Part 2 · Chapter 20From Latitude 47° 24′ to Longitude 17° 28′

We’ll just say the storm totally messed with our plans, pushing us way further east. Any hope of making it to New York or St. Lawrence was gone, and poor Ned basically shut himself off, like Captain Nemo. But Conseil and I stuck together.

I said the Nautilus had drifted east, but I should’ve been more specific - it was northeast. For a few days, we cruised on the surface, then dove beneath, right into those thick fogs that sailors dread. You wouldn't believe the accidents those fogs cause!

The crashes on the reefs when the wind drowns out the waves! The collisions between ships, even with all their warning lights, whistles, and alarms! And the ocean floor?

It's like a battlefield, littered with all the ocean’s victims - some old and covered in crusts, others fresh, their iron bands and copper plates gleaming under our lantern.

On May fifteenth, we were at the southern edge of the Bank of Newfoundland. This bank is made up of all kinds of stuff - organic matter, like huge piles of plants and animals - brought from the Equator by the Gulf Stream, or from the North Pole by the cold water that runs along the American coast.

There are also these giant blocks of rock that get carried along by broken ice. And nearby, a massive graveyard of shellfish, where millions die here. The sea isn’t super deep around Newfoundland - just a few hundred fathoms. But heading south, it dips down to over one,five hundred fathoms.

That's where the Gulf Stream gets wider, loses some speed and warmth, but basically turns into a sea.

It was May seventeenth, about five hundred miles from Heart’s Content, at a depth of over one,four hundred fathoms, that I spotted the electric cable on the ocean floor. Conseil, who I hadn't told anything about it, initially thought it was a gigantic sea serpent.

But I set him straight and, to cheer him up, I told him a bunch of details about how they laid the cable. The first one was laid in eighteen fifty-seven and eighteen fifty-eight, but after sending around four hundred telegrams, it stopped working.

In eighteen sixty-three, engineers built another one - two,zero miles long and weighing four thousand, five hundred tons - and loaded it onto the Great Eastern. That attempt also flopped.

On May twenty-fifth, the Nautilus was over one,nine hundred and eighteen fathoms deep, right on the spot where the cable broke and ruined the whole thing. We were about six hundred and thirty-eight miles from the Irish coast, and at two:thirty in the afternoon, they realized communication with Europe had stopped.

The electricians on board decided to cut the cable before trying to haul it up, and at eleven:zero PM, they recovered the damaged section. They patched it up and sent it back down, but a few days later, it broke again, and they couldn’t find it in the depths. But the Americans weren’t giving up.

Cyrus Field, the bold guy behind the project - who’s basically sunk his own fortune - started a new fundraising campaign, which got answered right away, and another cable was built with better designs.

The bundles of wires were wrapped in gutta-percha, protected by hemp wadding, and all contained in a metal covering. The Great Eastern set sail on July thirteen, eighteen sixty-six. The operation went smoothly, but something weird happened.

A few times while they were unrolling the cable, they noticed that someone had recently jammed nails into it, clearly to destroy it. Captain Anderson, the officers, and engineers huddled together and announced that anyone caught on board would be thrown overboard without a trial.

After that, the attempts to sabotage it stopped.

On July twenty-third, the Great Eastern was only about five hundred miles from Newfoundland when news came from Ireland - Prussia and Austria had called a truce after Sadowa. By July twenty-seventh, battling through thick fog, they reached Heart’s Content. The mission was a success!

For their first message, young America sent a message of hope to old Europe: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill towards men."

I didn’t expect the electric cable to be in such a basic state, like it was straight off the factory floor. This long, snake-like thing, covered in bits of shells and tiny creatures called foraminiferae, had a tough coating protecting it from boring sea creatures.

It just lay there, safe from the ocean’s movement, ready to send an electric signal from Europe to America in just .thirty-two of a second. It’s gonna last a long time, too, because the gutta-percha covering actually gets better in seawater!

Plus, at this perfect depth, the cable isn’t buried deep enough to break. The Nautilus followed it down to over two,two hundred and twelve fathoms - seriously deep! - and there it was, anchored to nothing. Then we reached the spot where something went wrong back in eighteen sixty-three.

The ocean floor then was like a huge valley, about one hundred miles wide, where Mont Blanc could fit without even showing its peak above the waves. That valley was closed off on the east by a cliff more than two,zero yards high. We got there on May twenty-eighth, and the Nautilus was only about one hundred and twenty miles from Ireland.

Was Captain Nemo planning to land on the British Isles? Nope. To my surprise, he turned south, heading back toward European waters. As we passed the Emerald Isle, I caught a quick glimpse of Cape Clear and the light that guides thousands of ships leaving Glasgow or Liverpool.

A big question popped into my head. Did the Nautilus dare risk getting tangled up in the English Channel? Ned Land, who’d reappeared now that we were getting close to land, didn’t stop asking me questions. How could I even answer? Captain Nemo was nowhere to be seen.

After showing the Canadian a glimpse of American shores, was he going to show me the coast of France?

But the Nautilus kept heading south. On May thirtieth, it passed Land’s End, between the tip of England and the Scilly Isles, leaving the islands on our right. If we wanted to go into the English Channel, we’d have to head straight east. But he didn’t.

All day on May thirty-first, the Nautilus was circling in the water, which totally fascinated me. It seemed like it was searching for a specific spot, but having trouble finding it. At noon, Captain Nemo himself came to update the ship’s log. He didn’t say a word to me, but he looked gloomier than ever.

What could be getting to him? Was it being so close to European shores? Were memories of his abandoned country flooding back? Or was it something else entirely? Remorse? Regret? That thought stuck with me for a while, and I had a feeling that soon something would reveal the captain’s secrets.

The next day, June first, the Nautilus kept doing the same thing. It was definitely hunting for a particular spot in the ocean. Captain Nemo took the sun's angle, just like he had the day before. The sea was gorgeous, and the sky was clear.

About eight miles to the east, we spotted a big steamship on the horizon. No flag was flying from its mast, and I couldn’t figure out where it was from. Just before the sun reached its highest point, Captain Nemo grabbed his sextant and watched closely.

The perfectly still water made the job much easier. The Nautilus was completely still; it didn’t rock or tilt.

I was on the platform when they took the depth readings, and the Captain said, "It's here."

He turned and went below. Had he seen the ship changing course, getting closer? I couldn't tell. I went back to the lounge. The panels slid shut, and I heard the water hissing in the tanks. The Nautilus started to sink, going straight down because the propeller wasn’t turning.

A few minutes later, it stopped, way down - more than four hundred and twenty fathoms, resting on the seabed. The ceiling lights dimmed, then the panels opened, and through the glass, I saw the ocean brilliantly lit by our lamps for at least half a mile around us.

I looked out to the left, and saw nothing but a huge stretch of calm water. But to the right, on the bottom, there was a big shape that caught my eye. It looked like ruins covered in white shells, kind of like a layer of snow.

Looking closely, I recognized the shape of a ship, stripped of its masts, that must have sunk long ago. It definitely belonged to another time. This wreck, covered in the ocean's lime, must be down here for years.

What was this ship? Why was the Nautilus visiting its grave? Could it be anything but a shipwreck that pulled it under? I didn't know what to think when, nearby, I heard Captain Nemo say in a quiet voice:

"This ship used to be called the Marseillais. It had seventy-four guns and was launched in seventeen sixty-two. On August thirteen, seventeen seventy-eight, commanded by La Poype-Vertrieux, it fought bravely against the Preston. In seventeen seventy-nine, on July fourth, it was part of the capture of Grenada, with Admiral Estaing’s fleet."

In seventeen eighty-one, on September fifth, it fought in the battle of Comte de Grasse, in Chesapeake Bay. In seventeen ninety-four, the French Republic changed its name. On April sixteenth of that year, it joined Admiral Van Stebel’s fleet at Brest, escorting a cargo of corn from America.

On June first, eighteen sixty-eight - today - it was seventy-four years ago, on this very spot, at forty-seven° twenty-four' latitude and seventeen° twenty-eight' longitude, that this ship, after a heroic fight, losing its three masts and with water flooding the hull and a third of its crew injured, chose to sink with its three hundred and fifty-six sailors rather than surrender.

"It nailed its colors to the stern and disappeared beneath the waves to the cry of ‘Long live the Republic!’" "The Avenger!" I blurted out.

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