Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius (36 page)

Nemo and Caroline walked the deck together in a fine afternoon breeze.
 
Without speaking of their feelings, they had settled into a calm facade of friendship.
 
“We must adjust to life’s expectations,” he said quietly to her, “regardless of our missed opportunities.”

But just beneath the surface their thoughts burned hot, building an unrequited tension between them.
 
Nemo refused to extend it beyond the bounds of propriety, and Caroline was comfortable with that, though he loved her even more now than during the hot-blooded days of his youth.

Aboard the ship, Caroline wore full skirts and appropriate “women’s clothing” as a minor concession to social expectations.
 
After the three of them boarded the balloon, though, she intended to wear trousers and serviceable clothes.
 
Caroline expected to work just as hard as the two men, and Nemo knew better than to argue with her.
 
After all, the scandal about her activities couldn’t get much worse.

Since she had done so well running her father’s shipping company, that gossip had no teeth.
 
She had increased her family’s wealth through a shrewd but unorthodox decision to refit merchant ships to carry more
passengers
instead of cargo.
 
With the frenzied news of the California Gold Rush in 1849, hundreds of fortune-seekers were willing to exchange their life’s savings for the fastest possible ship to San Francisco.
 
Caroline had realized a higher profit in hauling people than she could ever have made by trading goods.
 

Before departing for Africa, she had left explicit instructions with the higher-level employees at “Aronnax, Merchant” -- and paid a significant retainer to her feisty Parisian lawyer -- to ensure that the business continued smoothly during her absence.
 
She expected to be gone as long as a year, given the lengthy sea voyage around Africa and back.

Now, as they stood together in the open sunshine, Caroline withdrew a wooden flute from her small traveling bag.
 
“The pianoforte was too large to bring aboard, but I could not bear to be away from my music for so long.”

Nemo knew that her exuberant compositions had begun to draw attention back in Ile Feydeau.
 
During a dinner party, Caroline’s mother had a pianist play one of the works found in her old room, and some local musicians had begun to suspect that the “mystery composer” might actually be living somewhere in Nantes.
 
Caroline had considered the Africa trip an excellent excuse to remove herself from France for a while.

Now, with the wind thumping the sails above and the foaming waves applauding against the hull, Caroline toyed with melodies on her flute, letting her eyes fall closed as the music grew more complex, flowing out of her.

Nemo leaned against the railing, smiling with contentment.
 
The sailors paused in their chores to listen.
 
Dr. Fergusson came up on deck, then clapped his hands when she was finished.
 
Surprised, Caroline looked at her unexpected audience.
 
Nemo complimented her with his warm expression instead of words.
 
Fergusson nodded his vigorous appreciation.
 
“That was lovely, Madame.”

“I call it --” she caught herself.
 
“It’s called ‘Siren Song.’”

“Written by the French composer Passepartout, of course,” Nemo added.

“Ah, yes.
 
I’ve heard of the man,” Fergusson said, wearing a serious expression.
 

#

Later that afternoon, Caroline looked out at the sea, listening to the hum of rigging ropes overhead.
 
She drew a deep breath of salt air, then turned to Nemo.
 
“I’ve always heard the call of the sea, André, but now I understand it better.”
 
She gripped the deck rail and faced the ocean-filled horizon.
 
“There’s so much more to the world than . . . Nantes.”

“And I’ll show some of it to you.”

She strolled with him down the deck toward a patch of shade under the mizzen mast.
 
“You must understand, André, that my options have been limited by the noose of social expectations.
 
Even as a young man,
you
could do as you pleased and sign aboard a sailing ship.
 
But I am a young woman.
 
I had no such choices available.
 
The only goal expected of me was to get married and stay at home.
 
My parents even chose my husband for me.
 
I have to pretend
not
to be the composer of the music I play in my own house.”
 

Now her cornflower blue eyes flashed with anger.
 
“But I want to do things, too!
 
I want to accomplish whatever I can dream, just as you have.
 
I want to be the first woman to cross Africa.
 
That is an admirable goal, is it not?”

Nemo laughed.
 
He looked at her beautiful face, saw the determination there.
 
“Most certainly.”

#

The ship put in at Zanzibar, a large island off the eastern shore of Africa south of the equator.
 
The island was a staging point, a kingdom ruled by Sultan Seyyid Said, who had consolidated an empire spanning Oman and Zanzibar and Tanzania.
 
More than a decade ago, the old but powerful man had been forced to request English assistance to keep his kingdom.

Zanzibar was now a British protectorate, with a large fort and barracks in the middle of the island’s main city.
 
Britain’s stated purpose was to put an end to the heinous practice of human slavery (of which Zanzibar was a willing participant), but years had passed, and the slave trade from Zanzibar to the West Indies and the Americas had not declined.

As the ship tied up at the dock in mid-afternoon, Dr. Fergusson came to greet Nemo and Caroline.
 
He wore formal evening clothes, a stovepipe hat, and black coat, the very picture of a dapper Englishman.
 
“Allow me to escort you into the town, my friends,” he said, smoothing down his big mustache.
 
“We are the representatives of science and exploration, eh?
 
English and French in a spirit of cooperation to unlock the secrets of darkest Africa.
 
Indeed, we must do our utmost to impress the natives.”

In the port they passed swarms of people.
 
Some wore British military uniforms and looked altogether too hot and sweaty in the equatorial climate; lighter-skinned Arabs wore voluminous pale clothes, and narrow eyes highlighted their lean appearance.
 
Still others were dark-skinned African natives from the interior of the unexplored continent.

In the marketplace, Caroline stood beside Nemo, looking with anger and disgust at the groaning prisoners in chains.
 
Zanzibar brought in great wealth through selling tons of cloves and clove oil, coffee, and coconuts -- but slaves remained the most lucrative commodity.
 
These captives had been taken from their villages during raids and shipped here to one of the world’s largest slave markets, where they would be sold to Portuguese or Dutch traders.

Dr. Fergusson and his companions were treated to a sumptuous but strained dinner with the British consul and plump old Sultan Said.
 
The sultan seemed unable to comprehend why Caroline, a woman, would sit at table with the important men.
 
But Caroline remained calm and self-assured without provoking the curious and skeptical locals.

Later, Fergusson supervised the unloading of his expedition supplies.
 
He shouted at the porters carrying crates from the hold of the naval ship.
 
“Those are delicate scientific instruments, eh!”
 
He insisted on unloading his own firearms and ammunition.
 
The doctor intended to shoot a great many specimens for study.

Nemo worked to set up the balloon with several of the ship’s crewmen he had befriended during the voyage.
 
With the basket tied down, he operated the recondensing apparatus that released stored hydrogen gas into the inner and outer balloons.
 
As the enormous
Victoria
inflated, crowds came from all over the island to stare at the strange colorful sight.
 

The
Victoria
was an elongated oval fifty feet wide and seventy-five feet high, with seams sealed by gutta percha, which enclosed a smaller balloon of the same shape.
 
Blue, red, and green silk made the balloon look like a dragon floating in the skies.
 
A mesh of hemp cords held the balloon in place, connected to the large open car, which would be their home for the next five weeks.
 
The car was made of iron-reinforced wicker, with a network of springs to absorb the shock of any collision.

Caroline, under escort by two British officers, procured food and water supplies to supplement their dried provisions.
 
In the Zanzibar market she purchased bags of coffee, fruit, and millet flour.

By the time the sun set across the misty line of the African continent to the west, their preparations had been completed.
 
Nemo, Caroline, and Dr. Fergusson ate a large meal and rested thoroughly.

At dawn the next morning, a British honor guard saluted the brave explorers.
 
Resplendent in billowing clothes, Sultan Said arrived in a fine carriage.
 
He waited while his personal slaves set up a pavilion near the balloon’s anchorage point so he could sip his cardamom-and-coffee while watching the event.
 

Ignoring the growing crowd of spectators, Fergusson rechecked his stowed supplies and announced, “At last, we are ready to depart, my friends.”

Nemo held out his hand to help Caroline into the balloon.
 
They stood inside the swaying basket while Fergusson sprang aboard with a light step.
 
He waved at the cheering crowd below.
 

At the military fort, three cannons were fired in a thunderous salute.
 
The British governor stood outside the sultan’s pavilion, formally at attention.
 
He did not wave as all of the other people did.

At a signal from Dr. Fergusson and another from Nemo, the workers pulled and strained at the ropes.
 
Their muscles rippled beneath dark skin as they hauled the impatient balloon closer to the ground.
 
Then they slipped off the anchoring ropes.
 

The Victoria leaped into the sky.
 
Nemo’s stomach lurched as the ground plummeted away from them, and Caroline peered over the side of the car at the receding crowd.
 
Finally, as the British consul diminished against the landscape below, the stiff man deigned to wave them farewell. . . .

The morning air was clear and still, but as they reached sufficient altitude, the breezes grasped them and nudged the balloon westward toward the mainland.
 
For a long time, Nemo could hear the Zanzibaris celebrating below.

Soon they left the island behind, drifting across the straits that separated Zanzibar from the coast.
 
The
Victoria
set off across the huge unexplored continent of Africa.

Part VI

FIVE WEEKS IN A BALLOON

i

African Continent, 1853

Upon reaching the mainland, the balloon drifted over low country covered with tall grasses and rich vegetation.
 
They observed tall forests, trees studded with flowers or fruits, others covered with thorns.
 
Dr. Fergusson’s hazel eyes drank in the scenery with boundless enthusiasm, taking copious notes for his expedition records.
 

Nemo shared the spyglass with Caroline as they looked down upon the unfolding landscape.
 
She studied the maps and charts purchased from Zanzibar merchants, but it didn’t take long to discover inconsistencies and gross errors.
 
She diligently corrected each one, using the evidence of her own eyes.