From Latitude 47° 24′ to Longitude 17° 28′

In consequence of the storm, we had been thrown eastward once more. All hope of escape on the shores of New York or St. Lawrence had faded away; and poor Ned, in despair, had isolated himself like Captain Nemo. Conseil and I, however, never left each other. I said that the Nautilus had gone aside to the east. I should have said (to be more exact) the north-east. For some days, it wandered first on the surface, and then beneath it, amid those fogs so dreaded by sailors. What accidents are due to these thick fogs! What shocks upon these reefs when the wind drowns the breaking of the waves! What collisions between vessels, in spite of their warning lights, whistles, and alarm bells! And the bottoms of these seas look like a field of battle, where still lie all the conquered of the ocean; some old and already encrusted, others fresh and reflecting from their iron bands and copper plates the brilliancy of our lantern.

The storm had driven us eastward again. All hope of escaping on the shores of New York or St. Lawrence had faded. Poor Ned, in despair, had shut himself away like Captain Nemo. Conseil and I, however, never left each other. I said the Nautilus had turned east. To be more exact, I should have said northeast. For several days, it traveled through the fogs sailors dread, sometimes on the surface and sometimes beneath it. How many accidents happen in these thick fogs! How many ships crash onto reefs when the wind drowns out the sound of breaking waves! How many vessels collide, despite their warning lights, whistles, and alarm bells! The seabed looks like a battlefield, where all the ocean’s defeated vessels still lie. Some are old and already encrusted. Others are newly wrecked, their iron bands and copper plates reflecting the bright light of our lantern.

On the 15th of May we were at the extreme south of the Bank of Newfoundland. This bank consists of alluvia, or large heaps of organic matter, brought either from the Equator by the Gulf Stream, or from the North Pole by the counter-current of cold water which skirts the American coast. There also are heaped up those erratic blocks which are carried along by the broken ice; and close by, a vast charnel-house of molluscs, which perish here by millions. The depth of the sea is not great at Newfoundland—not more than some hundreds of fathoms; but towards the south is a depression of 1,500 fathoms. There the Gulf Stream widens. It loses some of its speed and some of its temperature, but it becomes a sea.

On May 15, we were at the southernmost edge of the Bank of Newfoundland. The bank consists of sediment, or large heaps of organic matter. The Gulf Stream brings this material from the Equator, while a cold countercurrent brings it from the North Pole. The cold current flows along the American coast. Large rocks carried by broken ice also pile up there. Nearby lies a vast graveyard of molluscs, which die here by the millions. The sea at Newfoundland is not very deep, only a few hundred fathoms at most. But to the south is a depression 1,500 fathoms deep. There the Gulf Stream widens. It loses some of its speed and warmth, but becomes a sea.

It was on the 17th of May, about 500 miles from Heart’s Content, at a depth of more than 1,400 fathoms, that I saw the electric cable lying on the bottom. Conseil, to whom I had not mentioned it, thought at first that it was a gigantic sea-serpent. But I undeceived the worthy fellow, and by way of consolation related several particulars in the laying of this cable. The first one was laid in the years 1857 and 1858; but, after transmitting about 400 telegrams, would not act any longer. In 1863 the engineers constructed an other one, measuring 2,000 miles in length, and weighing 4,500 tons, which was embarked on the Great Eastern. This attempt also failed.

On May 17, about 500 miles from Heart’s Content, I saw the electric cable lying on the seabed. We were at a depth of more than 1,400 fathoms. I had not mentioned the cable to Conseil, and at first he thought it was a gigantic sea serpent. But I corrected the worthy fellow and, to console him, told him some details about how the cable was laid. The first cable was laid in 1857 and 1858, but it stopped working after transmitting about 400 telegrams. In 1863, engineers built another cable, 2,000 miles long and weighing 4,500 tons. It was loaded onto the Great Eastern, but this attempt also failed.

On the 25th of May the Nautilus, being at a depth of more than 1,918 fathoms, was on the precise spot where the rupture occurred which ruined the enterprise. It was within 638 miles of the coast of Ireland; and at half-past two in the afternoon they discovered that communication with Europe had ceased. The electricians on board resolved to cut the cable before fishing it up, and at eleven o’clock at night they had recovered the damaged part. They made another point and spliced it, and it was once more submerged. But some days after it broke again, and in the depths of the ocean could not be recaptured. The Americans, however, were not discouraged. Cyrus Field, the bold promoter of the enterprise, as he had sunk all his own fortune, set a new subscription on foot, which was at once answered, and another cable was constructed on better principles. The bundles of conducting wires were each enveloped in gutta-percha, and protected by a wadding of hemp, contained in a metallic covering. The Great Eastern sailed on the 13th of July, 1866. The operation worked well. But one incident occurred. Several times in unrolling the cable they observed that nails had recently been forced into it, evidently with the motive of destroying it. Captain Anderson, the officers, and engineers consulted together, and had it posted up that, if the offender was surprised on board, he would be thrown without further trial into the sea. From that time the criminal attempt was never repeated.

On May 25, the Nautilus was more than 1,918 fathoms deep. It was at the exact spot where the cable had broken, ruining the enterprise. The spot was within 638 miles of the coast of Ireland. At 2:30 in the afternoon, they discovered that communication with Europe had stopped. The electricians on board decided to cut the cable before hauling it up. At eleven that night, they recovered the damaged section. They made a new end, spliced it, and lowered the cable back into the sea. But a few days later, it broke again. It could not be recovered from the ocean depths. The Americans, however, were not discouraged. Cyrus Field, the bold promoter of the enterprise, had invested his entire fortune in it. He started a new fundraising campaign, and people responded at once. Another cable was built using better methods. Each bundle of conducting wires was wrapped in gutta-percha and protected by hemp padding inside a metal covering. The Great Eastern sailed on July 13, 1866. The operation went well, but there was one incident. Several times, as the cable was unrolled, they noticed that nails had recently been driven into it. The apparent purpose was to destroy it. Captain Anderson, the officers, and the engineers consulted together. They posted a notice saying that if the offender was caught on board, he would be thrown into the sea without a trial. From then on, no one made another attempt to damage the cable.

On the 23rd of July the Great Eastern was not more than 500 miles from Newfoundland, when they telegraphed from Ireland the news of the armistice concluded between Prussia and Austria after Sadowa. On the 27th, in the midst of heavy fogs, they reached the port of Heart’s Content. The enterprise was successfully terminated; and for its first despatch, young America addressed old Europe in these words of wisdom, so rarely understood: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill towards men.”

On July 23, the Great Eastern was no more than 500 miles from Newfoundland. News arrived by telegraph from Ireland that Prussia and Austria had agreed to an armistice after Sadowa. On July 27, the ship reached the port of Heart’s Content amid heavy fog. The enterprise was successfully completed. In its first message, young America addressed old Europe with these words of wisdom, so rarely understood: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill towards men.”

I did not expect to find the electric cable in its primitive state, such as it was on leaving the manufactory. The long serpent, covered with the remains of shells, bristling with foraminiferae, was encrusted with a strong coating which served as a protection against all boring molluscs. It lay quietly sheltered from the motions of the sea, and under a favourable pressure for the transmission of the electric spark which passes from Europe to America in .32 of a second. Doubtless this cable will last for a great length of time, for they find that the gutta-percha covering is improved by the sea-water. Besides, on this level, so well chosen, the cable is never so deeply submerged as to cause it to break. The Nautilus followed it to the lowest depth, which was more than 2,212 fathoms, and there it lay without any anchorage; and then we reached the spot where the accident had taken place in 1863. The bottom of the ocean then formed a valley about 100 miles broad, in which Mont Blanc might have been placed without its summit appearing above the waves. This valley is closed at the east by a perpendicular wall more than 2,000 yards high. We arrived there on the 28th of May, and the Nautilus was then not more than 120 miles from Ireland.

I did not expect to find the electric cable in its original condition, as it had left the factory. The long serpent was covered with shell remains and bristled with foraminifera. A thick crust protected it against all boring molluscs. It lay undisturbed by the movement of the sea, under pressure favorable for transmitting the electric spark. That spark passes from Europe to America in .32 of a second. The cable will no doubt last a very long time, because its gutta-percha covering is found to improve in seawater. Besides, on this carefully chosen stretch of seabed, the cable is never deep enough to break under the pressure. The Nautilus followed the cable to its lowest point, more than 2,212 fathoms deep. There it lay without any anchorage. Then we reached the spot where the accident had occurred in 1863. The ocean floor there formed a valley about 100 miles wide. Mont Blanc could have stood in it without its summit rising above the waves. A sheer wall more than 2,000 yards high closed off the valley to the east. We arrived there on May 28, and the Nautilus was then no more than 120 miles from Ireland.

Was Captain Nemo going to land on the British Isles? No. To my great surprise he made for the south, once more coming back towards European seas. In rounding the Emerald Isle, for one instant I caught sight of Cape Clear, and the light which guides the thousands of vessels leaving Glasgow or Liverpool. An important question then arose in my mind. Did the Nautilus dare entangle itself in the Manche? Ned Land, who had re-appeared since we had been nearing land, did not cease to question me. How could I answer? Captain Nemo remained invisible. After having shown the Canadian a glimpse of American shores, was he going to show me the coast of France?

Was Captain Nemo going to land on the British Isles? No. To my great surprise, he headed south, back toward European seas. As we rounded the Emerald Isle, I briefly saw Cape Clear and its light. It guides the thousands of vessels leaving Glasgow or Liverpool. An important question then came to mind. Would the Nautilus dare enter the Manche? Ned Land had reappeared as we neared land, and he kept asking me questions. How could I answer? Captain Nemo was nowhere to be seen. He had given the Canadian a glimpse of American shores. Was he now going to show me the coast of France?

But the Nautilus was still going southward. On the 30th of May, it passed in sight of Land’s End, between the extreme point of England and the Scilly Isles, which were left to starboard. If we wished to enter the Manche, he must go straight to the east. He did not do so.

But the Nautilus was still heading south. On May 30, it passed within sight of Land’s End. It sailed between the tip of England and the Scilly Isles, leaving the islands to starboard. If we wanted to enter the Manche, he had to head straight east. He did not.

During the whole of the 31st of May, the Nautilus described a series of circles on the water, which greatly interested me. It seemed to be seeking a spot it had some trouble in finding. At noon, Captain Nemo himself came to work the ship’s log. He spoke no word to me, but seemed gloomier than ever. What could sadden him thus? Was it his proximity to European shores? Had he some recollections of his abandoned country? If not, what did he feel? Remorse or regret? For a long while this thought haunted my mind, and I had a kind of presentiment that before long chance would betray the captain’s secrets.

Throughout May 31, the Nautilus sailed in a series of circles on the water. This greatly interested me. The ship seemed to be searching for a spot it was having trouble finding. At noon, Captain Nemo came to work the ship’s log himself. He said nothing to me, but he seemed gloomier than ever. What could be making him so sad? Was it because he was close to European shores? Was he remembering the country he had left behind? If not, what was he feeling? Remorse or regret? This thought haunted me for a long time. I had a feeling that before long, chance would reveal the captain’s secrets.

The next day, the 1st of June, the Nautilus continued the same process. It was evidently seeking some particular spot in the ocean. Captain Nemo took the sun’s altitude as he had done the day before. The sea was beautiful, the sky clear. About eight miles to the east, a large steam vessel could be discerned on the horizon. No flag fluttered from its mast, and I could not discover its nationality. Some minutes before the sun passed the meridian, Captain Nemo took his sextant, and watched with great attention. The perfect rest of the water greatly helped the operation. The Nautilus was motionless; it neither rolled nor pitched.

The next day, June 1, the Nautilus continued the same process. It was clearly searching for a particular spot in the ocean. Captain Nemo measured the sun’s altitude as he had the day before. The sea was beautiful, and the sky was clear. A large steamship could be seen on the horizon, about eight miles to the east. No flag flew from its mast, and I could not tell what country it came from. A few minutes before the sun crossed the meridian, Captain Nemo took his sextant and watched closely. The perfectly still water made the task much easier. The Nautilus was motionless. It neither rolled nor pitched.

I was on the platform when the altitude was taken, and the Captain pronounced these words: “It is here.”

I was on the platform when the altitude was measured, and the Captain said, “It is here.”

He turned and went below. Had he seen the vessel which was changing its course and seemed to be nearing us? I could not tell. I returned to the saloon. The panels closed, I heard the hissing of the water in the reservoirs. The Nautilus began to sink, following a vertical line, for its screw communicated no motion to it. Some minutes later it stopped at a depth of more than 420 fathoms, resting on the ground. The luminous ceiling was darkened, then the panels were opened, and through the glass I saw the sea brilliantly illuminated by the rays of our lantern for at least half a mile round us.

He turned and went below. Had he seen the vessel changing course and apparently approaching us? I could not tell. I returned to the saloon. The panels closed, and I heard water hissing into the reservoirs. The Nautilus began to sink straight down because its propeller was not moving it forward. A few minutes later, it stopped on the seabed at a depth of more than 420 fathoms. The glowing ceiling went dark, and the panels opened. Through the glass, I saw the sea brilliantly lit by our lantern for at least half a mile around us.

I looked to the port side, and saw nothing but an immensity of quiet waters. But to starboard, on the bottom appeared a large protuberance, which at once attracted my attention. One would have thought it a ruin buried under a coating of white shells, much resembling a covering of snow. Upon examining the mass attentively, I could recognise the ever-thickening form of a vessel bare of its masts, which must have sunk. It certainly belonged to past times. This wreck, to be thus encrusted with the lime of the water, must already be able to count many years passed at the bottom of the ocean.

I looked to the port side and saw nothing but a vast expanse of calm water. But to starboard, a large shape on the ocean floor immediately caught my attention. It looked like a ruin buried under a layer of white shells, much like a blanket of snow. Looking closely, I could make out the gradually widening shape of a ship without masts. It must have sunk long ago. The wreck was certainly from an earlier age. It must have spent many years on the ocean floor to become so encrusted with lime from the water.

What was this vessel? Why did the Nautilus visit its tomb? Could it have been aught but a shipwreck which had drawn it under the water? I knew not what to think, when near me in a slow voice I heard Captain Nemo say:

What was this vessel? Why did the Nautilus visit its tomb? Could anything other than a shipwreck have brought it underwater? I did not know what to think. Then I heard Captain Nemo speak slowly beside me:

“At one time this ship was called the Marseillais. It carried seventy-four guns, and was launched in 1762. In 1778, the 13th of August, commanded by La Poype-Vertrieux, it fought boldly against the Preston. In 1779, on the 4th of July, it was at the taking of Grenada, with the squadron of Admiral Estaing. In 1781, on the 5th of September, it took part in the battle of Comte de Grasse, in Chesapeake Bay. In 1794, the French Republic changed its name. On the 16th of April, in the same year, it joined the squadron of Villaret Joyeuse, at Brest, being entrusted with the escort of a cargo of corn coming from America, under the command of Admiral Van Stebel. On the 11th and 12th Prairal of the second year, this squadron fell in with an English vessel. Sir, to-day is the 13th Prairal, the first of June, 1868. It is now seventy-four years ago, day for day on this very spot, in latitude 47° 24′, longitude 17° 28′, that this vessel, after fighting heroically, losing its three masts, with the water in its hold, and the third of its crew disabled, preferred sinking with its 356 sailors to surrendering; and, nailing its colours to the poop, disappeared under the waves to the cry of ‘Long live the Republic!’”

“This ship was once called the Marseillais. It carried seventy-four guns and was launched in 1762. On August 13, 1778, under La Poype-Vertrieux, it fought boldly against the Preston. On July 4, 1779, it helped capture Grenada with Admiral Estaing’s squadron. On September 5, 1781, it took part in Comte de Grasse’s battle in Chesapeake Bay. In 1794, the French Republic changed the ship’s name. On April 16 that year, it joined Villaret Joyeuse’s squadron at Brest. The squadron was entrusted with escorting a cargo of corn from America, under the command of Admiral Van Stebel. On the 11th and 12th Prairal of the second year, the squadron encountered an English vessel. Sir, today is the 13th Prairal, June 1, 1868. Exactly seventy-four years ago, on this very spot, at latitude 47° 24′, longitude 17° 28′, this vessel fought heroically. It lost all three masts, water flooded its hold, and a third of its crew were disabled. Rather than surrender, the ship chose to sink with its 356 sailors. Its crew nailed its colours to the poop, and the ship disappeared beneath the waves to the cry of ‘Long live the Republic!’”

“The Avenger!” I exclaimed.

“The Avenger!” I exclaimed.

“Yes, sir, the Avenger! A good name!” muttered Captain Nemo, crossing his arms.

“Yes, sir, the Avenger! A good name!” Captain Nemo muttered, crossing his arms.