Part 1 · Chapter 14A Note of Invitation

A Quick Note. The next day was November ninth. I woke up after a seriously long sleep - like, twelve hours. Conseil came over, like he always did, to see "how I’d spent the night" and offer his help. He said his friend, the Canadian, was out like a log, like he’d never done anything else in his life.

I let the good guy ramble on, not really feeling like talking. I was totally preoccupied by the Captain not being around during our meeting the day before, and hoping to see him today.

As soon as I got dressed, I headed into the main room. It was totally empty.

I dove into checking out the shell treasures hidden behind the cabinets. I was also super into these amazing herbariums filled with the rarest sea plants, which, even though they were dried, still had their awesome colors.

Among these precious plants, I noticed some vorticellæ, pavonariæ, delicate ceramics with red streaks, some fan-shaped agari, and some natabuli like flat mushrooms, which used to be considered zoophytes - basically, a whole bunch of seaweed.

The whole day went by without a visit from Captain Nemo. The doors didn’t even open. Maybe they didn’t want us to get tired of all the cool stuff.

The Nautilus was cruising east by northeast, going about twelve knots, with a depth of twenty-five to thirty fathoms below the surface.

The next day, November tenth, same thing - deserted, totally alone. I didn’t see a single crew member: Ned and Conseil spent most of the day with me. They were both baffled by the Captain’s total absence. Was this strange guy sick? Had he changed his plans for us?

Honestly, as Conseil said, we had total freedom, we were fed really well and treated like royalty. Our host was sticking to the deal. We couldn’t complain, and, seriously, our crazy situation gave us so many incredible perks that we didn’t even have the right to whine about it yet.

That day, I started writing down the journal of these adventures, which has helped me tell the story with a lot more detail and accuracy. I wrote it on paper made from sea grass.

November eleventh, early in the morning. The fresh air moving around inside the Nautilus told me we’d surfaced to get more oxygen. I headed for the central staircase and went up to the platform.

It was six o’clock, the weather was cloudy, the sea was grey but calm. Not a single wave. I was really hoping to see Captain Nemo - would he be there? I didn't see anyone except the steersman stuck in his glass booth.

I sat on the part of the hull where the pinnace was stored and breathed in the salty air - it felt amazing.

Little by little, the fog started to disappear under the sun’s rays, and the sun popped up over the eastern horizon. The sea shimmered under its light like a trail of gunpowder.

The clouds up high were colored with bright shades of gorgeous colors, and there were a bunch of "mare’s tails," which meant there would be wind today. But what was wind to this Nautilus, which even storms couldn’t scare!

I was checking out this awesome sunrise - so cheerful and full of life - when I heard footsteps coming toward the platform. I was ready to greet Captain Nemo, but it was his second (the guy I’d already met during the Captain’s first visit) who showed up.

He came onto the platform without even noticing me. He scanned the entire horizon with his powerful telescope. When he was done, he approached the panel and said exactly this: I remembered it, because every morning he repeated the same thing, under exactly the same conditions.

It went like this - "Nautron respoc lorni virch." I had no idea what it meant.

After he said those words, the second went back down. I figured the Nautilus was about to go back to exploring underwater. I went back to the panel and headed to my room.

Five days went by like that, nothing changed. Every morning I went up to the platform. The same words were said by the same person. But Captain Nemo didn't show.

I’d pretty much given up on ever seeing him again, when, on November sixteenth, Ned and Conseil and I got back to my room, I found a note on my table, addressed to me. I ripped it open, super impatient.

It was written in a bold, clear handwriting, the letters a little sharp, like that old-school German font. The note said: November sixteenth, eighteen sixty-seven.

TO PROFESSOR ARONNAX, On board the Nautilus.

Captain Nemo invites Professor Aronnax to a hunting trip, happening tomorrow morning in the forests of Crespo Island. He really hopes the Professor can make it, and he’s happy to have his companions join him too.

CAPTAIN NEMO, Commander of the Nautilus. "A hunt!" Ned exclaimed.

"And in the forests of Crespo Island!" added Conseil.

"So, the guy’s going on land?" replied Ned Land.

"That’s pretty clear, I think," I said, reading the letter again.

"Well, we gotta accept," said the Canadian.

"But once we’re back on solid ground, we’ll know what to do. Honestly, I’m dying for a piece of fresh venison."

Without trying to figure out how Captain Nemo’s obvious dislike of land and continents fit with inviting us to hunt in a forest, I just replied:

"Let’s find out where Crespo Island is first."

I checked the planisphere, and at thirty-two° forty' north latitude and one hundred and fifty-seven° fifty' west longitude, I found a small island. It was recognized in eighteen oh one by Captain Crespo, and marked on old Spanish maps as Rocca de la Plata - which means "The Silver Rock."

We were about eighteen hundred miles from where we started, and the Nautilus, changing course a little, was heading back towards the southeast.

I showed my companions this tiny island lost in the middle of the North Pacific.

"If Captain Nemo does go on land sometimes," I said, "he definitely chooses deserted islands."

Ned Land shrugged without saying anything, and he and Conseil left me.

After dinner, which the silent, expressionless steward served, I went to bed, feeling a little worried.

The next morning, November seventeenth, when I woke up, I realized the Nautilus was completely still. I got dressed fast and went into the saloon.

Captain Nemo was there, waiting for me. He stood up, bowed, and asked if it was okay for me to go with him. He didn’t mention his absence over the last eight days, so I didn’t bring it up, and just said that my companions and I were ready to follow him.

We went into the dining room, where breakfast was served.

"M. Aronnax," said the Captain, "please, share my breakfast without any fuss. We’ll chat as we eat. I promised you a walk in the forest, but I didn’t say I’d find hotels there. So, eat like a guy who probably won’t have dinner until really late."

I did the meal justice. It was a bunch of different kinds of fish, and slices of holothuridæ (really good zoophytes), and various types of seaweed.

Our drink was pure water, with the Captain adding a few drops of a fermented liquor, made by the Kamschatcha method from a seaweed called Rhodomenia palmata. Captain Nemo ate without saying a word at first. Then he started -

"Sir, when I invited you to hunt in my underwater forest of Crespo, you probably thought I was crazy. Sir, you shouldn’t judge anyone lightly."

"But Captain, believe me - - "

"Be kind enough to listen, and you’ll see if you have any reason to accuse me of being foolish and contradictory." "I’m listening."

"You know as well as I do, Professor, that people can breathe underwater, as long as they have enough air. In underwater construction, workers - wearing waterproof gear and a metal helmet - get air pumped down through tubes and regulators."

"That’s a diving setup," I said.

"Exactly, but you’re not free under those conditions. You’re attached to the pump sending air through a rubber tube, and if we had to be tethered to the Nautilus like that, we couldn’t go far."

"And how do you get free?" I asked.

"It’s the Rouquayrol apparatus, invented by two French guys, which I’ve perfected for my own use. It lets you risk going underwater without any harm to your body. It’s basically a tank made of thick iron plates, where I store air under really high pressure - fifty atmospheres."

It’s strapped to your back, like a backpack. The top part is a box where the air stays put thanks to a bellows, so it doesn’t leak unless it’s at normal pressure. The Rouquayrol setup we use has two rubber tubes coming out of the box and connecting to a kind of mask that covers your nose and mouth.

"One tube brings in fresh air, the other lets out the bad air, and your tongue controls which one is open. But when I’m dealing with intense pressure deep down, I have to seal my head like a diver in a copper ball, and that’s how the two tubes - the intake and exhaust - connect."

"Got it, Captain Nemo; but the air you’re carrying has to run out eventually. When it’s only got fifteen percent oxygen, it’s no longer breathable."

"True! But I told you, M. Aronnax, that the Nautilus’s pumps let me store air under high pressure, so the tank can supply breathable air for nine or ten hours."

"I have no more objections," I answered.

"I’ll just ask you one thing, Captain - how do you light your way at the bottom of the ocean?"

"With the Ruhmkorff apparatus, M. Aronnax. One’s carried on your back, the other’s fastened to your waist. It’s got a Bunsen pile - I don’t use that weird bichromate of potash stuff, but sodium instead. A wire collects the electricity it makes and directs it to a special lantern."

"Inside the lantern is a glass spiral that holds a small amount of carbon gas. When the thing’s running, the gas glows, giving off a bright, steady white light. So, I can breathe and I can see."

"Captain Nemo, you have such crushing answers to all my objections that I can’t doubt anything anymore. But if I’m going to use the Rouquayrol and Ruhmkorff apparatus, I need to make some reservations about the gun I’m going to carry."

"But it’s not a gun that uses gunpowder," the Captain replied. "Then it’s an air gun."

"Of course! How would I make gunpowder on board without saltpetre, sulfur, or charcoal?"

"Besides," I added, "to fire underwater in a medium eight hundred and fifty-five times denser than air, we’d have to overcome a lot of resistance."

"That wouldn’t be a problem. There are guns, according to Fulton, perfected in England by Philip Coles and Burley, in France by Furcy, and in Italy by Landi, that have a special closing system that lets them fire underwater."

"But I repeat, without gunpowder, I use air under high pressure, which the Nautilus’s pumps supply in abundance."

"But that air has to be used up quickly, right?"

"Seriously, don’t I have my Rouquayrol tank? It can supply air whenever we need it. All we need is a valve. Plus, Aronnax, you gotta realize that during our hunt underwater, we won’t use much air or ammo."

"But it seems to me that in this dim light, and in this thick liquid - way thicker than air - shots wouldn't travel far or easily kill anything."

"Sir, quite the opposite! This gun’s every shot is deadly. Even a light touch will drop an animal like it’s been hit by lightning." "Why?"

"Because the bullets this gun fires aren’t normal bullets. They’re tiny glass containers - Leniebroek, an Austrian chemist, invented them - and I have tons. These glass containers are covered in steel and weighted with lead pellets."

"They’re basically supercharged batteries; they release electricity with the slightest shock. No matter how tough the animal is, it drops dead."

"I won’t argue anymore," I said, standing up. " All I have left is to grab my gun. I’m going wherever you’re going."

Captain Nemo then led me to the back of the ship. As we passed Ned’s and Conseil’s cabins, I called out to my two friends, and they followed right behind. We ended up in a kind of room near the engine room, where we were supposed to put on our diving gear.