Part 2 · Chapter 19The Gulf Stream

The events of April twentieth are something none of us will ever forget. I wrote this account while still reeling from the shock, but I’s since revised it. Conseil and my Canadian friend read it over and said the facts were all correct, but it didn’t quite capture the full impact.

To truly paint a picture like that, you’s need the skill of the greatest poet we’s got - the author of The Toilers of the Deep.

I said that Captain Nemo cried while watching the waves, and his grief was immense. It was the second crew member he’s lost since we boarded, and what a way to go! That friend, crushed, suffocated, and badly hurt by the massive tentacles of a giant squid, was being pounded by its powerful jaws.

He wouldnn't rest with his fellow sailors in the peaceful coral graveyard! It was the desperate cry of the unfortunate man during the fight that broke my heart. The poor Frenchman, forgetting his usual polite language, spoke in his own tongue, making a final, desperate plea!

Amongst the crew of the Nautilus, connected to the Captain’s body and soul, and recoiling from contact with other people, I had a fellow countryman. Did he alone represent France in this mysterious group, clearly made up of people from all over the world?

It was one of those impossible questions that kept popping up in my mind!

Captain Nemo went into his room, and I didn’t see him for a while. But I could tell he was sad and uncertain - the ship itself reflected it. The Nautilus wasn’t following its usual course; it drifted around like a body at sea, tossed by the waves. It was moving randomly.

He couldn’t bring himself to leave the scene of the last fight, this sea that had swallowed one of his men. Ten days passed like that. It wasn’t until May first that the Nautilus started heading north again, after spotting the Bahamas at the entrance to the Bahama Canal.

We were then following the current from a huge river to the ocean, with its banks, its fish, and its own specific temperatures. I mean the Gulf Stream. It’s truly a river, flowing freely into the middle of the Atlantic, and its waters don’t mix with the ocean.

It’s a salty river, even saltier than the sea around it. Its average depth is one,five hundred fathoms, and its average width is ten miles. In some places, the current flows at two and a half miles per hour. The amount of water in it is greater than all the rivers on Earth combined.

It was on this ocean river that the Nautilus was sailing.

I have to add that, during the nights, the glowing waters of the Gulf Stream were just as impressive as the electricity from our lamps, especially during the stormy weather that threatened us so often. On May eighth, we were still crossing Cape Hatteras, off the coast of North Carolina.

The Gulf Stream was seventy-five miles wide there, and two hundred and ten yards deep. The Nautilus was still drifting aimlessly; all supervision seemed to be gone. I thought that, under those circumstances, escaping would be possible. The nearby shores offered an easy refuge.

The sea was constantly churned up by the ships traveling between New York or Boston and the Gulf of Mexico, and crisscrossed day and night by small schooners along the American coast. We could hope to be rescued. It was a good opportunity, even though the Nautilus was thirty miles from the coast.

But one unfortunate thing ruined the Canadian’s plans. The weather was terrible. We were approaching those shores where storms are so common - a land of waterspouts and cyclones actually created by the Gulf Stream’s current. Taking a small boat out into the sea would be certain destruction.

Ned Land knew it himself. He was frustrated, gripped by a longing that only escape could cure.

"Master," he said that day to me, "this has to end. I need to get this off my chest. This Nemo is leaving land and heading north. But I’m telling you, I’m done with the South Pole, and I’ll not follow him to the North."

"So, what do we do, Ned, since we can’t just fly away right now?"

"We need to talk to the Captain," he said.

"You didn’t say anything when we were in your homeland. I’m going to speak up now that we’re in mine."

When I think that soon the Nautilus will be near Nova Scotia, and that there’s a huge bay near Newfoundland, and the St. Lawrence empties into that bay, and the St. Lawrence is my river, the river by Quebec, my hometown - when I think of that, I get furious, it totally freaks me out.

"Sir, I’d rather jump into the sea! I’ll not stay here! I’m suffocating!"

The Canadian was clearly losing it. His energetic nature couldn’t handle this long time in prison. His face changed every day; his temper got worse and worse. I knew what he was going through, because I was feeling homesick myself.

Nearly seven months had passed without any news from land; Captain Nemo’s isolation, his strange mood, especially since the fight with the giant squids, his silence - it all made me see things differently.

"Well, sir?" said Ned, seeing I didn’t reply.

"Well, Ned, do you want me to ask Captain Nemo what he’s planning for us?" "Yes, sir."

"Even though he’s already told us?"

"Yes; I want it settled once and for all. Speak for me, in my name only, if you like."

"But I hardly ever see him. He avoids me."

"That’s all the more reason for you to go see him."

I went to my room. From there, I planned to go to Captain Nemo’s. I wasn’t going to let this chance to talk to him slip away. I knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked again, then turned the handle. The door opened; I went in. The Captain was there. Bending over his worktable, he hadn’t heard me.

Determined not to leave without speaking to him, I approached. He looked up quickly, frowned, and said roughly, "You here? What do you want?" "To speak to you, Captain."

"But I’m busy, sir; I’m working. I’m letting you lock yourself away; can’t I have the same?"

This wasn’t exactly welcoming; but I was determined to hear and answer everything.

"Sir," I said coldly, "I have to speak to you about something that can’t be put off."

"What is it, sir?" he replied, sarcastically.

"Have you discovered something I’m missing, or has the sea revealed any new secrets?"

"We were talking 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 everything I’ve studied about the sea; and, if it pleases God, it won’t perish with me. This manuscript, signed with my name, complete with the history of my life, will be sealed in a small floating case.

"The last survivor on board the Nautilus will throw this case into the sea, and it will go wherever the waves carry it."

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

"Captain," I said, "I think it’s a good idea to make sure your research isn't lost. But the way you’re doing it seems a little old-school. Who knows where the wind will blow this case, and who will find it? Couldn’t you use another method? Couldn’t you, or one of yours - - "

"Never, sir!" he said, cutting me off quickly.

"But I and my companions are willing to keep this manuscript safe; and, if you’ll just let us go - - "

"Let you go?" said the Captain, standing up.

"Yeah, sir; that’s what I want to ask you about. We’ve been stuck on this ship for seven months now, and I’m asking you - for me and my friends - if you’re planning on keeping us here forever?"

"Mr. Aronnax, I’ll tell you today what I told you seven months ago: Anyone who comes aboard the Nautilus never leaves."

"You’re basically holding us as slaves!" "Call it whatever you want."

"But everyone has the right to be free."

"Who’s denying you that right? Have I ever made you swear an oath?"

He looked at me, arms crossed.

"Sir," I said, "bringing this up again isn’t gonna be fun for either of us; but since we’re doing it, let’s finish it. It’s not just about me, you know. Studying is my escape, my hobby, a passion that could make me forget everything."

Like you, I’m okay living quietly, hoping to leave something behind for future generations. But it’s different for Ned Land. Every decent person deserves some respect. Don't you think that a love of freedom and a hatred of being controlled could lead to revenge in a guy like him?

"That he might think about it, try to plan something, and actually go for it - "

I stopped; Captain Nemo stood up.

"Whatever Ned Land thinks, attempts, or tries, what does it matter to me? I didn't ask for him! I'm not keeping him here for my own amusement! As for you, Mr. Aronnax, you’re the type who understands everything, even silence. I have nothing more to say to you."

"Let this be the only time you bring this up, because I won't listen to you a second time."

I left. Our situation was really bad. I told my friends everything that happened.

"We know now," said Ned, "that we can’t expect anything from this guy. The Nautilus is getting close to Long Island. We’re getting out of here, no matter the weather."

The sky was getting seriously threatening. Signs of a hurricane were popping up everywhere. The air felt thick and hazy. Fine, wispy clouds appeared on the horizon, quickly followed by huge, puffy clouds. Other low clouds zipped past. The ocean swelled into massive waves.

The birds vanished, except for the petrels - those storm buddies. The barometer dropped noticeably, showing crazy pressure in the air. The storm glass mixture broke down because of the electricity buzzing around.

The full-blown tempest hit on May eighteenth, just as the Nautilus was drifting off Long Island, a few miles from New York City. I can totally describe this battle between the elements! Captain Nemo, for some weird reason, decided to face it on the surface instead of diving deep.

The wind started blowing from the southwest. During the gusts, Captain Nemo took his spot on the platform. He secured himself so he wouldn't get washed overboard by the gigantic waves. I climbed up and tied myself down too, caught between admiring the storm and this unbelievable guy handling it all.

Huge clouds swept across the raging sea, practically soaked with the waves. The Nautilus, tilting sideways, then standing straight up like a mast, rolled and pitched like crazy. Around five o’clock, a downpour of rain started, and it didn't let up for either the sea or the wind.

The hurricane was blowing almost forty miles an hour. That’s how it knocks down houses, crushes iron gates, and moves heavy cannons. But the Nautilus, right in the middle of the storm, proved what a smart engineer once said: "No well-built hull can’t stand up to the sea."

It wasn't a solid rock; it was a steel spindle, flexible and strong, without rigging or masts, that faced its fury without a problem. Still, I watched those massive waves carefully. They were fifteen feet high and one hundred and fifty to one hundred and seventy-five yards long, traveling at thirty feet per second.

Their power and size grew as the water got deeper. Waves like these, back at the Hebrides, have moved things weighing over eight thousand pounds. They were the same waves that destroyed the town of Yeddo, in Japan, and crashed onto the American shores on December twenty-third, eighteen sixty-four.

The storm intensified as night fell. The barometer, just like it did in Reunion in eighteen sixty during a cyclone, dropped almost a full bar by the end of the day. I saw a big ship pass over the horizon, struggling to stay afloat, trying to slow down to keep from being swallowed by the waves.

It was probably one of the steamships heading from New York to Liverpool or Le Havre. It quickly disappeared into the darkness. At ten o’clock, the sky was on fire. Bright lightning streaked across the atmosphere.

I couldn't handle how bright it was, but the captain watched it, like he was jealous of the storm’s energy. A deafening noise filled the air - a mix of crashing waves, roaring wind, and thunderclaps.

The wind suddenly shifted direction, hitting from every point of the horizon; and the cyclone, rising in the east, returned after passing by the north, west, and south, following the opposite path of the circular storm in the southern hemisphere.

Whoa, that Gulf Stream! Seriously, it lives up to its name as the King of Tempests. It’s what causes those crazy cyclones - all thanks to the huge difference in temperature between the air and the water. After the rain, it was like a shower of fire.

The raindrops turned into sharp, stinging needles. You’d think Captain Nemo was looking for a death worthy of himself, like getting zapped by lightning. As the Nautilus, rocking like crazy, lifted its metal prow into the air, it acted like a lightning rod, and I saw sparks flying everywhere.

Totally drained, I crawled to the panel, opened it, and headed down to the main room. The storm was absolutely insane. It was impossible to even stand up inside the Nautilus. Captain Nemo showed up around twelve.

I could hear the tanks filling up slowly, and the Nautilus sank deeper and deeper into the water. Through the open windows in the main room, I saw huge fish, totally freaked out, swimming by like ghosts. Some got hit right before my eyes. The Nautilus kept going down.

I figured we’d find some calm around eight fathoms deep. But nope! The water up there was way too chaotic. We had to find some peace at more than twenty-five fathoms, way down in the ocean depths. But wow, it was so quiet, so silent, so peaceful!

Who would have thought such a hurricane was raging on the surface of the ocean?