Accident or Incident?

The next day, the 22nd of March, at six in the morning, preparations for departure were begun. The last gleams of twilight were melting into night. The cold was great, the constellations shone with wonderful intensity. In the zenith glittered that wondrous Southern Cross—the polar bear of Antarctic regions. The thermometer showed 12 below zero, and when the wind freshened it was most biting. Flakes of ice increased on the open water. The sea seemed everywhere alike. Numerous blackish patches spread on the surface, showing the formation of fresh ice. Evidently the southern basin, frozen during the six winter months, was absolutely inaccessible. What became of the whales in that time? Doubtless they went beneath the icebergs, seeking more practicable seas. As to the seals and morses, accustomed to live in a hard climate, they remained on these icy shores. These creatures have the instinct to break holes in the ice-field and to keep them open. To these holes they come for breath; when the birds, driven away by the cold, have emigrated to the north, these sea mammals remain sole masters of the polar continent. But the reservoirs were filling with water, and the Nautilus was slowly descending. At 1,000 feet deep it stopped; its screw beat the waves, and it advanced straight towards the north at a speed of fifteen miles an hour. Towards night it was already floating under the immense body of the iceberg. At three in the morning I was awakened by a violent shock. I sat up in my bed and listened in the darkness, when I was thrown into the middle of the room. The Nautilus, after having struck, had rebounded violently. I groped along the partition, and by the staircase to the saloon, which was lit by the luminous ceiling. The furniture was upset. Fortunately the windows were firmly set, and had held fast. The pictures on the starboard side, from being no longer vertical, were clinging to the paper, whilst those of the port side were hanging at least a foot from the wall. The Nautilus was lying on its starboard side perfectly motionless. I heard footsteps, and a confusion of voices; but Captain Nemo did not appear. As I was leaving the saloon, Ned Land and Conseil entered.

The next day, March 22, preparations for departure began at six in the morning. The last glimmers of twilight were fading into night. It was bitterly cold, and the constellations shone with extraordinary brightness. Directly overhead glittered the wondrous Southern Cross, the polar bear of the Antarctic regions. The thermometer showed 12 degrees below zero, and the cold became especially biting when the wind picked up. More flakes of ice appeared on the open water. The sea looked the same everywhere. Numerous dark patches spread across the surface, showing that new ice was forming. Clearly, the southern basin was completely inaccessible when it froze during the six winter months. What happened to the whales then? No doubt they traveled beneath the icebergs, seeking seas where they could navigate more easily. The seals and walruses, accustomed to a harsh climate, stayed on these icy shores. These creatures instinctively break holes in the ice field and keep them open. They come to these holes to breathe. When the birds have fled north to escape the cold, these sea mammals remain the sole masters of the polar continent. But the reservoirs were filling with water, and the Nautilus was slowly descending. It stopped at a depth of 1,000 feet. Its propeller churned the water, and it headed straight north at fifteen miles an hour. By nightfall it was already beneath the immense mass of the iceberg. At three in the morning, a violent shock woke me. I sat up in bed and listened in the darkness. Then I was thrown into the middle of the room. The Nautilus had struck something and rebounded violently. I felt my way along the wall and up the stairs to the saloon, which was lit by its luminous ceiling. The furniture had been overturned. Fortunately, the windows were firmly set and had held. The pictures on the starboard side were no longer vertical and lay against the wallpaper. Those on the port side hung at least a foot from the wall. The Nautilus lay perfectly still on its starboard side. I heard footsteps and a confusion of voices, but Captain Nemo did not appear. As I was leaving the saloon, Ned Land and Conseil entered.

“What is the matter?” said I, at once.

“What’s the matter?” I asked at once.

“I came to ask you, sir,” replied Conseil.

“I came to ask you, sir,” Conseil replied.

“Confound it!” exclaimed the Canadian, “I know well enough! The Nautilus has struck; and, judging by the way she lies, I do not think she will right herself as she did the first time in Torres Straits.”

“Damn it!” exclaimed the Canadian, “I know that well enough! The Nautilus has run aground. And judging by the way she is lying, I don’t think she’ll right herself as she did the first time in Torres Straits.”

“But,” I asked, “has she at least come to the surface of the sea?”

“But,” I asked, “has she at least come to the surface?”

“We do not know,” said Conseil.

“We don't know,” said Conseil.

“It is easy to decide,” I answered. I consulted the manometer. To my great surprise, it showed a depth of more than 180 fathoms. “What does that mean?” I exclaimed.

“It’s easy to decide,” I replied. I checked the pressure gauge. To my great surprise, it showed a depth of more than 180 fathoms. “What does that mean?” I exclaimed.

“We must ask Captain Nemo,” said Conseil.

“We need to ask Captain Nemo,” said Conseil.

“But where shall we find him?” said Ned Land.

“But where will we find him?” said Ned Land.

“Follow me,” said I, to my companions.

“Follow me,” I said to my companions.

We left the saloon. There was no one in the library. At the centre staircase, by the berths of the ship’s crew, there was no one. I thought that Captain Nemo must be in the pilot’s cage. It was best to wait. We all returned to the saloon. For twenty minutes we remained thus, trying to hear the slightest noise which might be made on board the Nautilus, when Captain Nemo entered. He seemed not to see us; his face, generally so impassive, showed signs of uneasiness. He watched the compass silently, then the manometer; and, going to the planisphere, placed his finger on a spot representing the southern seas. I would not interrupt him; but, some minutes later, when he turned towards me, I said, using one of his own expressions in the Torres Straits:

We left the saloon. There was no one in the library. There was no one at the central staircase, near the crew’s sleeping quarters. I thought Captain Nemo must be in the pilot’s cage. It was best to wait, so we all returned to the saloon. For twenty minutes, we listened for the slightest sound on board the Nautilus. Then Captain Nemo entered. He seemed not to see us. His face was usually expressionless, but now it showed signs of uneasiness. He silently watched the compass, then the pressure gauge. He went to the world map and placed his finger on a spot representing the southern seas. I did not want to interrupt him. But a few minutes later, he turned toward me. I spoke, using one of his own expressions from the Torres Straits:

“An incident, Captain?”

“An incident, Captain?”

“No, sir; an accident this time.”

“No, sir, it was an accident this time.”

“Serious?”

“Serious?”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps.”

“Is the danger immediate?”

“Is the danger immediate?”

“No.”

“No.”

“The Nautilus has stranded?”

“Has the Nautilus run aground?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“And this has happened—how?”

“And how did this happen?”

“From a caprice of nature, not from the ignorance of man. Not a mistake has been made in the working. But we cannot prevent equilibrium from producing its effects. We may brave human laws, but we cannot resist natural ones.”

“It was caused by a quirk of nature, not human ignorance. No mistake was made in the work. But we cannot prevent equilibrium from having its effects. We may defy human laws, but we cannot defy natural ones.”

Captain Nemo had chosen a strange moment for uttering this philosophical reflection. On the whole, his answer helped me little.

Captain Nemo had chosen a strange moment to make this philosophical observation. Overall, his answer did little to help me.

“May I ask, sir, the cause of this accident?”

“May I ask what caused this accident, sir?”

“An enormous block of ice, a whole mountain, has turned over,” he replied. “When icebergs are undermined at their base by warmer water or reiterated shocks their centre of gravity rises, and the whole thing turns over. This is what has happened; one of these blocks, as it fell, struck the Nautilus, then, gliding under its hull, raised it with irresistible force, bringing it into beds which are not so thick, where it is lying on its side.”

“An enormous block of ice, an entire mountain, has turned over,” he replied. “Warm water or repeated impacts can wear away the base of an iceberg. When that happens, its center of gravity rises, and the whole iceberg turns over. That is what happened here. As one of these blocks fell, it struck the Nautilus. Then it slid beneath the hull and lifted the vessel with irresistible force. It carried the Nautilus into thinner beds of ice, where the vessel is now lying on its side.”

“But can we not get the Nautilus off by emptying its reservoirs, that it might regain its equilibrium?”

“But can’t we free the Nautilus by emptying its tanks so it can regain its balance?”

“That, sir, is being done at this moment. You can hear the pump working. Look at the needle of the manometer; it shows that the Nautilus is rising, but the block of ice is floating with it; and, until some obstacle stops its ascending motion, our position cannot be altered.”

“That is being done right now, sir. You can hear the pump working. Look at the pressure gauge. It shows that the Nautilus is rising, but the block of ice is rising with it. Our position cannot change until something stops the ice from rising.”

Indeed, the Nautilus still held the same position to starboard; doubtless it would right itself when the block stopped. But at this moment who knows if we may not be frightfully crushed between the two glassy surfaces? I reflected on all the consequences of our position. Captain Nemo never took his eyes off the manometer. Since the fall of the iceberg, the Nautilus had risen about a hundred and fifty feet, but it still made the same angle with the perpendicular. Suddenly a slight movement was felt in the hold. Evidently it was righting a little. Things hanging in the saloon were sensibly returning to their normal position. The partitions were nearing the upright. No one spoke. With beating hearts we watched and felt the straightening. The boards became horizontal under our feet. Ten minutes passed.

Indeed, the Nautilus was still tilted to starboard. It would no doubt right itself when the block stopped. But who could say whether we might be horribly crushed between the two smooth surfaces of ice? I thought about all the consequences of our position. Captain Nemo never took his eyes off the pressure gauge. Since the iceberg fell, the Nautilus had risen about a hundred and fifty feet. But it was still tilted at the same angle. Suddenly, we felt a slight movement in the hold. The vessel was clearly beginning to right itself. Things hanging in the saloon were noticeably returning to their normal positions. The partitions were becoming upright again. No one spoke. Our hearts pounded as we watched and felt the vessel straighten. The floorboards became level beneath our feet. Ten minutes passed.

“At last we have righted!” I exclaimed.

“At last, we’re upright again!” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” said Captain Nemo, going to the door of the saloon.

“Yes,” said Captain Nemo, walking to the door of the saloon.

“But are we floating?” I asked.

“But are we floating?” I asked.

“Certainly,” he replied; “since the reservoirs are not empty; and, when empty, the Nautilus must rise to the surface of the sea.”

“Certainly,” he replied. “The reservoirs are not empty. When they are empty, the Nautilus must rise to the surface of the sea.”

We were in open sea; but at a distance of about ten yards, on either side of the Nautilus, rose a dazzling wall of ice. Above and beneath the same wall. Above, because the lower surface of the iceberg stretched over us like an immense ceiling. Beneath, because the overturned block, having slid by degrees, had found a resting-place on the lateral walls, which kept it in that position. The Nautilus was really imprisoned in a perfect tunnel of ice more than twenty yards in breadth, filled with quiet water. It was easy to get out of it by going either forward or backward, and then make a free passage under the iceberg, some hundreds of yards deeper. The luminous ceiling had been extinguished, but the saloon was still resplendent with intense light. It was the powerful reflection from the glass partition sent violently back to the sheets of the lantern. I cannot describe the effect of the voltaic rays upon the great blocks so capriciously cut; upon every angle, every ridge, every facet was thrown a different light, according to the nature of the veins running through the ice; a dazzling mine of gems, particularly of sapphires, their blue rays crossing with the green of the emerald. Here and there were opal shades of wonderful softness, running through bright spots like diamonds of fire, the brilliancy of which the eye could not bear. The power of the lantern seemed increased a hundredfold, like a lamp through the lenticular plates of a first-class lighthouse.

We were in the open sea. But about ten yards from either side of the Nautilus, a dazzling wall of ice rose beside us. The same wall lay above and below us. Above us, the underside of the iceberg stretched like a vast ceiling. Below us, the overturned block had gradually slid into place against the side walls, which held it there. The Nautilus was trapped in a perfect tunnel of ice, more than twenty yards wide and filled with still water. We could easily escape by going forward or backward. Then we could find a clear passage under the iceberg, several hundred yards deeper. The luminous ceiling had gone dark, but the saloon was still filled with intense light. The glass partition reflected the light powerfully back onto the sheets of the lantern. I cannot describe the effect of the electric rays on the great, irregularly shaped blocks. Every angle, ridge, and facet caught a different light, depending on the veins running through the ice. It was a dazzling mine of gems, especially sapphires, whose blue rays crossed the green of emeralds. Here and there, wonderfully soft opal shades ran through bright spots like fiery diamonds. Their brilliance was too great for the eye to bear. The lantern seemed a hundred times more powerful, like a lamp shining through the lenses of a first-class lighthouse.

“How beautiful! how beautiful!” cried Conseil.

“How beautiful! How beautiful!” exclaimed Conseil.

“Yes,” I said, “it is a wonderful sight. Is it not, Ned?”

“Yes,” I said, “it’s a wonderful sight. Isn’t it, Ned?”

“Yes, confound it! Yes,” answered Ned Land, “it is superb! I am mad at being obliged to admit it. No one has ever seen anything like it; but the sight may cost us dear. And, if I must say all, I think we are seeing here things which God never intended man to see.”

“Yes, damn it! Yes,” answered Ned Land, “it is magnificent! I’m angry that I have to admit it. No one has ever seen anything like it. But seeing it may cost us dearly. And, to tell the whole truth, I think we’re seeing things here that God never intended people to see.”

Ned was right, it was too beautiful. Suddenly a cry from Conseil made me turn.

Ned was right. It was too beautiful. Suddenly, Conseil cried out, and I turned.

“What is it?” I asked.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Shut your eyes, sir! Do not look, sir!” Saying which, Conseil clapped his hands over his eyes.

“Close your eyes, sir! Don’t look, sir!” As he said this, Conseil covered his eyes with his hands.

“But what is the matter, my boy?”

“But what's wrong, my boy?”

“I am dazzled, blinded.”

“I’m dazzled, blinded.”

My eyes turned involuntarily towards the glass, but I could not stand the fire which seemed to devour them. I understood what had happened. The Nautilus had put on full speed. All the quiet lustre of the ice-walls was at once changed into flashes of lightning. The fire from these myriads of diamonds was blinding. It required some time to calm our troubled looks. At last the hands were taken down.

My eyes turned toward the glass without my meaning to, but I could not bear the fire that seemed to consume them. I understood what had happened. The Nautilus had gone to full speed. All the quiet glow of the ice walls had suddenly turned into flashes of lightning. The fire from these countless diamonds was blinding. It took some time for our eyes to recover. At last, we lowered our hands.

“Faith, I should never have believed it,” said Conseil.

“Honestly, I would never have believed it,” said Conseil.

It was then five in the morning; and at that moment a shock was felt at the bows of the Nautilus. I knew that its spur had struck a block of ice. It must have been a false manœuvre, for this submarine tunnel, obstructed by blocks, was not very easy navigation. I thought that Captain Nemo, by changing his course, would either turn these obstacles or else follow the windings of the tunnel. In any case, the road before us could not be entirely blocked. But, contrary to my expectations, the Nautilus took a decided retrograde motion.

It was five in the morning when we felt a shock at the bow of the Nautilus. I knew its spur had struck a block of ice. It must have been a mistake in steering. The underwater tunnel was blocked by chunks of ice, making it difficult to navigate. I thought Captain Nemo would change course to go around the obstacles or follow the tunnel’s twists and turns. In any case, the way ahead could not be completely blocked. But, to my surprise, the Nautilus began moving steadily backward.

“We are going backwards?” said Conseil.

“We’re going backward?” said Conseil.

“Yes,” I replied. “This end of the tunnel can have no egress.”

“Yes,” I replied. “There can be no exit at this end of the tunnel.”

“And then?”

“And then?”

“Then,” said I, “the working is easy. We must go back again, and go out at the southern opening. That is all.”

“Then,” I said, “the solution is simple. We must go back and leave through the southern opening. That is all.”

In speaking thus, I wished to appear more confident than I really was. But the retrograde motion of the Nautilus was increasing; and, reversing the screw, it carried us at great speed.

I spoke this way to seem more confident than I really was. But the Nautilus was moving backward faster and faster. With its propeller in reverse, it carried us along at great speed.

“It will be a hindrance,” said Ned.

“It will get in the way,” said Ned.

“What does it matter, some hours more or less, provided we get out at last?”

“What difference do a few hours make, as long as we get out in the end?”

“Yes,” repeated Ned Land, “provided we do get out at last!”

“Yes,” Ned Land repeated, “if we do get out at last!”

For a short time I walked from the saloon to the library. My companions were silent. I soon threw myself on an ottoman, and took a book, which my eyes overran mechanically. A quarter of an hour after, Conseil, approaching me, said, “Is what you are reading very interesting, sir?”

For a short time, I walked from the saloon to the library. My companions were silent. I soon threw myself onto an ottoman and picked up a book, reading it mechanically. Fifteen minutes later, Conseil approached me and said, “Is what you’re reading very interesting, sir?”

“Very interesting!” I replied.

“Very interesting!” I replied.

“I should think so, sir. It is your own book you are reading.”

“I'd think so, sir. You're reading your own book.”

“My book?”

“My book?”

And indeed I was holding in my hand the work on the Great Submarine Depths. I did not even dream of it. I closed the book and returned to my walk. Ned and Conseil rose to go.

And indeed, I was holding the book on the Great Submarine Depths in my hand. I had not even noticed it. I closed the book and went back to walking. Ned and Conseil got up to leave.

“Stay here, my friends,” said I, detaining them. “Let us remain together until we are out of this block.”

“Stay here, my friends,” I said, stopping them. “Let’s stay together until we’re out of this block.”

“As you please, sir,” Conseil replied.

“Whatever you prefer, sir,” Conseil replied.

Some hours passed. I often looked at the instruments hanging from the partition. The manometer showed that the Nautilus kept at a constant depth of more than three hundred yards; the compass still pointed to south; the log indicated a speed of twenty miles an hour, which, in such a cramped space, was very great. But Captain Nemo knew that he could not hasten too much, and that minutes were worth ages to us. At twenty-five minutes past eight a second shock took place, this time from behind. I turned pale. My companions were close by my side. I seized Conseil’s hand. Our looks expressed our feelings better than words. At this moment the Captain entered the saloon. I went up to him.

Several hours passed. I often looked at the instruments hanging on the partition. The pressure gauge showed that the Nautilus remained at a constant depth of more than three hundred yards. The compass still pointed south. The log showed a speed of twenty miles an hour, which was very fast in such a cramped space. But Captain Nemo knew he could not hurry too much. Every minute was worth ages to us. At twenty-five minutes past eight, a second shock came, this time from behind. I turned pale. My companions were close beside me. I seized Conseil’s hand. Our looks expressed our feelings better than words. Just then, the Captain entered the saloon. I went up to him.

“Our course is barred southward?” I asked.

“Is our way south blocked?” I asked.

“Yes, sir. The iceberg has shifted and closed every outlet.”

“Yes, sir. The iceberg has shifted and blocked every way out.”

“We are blocked up then?”

“So we’re trapped?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”