Turtle Reader

I was pursuing the policy that we had seen the last of him, when on November 16, while reentering my stateroom with Ned and Conseil, I found a note addressed to me on the table.

I opened it impatiently. It was written in a script that was clear and neat but a bit “Old English” in style, its characters reminding me of German calligraphy.

The note was worded as follows:

Professor Aronnax
Aboard the Nautilus
November 16, 1867

Captain Nemo invites Professor Aronnax on a hunting trip that will take place tomorrow morning in his Crespo Island forests. He hopes nothing will prevent the professor from attending, and he looks forward with pleasure to the professor’s companions joining him.

Captain Nemo,
Commander of the Nautilus.

“A hunting trip!” Ned exclaimed.

“And in his forests on Crespo Island!” Conseil added.

“But does this mean the old boy goes ashore?” Ned Land went on.

“That seems to be the gist of it,” I said, rereading the letter.

“Well, we’ve got to accept!” the Canadian answered. “Once we’re on solid ground, we’ll figure out a course of action. Besides, it wouldn’t pain me to eat a couple slices of fresh venison!”

Without trying to reconcile the contradictions between Captain Nemo’s professed horror of continents or islands and his invitation to go hunting in a forest, I was content to reply:

“First let’s look into this Crespo Island.”

I consulted the world map; and in latitude 32° 40′ north and longitude 167° 50′ west, I found an islet that had been discovered in 1801 by Captain Crespo, which old Spanish charts called Rocca de la Plata, in other words, “Silver Rock.” So we were about 1,800 miles from our starting point, and by a slight change of heading, the Nautilus was bringing us back toward the southeast.

I showed my companions this small, stray rock in the middle of the north Pacific.

“If Captain Nemo does sometimes go ashore,” I told them, “at least he only picks desert islands!”

Ned Land shook his head without replying; then he and Conseil left me. After supper was served me by the mute and emotionless steward, I fell asleep; but not without some anxieties.

When I woke up the next day, November 17, I sensed that the Nautilus was completely motionless. I dressed hurriedly and entered the main lounge.

Captain Nemo was there waiting for me. He stood up, bowed, and asked if it suited me to come along.

Since he made no allusion to his absence the past eight days, I also refrained from mentioning it, and I simply answered that my companions and I were ready to go with him.

“Only, sir,” I added, “I’ll take the liberty of addressing a question to you.”

“Address away, Professor Aronnax, and if I’m able to answer, I will.”

“Well then, Captain, how is it that you’ve severed all ties with the shore, yet you own forests on Crespo Island?”

“Professor,” the captain answered me, “these forests of mine don’t bask in the heat and light of the sun. They aren’t frequented by lions, tigers, panthers, or other quadrupeds. They’re known only to me. They grow only for me. These forests aren’t on land, they’re actual underwater forests.”

“Underwater forests!” I exclaimed.

“Yes, professor.”

“And you’re offering to take me to them?”

“Precisely.”

“On foot?”

“Without getting your feet wet.”

“While hunting?”

“While hunting.”

“Rifles in hand?”

“Rifles in hand.”

I stared at the Nautilus’s commander with an air anything but flattering to the man.

“Assuredly,” I said to myself, “he’s contracted some mental illness. He’s had a fit that’s lasted eight days and isn’t over even yet. What a shame! I liked him better eccentric than insane!”

These thoughts were clearly readable on my face; but Captain Nemo remained content with inviting me to follow him, and I did so like a man resigned to the worst.

We arrived at the dining room, where we found breakfast served.

“Professor Aronnax,” the captain told me, “I beg you to share my breakfast without formality. We can chat while we eat. Because, although I promised you a stroll in my forests, I made no pledge to arrange for your encountering a restaurant there. Accordingly, eat your breakfast like a man who’ll probably eat dinner only when it’s extremely late.”

I did justice to this meal. It was made up of various fish and some slices of sea cucumber, that praiseworthy zoophyte, all garnished with such highly appetizing seaweed as the Porphyra laciniata and the Laurencia primafetida. Our beverage consisted of clear water to which, following the captain’s example, I added some drops of a fermented liquor extracted by the Kamchatka process from the seaweed known by name as Rhodymenia palmata.

At first Captain Nemo ate without pronouncing a single word. Then he told me:

“Professor, when I proposed that you go hunting in my Crespo forests, you thought I was contradicting myself. When I informed you that it was an issue of underwater forests, you thought I’d gone insane. Professor, you must never make snap judgments about your fellow man.”