gloom was profound. I saw a black mass disappearing eastward, where its running lights were fading out in the distance. It was the frigate.
“Help! Help!” I shouted, swimming desperately toward the Abraham Lincoln.
My clothes were weighing me down. The water glued them to my body, it was paralyzing my movements. I was sinking! I was suffocating!
“Help!”
This was the last shout I gave. My mouth was filling with water.
Suddenly my clothes were seized by energetic hands, somebody pulled me abruptly back to the surface of the sea, and yes, I heard these words pronounced in my ear:
“If master would oblige me by leaning on my shoulder, master will swim with much greater ease.”
With one hand I seized the arm of my loyal Conseil.
“You!” I said. “You!”
“Myself,” Conseil replied, “and at master’s command.”
“That collision threw you overboard along with me?”
“Not at all. But I followed master.”
The fine lad!
“What about the frigate?” I asked.
“The frigate?” Conseil replied, rolling over on his back. “Just as I jumped overboard, I heard the men at the helm shout, ‘Our propeller and rudder are smashed!’”
“Smashed?”
“Yes, smashed by the monster’s tusk! I believe it’s the sole injury the Abraham Lincoln has sustained. But most inconveniently for us, the ship can no longer steer. However, we still have a few hours before us, and in a few hours one can do a great many things!”
Conseil’s composure cheered me up. I swam more vigorously.
Our circumstances were dreadful. Perhaps they hadn’t seen us go overboard; and even if they had, the frigate couldn’t return to leeward after us. So we could count only on its longboats.
I decided to divide our energies so we wouldn’t both be worn out at the same time: while one of us lay on his back, staying motionless with arms crossed and legs outstretched, the other would swim and propel his partner forward.
I calculated on eight hours of swimming until sunrise. A strenuous task, but feasible, thanks to our relieving each other. The sea was pretty smooth and barely tired us.
Near one o’clock in the morning, I was overcome with tremendous exhaustion. And I soon heard the poor Conseil gasping; his breathing became shallow and quick. I didn’t think he could stand such exertions for much longer.
“Go on! Go on!” I told him.
“Leave master behind?” he replied. “Never!”
The moon appeared. The surface of the sea glistened under its rays. I held up my head. I saw the frigate. It was five miles from us and formed a dark, barely perceptible mass. But as for longboats, not a one in sight!
I tried to call out. What was the use at such a distance! My swollen lips wouldn’t let a single sound through. Conseil could still articulate a few words, and I heard him repeat at intervals:
“Help! Help!”
We listened. And it may have been a ringing in my ear, but it seemed to me that Conseil’s shout had received an answer back.
“Did you hear that?” I muttered.
“Yes, yes!”
And Conseil hurled another desperate plea into space.
This time there could be no mistake! A human voice had answered us! Was it the voice of some other victim of that collision suffered by our ship? Or was it one of the frigate’s longboats, hailing us out of the gloom?
Conseil made one final effort, he raised himself half out of the water, then fell back exhausted.
“What did you see?”
“I saw … ,” he muttered, “I saw … but we mustn’t talk … save our strength … !”
What had he seen? Conseil kept towing me. Sometimes he looked up, stared straight ahead, and shouted a request for directions, which was answered by a voice that was getting closer and closer. I could barely hear it. I was at the end of my strength; my fingers gave out; my hands were no help to me; my mouth opened convulsively, filling with brine. I raised my head one last time, then I fainted.
Someone was massaging me vigorously. I half opened my eyes.
“Conseil!” I muttered.
Just then, in the last light of a moon, I saw a face that wasn’t Conseil’s but which I recognized at once.
“Ned!” I exclaimed.
“In person, sir, and still after his prize!” the Canadian replied.
“You were thrown overboard after the frigate’s collision?”
“Yes, professor, but I was luckier than you, and right away I was able to set foot on this floating islet.”
“Islet?”
“Or in other words, on our gigantic narwhale.”
“Explain yourself, Ned.”
“It’s just that I soon realized why my harpoon couldn’t puncture its hide.”
“Why, Ned, why?”
“Because, professor, this beast is made of steel!”
The Canadian’s last words caused a sudden upheaval in my brain. I swiftly hoisted myself to the summit of this half-submerged creature or object that was serving as our refuge. I tested it with my foot. Obviously it was some hard, impenetrable substance, not the soft matter that makes up the bodies of our big marine mammals.
The blackish back supporting me was smooth and polished. And it was made of riveted plates[22].
No doubts were possible! This animal, this monster, this natural phenomenon that had puzzled the whole scientific world, was an even more astonishing phenomenon—a phenomenon made by the hand of man.
Even if I had discovered that some fabulous, mythological creature really existed, it wouldn’t have given me such a terrific mental jolt.
There was no question now. We were lying on the back of some kind of underwater boat that boasted the shape of an immense steel fish.
“But then,” I said, “does this contraption contain some sort of locomotive mechanism, and a crew to run it?”
“Apparently,” the harpooner replied. “And yet for the three hours I’ve lived on this floating island, it hasn’t shown a sign of life.”
“This boat hasn’t moved at all?”
“No,
riveted plates – листовое железо
