海底两万里 Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea 9

海底两万里 Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea 9

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Chapter 9

The Tantrums of Ned Land

I HAVE NO IDEA how long this slumber lasted; but it must have beena good while, since we were completely over our exhaustion. I was the first one to wake up.My companions weren't yet stirring and still lay in their cornerslike inanimate objects.

I had barely gotten up from my passably hard mattress when I feltmy mind clear, my brain go on the alert. So I began a carefulreexamination of our cell.

Nothing had changed in its interior arrangements.The prison was still a prison and its prisoners still prisoners.But, taking advantage of our slumber, the steward had cleared the table.Consequently, nothing indicated any forthcoming improvement inour situation, and I seriously wondered if we were doomed to spendthe rest of our lives in this cage.

This prospect seemed increasingly painful to me because, even thoughmy brain was clear of its obsessions from the night before,I was feeling an odd short–windedness in my chest. It was becominghard for me to breathe. The heavy air was no longer sufficientfor the full play of my lungs. Although our cell was large,we obviously had used up most of the oxygen it contained.In essence, over an hour's time a single human being consumesall the oxygen found in 100 liters of air, at which point that airhas become charged with a nearly equal amount of carbon dioxideand is no longer fit for breathing.

So it was now urgent to renew the air in our prison, and no doubtthe air in this whole underwater boat as well.

Here a question popped into my head. How did the commander of thisaquatic residence go about it? Did he obtain air using chemical methods,releasing the oxygen contained in potassium chlorate by heating it,meanwhile absorbing the carbon dioxide with potassium hydroxide?If so, he would have to keep up some kind of relationship withthe shore, to come by the materials needed for such an operation.Did he simply limit himself to storing the air in high–pressuretanks and then dispense it according to his crew's needs?Perhaps. Or, proceeding in a more convenient, more economical,and consequently more probable fashion, was he satisfied with merelyreturning to breathe at the surface of the water like acetacean,renewing his oxygen supply every twenty–four hours? In any event,whatever his method was, it seemed prudent to me that he use thismethod without delay.

In fact, I had already resorted to speeding up my inhalations in orderto extract from the cell what little oxygen it contained, when suddenlyI was refreshed by a current of clean air, scented with a salty aroma.It had to be a sea breeze, life–giving and charged with iodine!I opened my mouth wide, and my lungs glutted themselveson the fresh particles. At the same time, I felt a swaying,a rolling of moderate magnitude but definitely noticeable.This boat, this sheet–iron monster, had obviously just risen tothe surface of the ocean, there to breathe in good whale fashion.So the ship's mode of ventilation was finally established.

When I had absorbed a chestful of this clean air, I lookedfor the conduit—the "air carrier," if you prefer—that allowedthis beneficial influx to reach us, and I soon found it.Above the door opened an air vent that let in a fresh current of oxygen,renewing the thin air in our cell.

I had gotten to this point in my observations when Ned and Conseilwoke up almost simultaneously, under the influence of this revivingair purification. They rubbed their eyes, stretched their arms,and sprang to their feet.

"Did master sleep well?" Conseil asked me with his perennialgood manners.

"Extremely well, my gallant lad," I replied. "And how about you,Mr. Ned Land?"

"Like a log, professor. But I must be imagining things, because itseems like I'm breathing a sea breeze!"

A seaman couldn't be wrong on this topic, and I told the Canadianwhat had gone on while he slept.

"Good!" he said. "That explains perfectly all that bellowing we heard,when our so–called narwhale lay in sight of theAbraham Lincoln."

"Perfectly, Mr. Land. It was catching its breath!"

"Only I've no idea what time it is, Professor Aronnax,unless maybe it's dinnertime?"

"Dinnertime, my fine harpooner? I'd say at least breakfast time,because we've certainly woken up to a new day."

"Which indicates," Conseil replied, "that we've spent twenty–fourhours in slumber."

"That's my assessment," I replied.

"I won't argue with you," Ned Land answered. "But dinner or breakfast,that steward will be plenty welcome whether he brings the oneor the other."

"The one and the other," Conseil said.

"Well put," the Canadian replied. "We deserve two meals,and speaking for myself, I'll do justice to them both."

"All right, Ned, let's wait and see!" I replied. "It's clearthat these strangers don't intend to let us die of hunger,otherwise last evening's dinner wouldn't make any sense."

"Unless they're fattening us up!" Ned shot back.

"I object," I replied. "We have not fallen into the hands of cannibals."

"Just because they don't make a habit of it," the Canadian repliedin all seriousness, "doesn't mean they don't indulge from time to time.Who knows? Maybe these people have gone without fresh meat for along while, and in that case three healthy, well–built specimenslike the professor, his manservant, and me—"

"Get rid of those ideas, Mr. Land," I answered the harpooner."And above all, don't let them lead you to flare up against our hosts,which would only make our situation worse."

"Anyhow," the harpooner said, "I'm as hungry as all Hades,and dinner or breakfast, not one puny meal has arrived!"

"Mr. Land," I answered, "we have to adapt to the schedule on board,and I imagine our stomachs are running ahead of the chiefcook's dinner bell."

"Well then, we'll adjust our stomachs to the chef's timetable!"Conseil replied serenely.

"There you go again, Conseil my friend!" the impatient Canadianshot back. "You never allow yourself any displays of bile or attacksof nerves! You're everlastingly calm! You'd say your after–mealgrace even if you didn't get any food for your before–meal blessing—and you'd starve to death rather than complain!"

"What good would it do?" Conseil asked.

"Complaining doesn't have to do good, it just feels good!And if these pirates—I say pirates out of consideration for theprofessor's feelings, since he doesn't want us to call them cannibals—if these pirates think they're going to smother me in this cagewithout hearing what cusswords spice up my outbursts, they've gotanother think coming! Look here, Professor Aronnax, speak frankly.How long do you figure they'll keep us in this iron box?"

"To tell the truth, friend Land, I know little more about itthan you do."

"But in a nutshell, what do you suppose is going on?"

"My supposition is that sheer chance has made us privy to animportant secret. Now then, if the crew of this underwaterboat have a personal interest in keeping that secret,and if their personal interest is more important than the livesof three men, I believe that our very existence is in jeopardy.If such is not the case, then at the first available opportunity,this monster that has swallowed us will return us to the worldinhabited by our own kind."

"Unless they recruit us to serve on the crew," Conseil said,"and keep us here—"

"Till the moment," Ned Land answered, "when some frigate that's fasteror smarter than theAbraham Lincolncaptures this den of buccaneers,then hangs all of us by the neck from the tip of a mainmast yardarm!"

"Well thought out, Mr. Land," I replied. "But as yet, I don't believewe've been tendered any enlistment offers. Consequently, it's pointlessto argue about what tactics we should pursue in such a case.I repeat: let's wait, let's be guided by events, and let's do nothing,since right now there's nothing we can do."

"On the contrary, professor," the harpooner replied, not wantingto give in. "There is something we can do."

"Oh? And what, Mr. Land?"

"Break out of here!"

"Breaking out of a prison on shore is difficult enough, but withan underwater prison, it strikes me as completely unworkable."

"Come now, Ned my friend," Conseil asked, "how would you answermaster's objection? I refuse to believe that an American is atthe end of his tether."

Visibly baffled, the harpooner said nothing. Under the conditionsin which fate had left us, it was absolutely impossible to escape.But a Canadian's wit is half French, and Mr. Ned Land made thisclear in his reply.

"So, Professor Aronnax," he went on after thinking for a few moments,"you haven't figured out what people do when they can't escapefrom their prison?"

"No, my friend."

"Easy. They fix things so they stay there."

"Of course!" Conseil put in. "Since we're deep in the ocean,being inside this boat is vastly preferable to being above itor below it!"

"But we fix things by kicking out all the jailers, guards, and wardens,"Ned Land added.

"What's this, Ned?" I asked. "You'd seriously consider takingover this craft?"

"Very seriously," the Canadian replied.

"It's impossible."

"And why is that, sir? Some promising opportunity might come up,and I don't see what could stop us from taking advantage of it.If there are only about twenty men on board this machine, I don'tthink they can stave off two Frenchmen and a Canadian!"

It seemed wiser to accept the harpooner's proposition than to debate it.Accordingly, I was content to reply:

"Let such circumstances come, Mr. Land, and we'll see. But until then,I beg you to control your impatience. We need to act shrewdly,and your flare–ups won't give rise to any promising opportunities.So swear to me that you'll accept our situation without throwinga tantrum over it."

"I give you my word, professor," Ned Land replied in anunenthusiastic tone. "No vehement phrases will leave my mouth,no vicious gestures will give my feelings away, not even when theydon't feed us on time."

"I have your word, Ned," I answered the Canadian.

Then our conversation petered out, and each of us withdrewinto his own thoughts. For my part, despite the harpooner'sconfident talk, I admit that I entertained no illusions.I had no faith in those promising opportunities that Ned Land mentioned.To operate with such efficiency, this underwater boat had to havea sizeable crew, so if it came to a physical contest, we wouldbe facing an overwhelming opponent. Besides, before we coulddo anything, we had to be free, and that we definitely were not.I didn't see any way out of this sheet–iron, hermetically sealed cell.And if the strange commander of this boat did have a secret to keep—which seemed rather likely—he would never give us freedom of movementaboard his vessel. Now then, would he resort to violence in orderto be rid of us, or would he drop us off one day on some remote coast?There lay the unknown. All these hypotheses seemed extremelyplausible to me, and to hope for freedom through use of force,you had to be a harpooner.

I realized, moreover, that Ned Land's brooding was gettinghim madder by the minute. Little by little, I heard thoseaforesaid cusswords welling up in the depths of his gullet,and I saw his movements turn threatening again. He stood up,pacing in circles like a wild beast in a cage, striking the wallswith his foot and fist. Meanwhile the hours passed, our hungernagged unmercifully, and this time the steward did not appear.Which amounted to forgetting our castaway status for much too long,if they really had good intentions toward us.

Tortured by the growling of his well–built stomach, Ned Landwas getting more and more riled, and despite his word of honor,I was in real dread of an explosion when he stood in the presenceof one of the men on board.

For two more hours Ned Land's rage increased. The Canadian shoutedand pleaded, but to no avail. The sheet–iron walls were deaf.I didn't hear a single sound inside this dead–seeming boat.The vessel hadn't stirred, because I obviously would have felt its hullvibrating under the influence of the propeller. It had undoubtedlysunk into the watery deep and no longer belonged to the outside world.All this dismal silence was terrifying.

As for our neglect, our isolation in the depths of this cell,I was afraid to guess at how long it might last. Little by little,hopes I had entertained after our interview with the ship's commanderwere fading away. The gentleness of the man's gaze, the generosityexpressed in his facial features, the nobility of his bearing,all vanished from my memory. I saw this mystifying individualanew for what he inevitably must be: cruel and merciless.I viewed him as outside humanity, beyond all feelings of compassion,the implacable foe of his fellow man, toward whom he must have swornan undying hate!

But even so, was the man going to let us die of starvation,locked up in this cramped prison, exposed to those horribletemptations to which people are driven by extreme hunger?This grim possibility took on a dreadful intensity in my mind,and fired by my imagination, I felt an unreasoning terror run through me.Conseil stayed calm. Ned Land bellowed.

Just then a noise was audible outside. Footsteps rang onthe metal tiling. The locks were turned, the door opened,the steward appeared.

Before I could make a single movement to prevent him, the Canadianrushed at the poor man, threw him down, held him by the throat.The steward was choking in the grip of those powerful hands.

Conseil was already trying to loosen the harpooner's hands from hishalf–suffocated victim, and I had gone to join in the rescue, when Iwas abruptly nailed to the spot by these words pronounced in French:

"Calm down, Mr. Land! And you, professor, kindly listen to me!"


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