Читать книгу Двадцать тысяч лье под водой / Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea - Жюль Верн, Жуль Верн - Страница 9

This capture was carried out with lightning speed. My companions and I had no time to collect ourselves. I don’t know how they felt, but as for me, I was shivering all over. With whom were we dealing? Surely with some pirates.

The narrow hatch had barely closed over me when I was surrounded by profound darkness. I felt my naked feet clinging to the steps of an iron ladder. Ned Land and Conseil were behind me. At the foot of the ladder, a door opened and instantly closed behind us.

We were alone. Where? I couldn’t say, I couldn’t even imagine. All was darkness.

“Damnation!” Ned Land exclaimed. “These people are not very hospitable! I wouldn’t be surprised if they were cannibals!”

“Calm yourself, Ned my friend,” Conseil replied serenely. “We aren’t in a kettle yet!”

“In a kettle, no,” the Canadian shot back, “but in an oven for sure. Luckily my knife hasn’t left me, and I can still see well enough to use it. The first one of these bandits who lays a hand on me—”

“Don’t be so irritable, Ned,” I then told the harpooner, “and don’t ruin things for us. Who knows whether they might be listening to us? Instead, let’s try to find out where we are!”

Half an hour had already gone by without our situation changing, when our eyes saw blinding light. Our prison lit up all at once. I recognized the electric glow.

“Finally! It’s light enough to see!” Ned Land exclaimed, knife in hand.

“Yes,” I replied. “But as for our situation, we’re still in the dark.”

“Master must learn patience,” said the emotionless Conseil.

This sudden illumination of our cabin enabled me to examine its details. It contained only a table and five stools. Its invisible door must have been hermetically sealed. Not a sound reached our ears. Everything seemed dead inside this boat. Was it in motion, or stationary on the surface of the ocean, or sinking into the depths? I couldn’t tell.

A door opened, and two men appeared. One was short and stocky, powerfully muscled, broad shouldered, robust of limbs, the hair black and luxuriant, the mustache heavy, the eyes bright and penetrating.

The second stranger was a man of great pride, his calm, firm gaze seemed to reflect thinking on an elevated plane. Whether this individual was thirty-five or fifty years of age, I could not precisely state. He was tall, his forehead broad, his nose straight, his mouth clearly etched, his teeth magnificent, his hands refined. One unusual detail: his eyes were spaced a little far from each other and could instantly take in nearly a quarter of the horizon.

Wearing caps made of sea-otter fur, and shod in sealskin fishing boots, these two strangers were dressed in clothing made from some unique fabric that allowed great freedom of movement.

The taller of the two—apparently the leader on board—examined us with the greatest care but without pronouncing a word. Then, turning to his companion, he conversed with him in a language I didn’t recognize. It was a sonorous, harmonious, flexible dialect.

The other replied with a shake of the head and added two or three incomprehensible words. Then he looked at me.

I replied in clear French that I wasn’t familiar with his language; but he didn’t seem to understand me.

“Still, master should tell our story,” Conseil said to me. “Perhaps these gentlemen will grasp a few words of it!”

I tried again, telling the tale of our adventures, clearly articulating my every syllable, and not leaving out a single detail. I stated our names and titles; then, in order, I introduced myself, Professor Aronnax, my servant Conseil, and Mr. Ned Land, harpooner.

The man with calm, gentle eyes listened to me serenely, even courteously, and paid remarkable attention. But nothing indicated that he understood my story. When I finished, he didn’t pronounce a single word.

One resource still left was to speak English. Perhaps they would be familiar with this nearly universal language.

“Come on, it’s your turn,” I told the harpooner. “Mr. Land. Try for a more favorable result than mine.”

Ned started our story all over again. Its content was the same, but the form differed. Carried away by his volatile temperament, the Canadian complained vehemently about being imprisoned in defiance of his civil rights. And he added that we were dying of hunger. This was perfectly true, but we had nearly forgotten the fact.

Our visitors didn’t not say a word. I no longer knew what tactic to pursue, when Conseil told me:

“If master will authorize me, I’ll tell the whole business in German.”

“What! You know German?” I exclaimed.

“Like most Flemish people, with all due respect to master.”

And Conseil, in his serene voice, described for the third time our story. But despite our narrator’s fine accent, the German language met with no success.

Finally, as a last resort, I tried to narrate our adventures in Latin. With the same negative result.

The two strangers exchanged a few words in their incomprehensible language and withdrew. The door closed again.

“This is outrageous!” Ned Land shouted. “We speak French, English, German, and Latin to theserogues, and neither of them has the decency to even answer back!”

“Calm down, Ned,” I told the seething harpooner. “Anger won’t get us anywhere. We mustn’t despair. Let us wait a bit before we form our views on the commander and crew of this boat.”

“My views are fully formed,” Ned Land shot back. “They’re rogues!”

“Oh good! And from what country?”

“Roguedom!”

“My gallant Ned, that country isn’t clearly marked on maps of the world. What is the nationality of these two strangers? Neither English, French, nor German, that’s all we can say. But there must be southern blood in them. Probably they’re Spaniards, Turks, Arabs, or East Indians. And as for their speech, it’s incomprehensible.”

The door opened. A steward entered. He brought us some clothes, jackets and sailor’s pants, made out of a fabric whose nature I didn’t recognize. We hurried to change into them.

Meanwhile our silent steward, perhaps a deaf-mute, set the table and laid three place settings.

Overlaid with silver dish covers, various platters had been neatly positioned on the table cloth, and we sat down to eat. Assuredly, we were dealing with civilized people. The water was fresh and clear. Among the foods we were served, I was able to identify various fish. As for the tableware, it was elegant and in perfect taste. Each utensil, spoon, fork, knife, and plate, bore on its reverse a letter encircled by a Latin motto:

Mobilis in mobili[23]

N

Moving within the moving element! It was a highly appropriate motto for this underwater machine. The letter N was no doubt the initial of the name of that mystifying individual in command beneath the seas!

Our appetites appeased, we felt an urgent need for sleep. A natural reaction after that interminable night of fighting for our lives.

My two companions lay down on the cabin’s carpeting and were soon deep in slumber.

As for me, too many thoughts had piled up in my mind, too many insoluble questions had arisen, too many images were keeping my eyelids open! Where were we? What strange power was carrying us along? Then my mind grew calmer, my imagination melted into hazy drowsiness, and I soon fell into an uneasy slumber.