bottom of the ladder a door opened and closed again immediately with a sonorous bang.
We were alone. Where? I neither knew nor could I imagine. All was darkness, and such absolute darkness, that after some minutes I had not been able to make out even those faint glimmers of light which float in the darkest nights.
Meanwhile, Ned Land, furious at this manner of proceeding, gave free course to his indignation.
‘The people here,’ he cried, ‘could not be worse if they were cannibals. I shouldn’t be surprised if they were, but I declare they shan’t eat me without my protesting!’
‘Calm yourself, friend Ned; calm yourself,’ answered Conseil tranquilly. ‘Don’t get into a rage beforehand. We aren’t on the spit yet.’
‘No, but we’re in the oven. This hole’s as dark as one. Happily my “bowie-knife” is still on me, and I shall see well enough to use it. The first of these rascals that lays his hand on me—’
‘Don’t get irritated, Ned,’ then said I to the harpooner, ‘and do not compromise yourself by useless violence. Who knows that we are not overheard? Let us rather try to make out where we are.’
I groped my way about. When I had gone about five steps I came to an iron wall made of riveted plates. Then turning, I knocked against a wooden table, near which were several stools. The flooring of this prison was hidden under thick matting, which deadened the noise of our footsteps. The walls revealed no traces of either door or window. Conseil, going round the reverse way, met me, and we returned to the centre of the room, which measured about twenty feet by ten. As to its height, Ned Land, notwithstanding his tall stature, could not measure it.
Half an hour passed away without bringing any change in our position, when from the extreme of obscurity our eyes passed suddenly to the most violent light. Our prison was lighted up all at once – that is to say, it was filled with a luminous matter so intense that at first I could not bear its brilliancy. I saw from its whiteness and intensity that it was the same electric light that shone around the submarine boat like a magnificent phosphoric phenomenon. After having involuntarily closed my eyes I opened them again, and saw that the luminous agent was escaping from a polished half-globe, which was shining in the top part of the room.
‘Well, we can see at last!’ cried Ned Land, who, with his knife in hand, held himself on the defensive.
‘Yes,’ answered I, risking the antithesis, ‘but the situation is none the less obscure.’
‘Let monsieur have patience,’ said the impassible Conseil.
The sudden lighting of the cabin had allowed me to examine its least details. It only contained the table and five stools. The invisible door seemed hermetically closed. No noise reached our ears. All seemed dead in the interior of this machine. Was it moving, or was it motionless on the surface of the ocean, or deep in its depths? I could not guess.
However, the luminous globe was not lighted without a reason. I hoped that the men of the crew would soon show themselves, and my hope was well founded. A noise of bolts and bars being withdrawn was heard, the door opened, and two men appeared. One was short in stature, vigorously muscular, with broad shoulders, robust limbs, large head, abundant black hair, thick moustache, and all his person imprinted with that southern vivacity which characterises the Provençal inhabitants of France.
The second deserves a more detailed description. I read at once his dominant qualities on his open face – self-confidence, because his head was firmly set on his shoulders, and his black eyes looked round with cold assurance – calmness, for his pale complexion announced the tranquillity of his blood – energy, demonstrated by the rapid contraction of his eyebrows; and, lastly, courage, for his deep breathing denoted vast vital expansion. I felt involuntarily reassured in his presence, and augured good from it. He might be of any age from thirty-five to fifty. His tall stature, wide forehead, straight nose, clear-cut mouth, magnificent teeth, taper hands, indicated a highly-nervous temperament. This man formed certainly the most admirable type I had ever met with. One strange detail was that his eyes, rather far from each other, could take in nearly a quarter of the horizon at once. This faculty – I verified it later on – was added to a power of vision superior even to that of Ned Land. When the unknown fixed an object he frowned, and his large eyelids closed round so as to contract the range of his vision, and the result was a look that penetrated your very soul. With it he pierced the liquid waves that looked so opaque to us as if he read to the very depths of the sea.
The two strangers had on caps made from the fur of the sea-otter, sealskin boots, and clothes of a peculiar texture, which allowed them great liberty of movement.
The taller of the two – evidently the chief on board – examined us with extreme attention without speaking a word. Then he turned towards his companion, and spoke to him in a language I could not understand. It was a sonorous, harmonious, and flexible idiom, of which the vowels seemed very variously accented.
The other answered by shaking his head and pronouncing two or three perfectly incomprehensible words. Then, from his looks, he seemed to be questioning me directly.
I answered in good French that I did not understand his language; but he did not seem to know French, and the situation became very embarrassing.
‘If monsieur would relate his story,’ said Conseil, ‘these gentlemen may understand some words of it.’
I began the recital of my adventures, articulating clearly all my syllables, without leaving out a single detail. I gave our names and qualities. The man with the soft, calm eyes listened to me calmly, and even politely, with remarkable attention. But nothing in his face indicated that he understood me. When I had done he did not speak a single word.
There still remained one resource, that of speaking English. Perhaps they would understand that almost universal language. I knew it, and German too, sufficiently to read it correctly, but not to speak it fluently.
‘It is your turn now, Land,’ I said to the harpooner. ‘Make use of your best English, and try to be more fortunate than I.’
Ned did not need urging, and began the same tale in English, and ended by saying what was perfectly true, that we were half dead with hunger. To his great disgust, the harpooner did not seem more intelligible than I. Our visitors did not move a feature. It was evident that they neither knew the language of Arago nor Faraday. I was wondering what to do next, when Conseil said to me, –
‘If monsieur will allow me, I will tell them in German.’
‘What! do you know German?’ I cried.
‘Like a Dutchman, sir.’
‘Well, do your best, old fellow.’
And Conseil, in his tranquil voice, told our story for the third time, but without success.
I then assembled all the Latin I had learnt at school, and told my adventures in that dead language. Cicero would have stopped his ears and sent me to the kitchen, but I did the best I could with the same negative result.
After this last attempt the strangers exchanged a few words in their incomprehensible language, and went away without a gesture that could reassure us. The door closed upon them.
‘It is infamous!’ cried Ned Land, who broke out again for the twentieth time. ‘What! French, English, German, and Latin are spoken to those rascals, and not one of them has the politeness to answer.’
‘Calm
