the panel, opened it, and climbed down to the saloon. The storm was at its height. Inside the Nautilus, it was impossible to stand upright. Captain Nemo came down around midnight. I heard the reservoirs gradually filling, and the Nautilus sank slowly beneath the waves. Through the open windows of the saloon, I saw large, terrified fish passing through the water like ghosts. Some were struck before my eyes. The Nautilus continued to descend. I thought we would find calm at about eight fathoms. But no! The upper layers of water were too violently disturbed. We had to seek rest more than twenty-five fathoms down, in the depths of the sea. But there, what quiet, what silence, what peace! Who could have guessed that such a hurricane had been unleashed on the ocean’s surface?