Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius (46 page)

“Because it would make all the difference in the world -- and you know it.
 
In a year, we can be together, and people will cheer.
 
No one will blame you.
 
I am an adventurer with my own mantle of fame, as well as Emperor Napoleon’s blessing, and you are a successful businesswoman.”
 
He narrowed his eyes and clasped her hand earnestly.
 
“But if we flaunt our love now, Caroline, I will be seen as a scoundrel, and you as an adulteress.”
 
She turned away, but Nemo gripped her hand more tightly.
 
“You know it as well as I do.”
 

She nodded, but refused to let her tears fall.
 
“That is why we must make the most of every moment together now.”

When they returned to Paris, with the public watching, time had dragged on.
 
Nemo steeled himself to avoid the woman he loved as much as possible.
 
He would not tempt her further . . . or himself.
 
That would only make the wait more unbearable for both of them.

To Nemo, being near Caroline was like playing with fire, and he found it impossible to drive her from his thoughts.
 
The sea passage to Zanzibar and the balloon journey across Africa held memories even more joyful than his carefree childhood on the Loire.
 
And the voyage home had been heaven.

But now Caroline would be right here.
 
In Paris.
 
Close.
 
Too close
.
 
It was going to be a very long year. . . .

Once back in France, Nemo had grown restless.
 
He often walked the streets before dawn, wide awake with memories and dreams, trying not to think of Caroline.
 
At twenty-six, he should have been at the height of his ambitions.
 
Yet he found his civilized life dreary, without adventure or goals.

In the early morning he enjoyed watching shopkeepers crank out their awnings, fish sellers set up their stalls with baskets of herring, mussels, and trout.
 
He stopped in front of Caroline’s new offices, just staring, thinking about her.
 
So early in the day, he knew she couldn’t see him. . . .

The previous night, as on so many long nights, Nemo had joined Jules Verne for a light dinner, sitting at a cafe table not far from where literary students argued about symbolism and meter in the poetry of Racine.
 

Nemo found the intelligentsia dull and unimaginative.
 
When they discussed current events, their focus remained on naive politics, with no mention whatsoever of scientific breakthroughs or new exploration.
 
But, while Nemo talked to Verne about the loss of his boyhood contentment and sense of wonder, his friend’s attention was obviously drawn toward the artistic debate.

Dr. Samuel Fergusson had received a hero’s welcome upon returning to England.
 
Despite his protests, the Royal Geographical Society had granted the Englishman all the credit for the expedition, citing Nemo and Caroline only as “assistants” or “traveling companions.”

When Nemo had told his story to Verne, drinking a pot of dark coffee while his redheaded friend toyed with a glass of cheap Bordeaux, Verne grew uncomfortable each time Caroline was mentioned.
 
The writer had never gotten over his attachment to the merchant’s daughter either. . . .

#

Now, as Paris awoke in the early hours, Nemo turned away from Caroline’s still-empty offices and strolled along the riverfront, across a stone bridge, and then down winding streets to his own apartment.
 
He had a long workday ahead of him, and tomorrow, and the day after.

During his absence, another engineer had been assigned to rebuild the Nantes shipyards, and the refurbishing there was already under way.
 
And then, hearing of Nemo’s balloon exploits, Napoleon III had decided the adventurous young man’s imagination and prowess were too substantial to be wasted on Parisian sewer systems.
 
For that, at least, Nemo was thankful.
  

So, while he toiled at restoring bridges and fountains to increase the Emperor’s glory and keep the public happy, Nemo hoped for something more
interesting
to do.
 
His long, long wait for Caroline seemed to drag on forever.

ii

When war broke out in early 1854, it seemed like a godsend to him.

The Crimean War brought together the unlikely allies of France, Britain, Sardinia, and Turkey against Russian expansion.
 
The weak and crumbling Ottoman Empire could not hope to stand against the “Iron Tsar” Nicholas I, whose armies were pushing to the Black Sea.
 
Turkey had no choice but to ally herself with Britain, and France’s Emperor Napoleon III entered the fray by citing a divine obligation to protect Catholic holy places in Turkish-controlled Palestine.
 
If the Ottoman Empire fell to Russia, then all Christian shrines would be controlled by the Eastern Orthodox church, which simply could not be allowed.
 

France called for patriotic fighters to join the forces laying siege to Sevastopol on the Black Sea.
 
All the armies fighting together under the “concert of Europe” needed brilliant and imaginative battlefield engineers.
 

Men like Nemo.
 

Knowing he would never be used as a mere footsoldier, cavalryman, or cannon-loader, Nemo accepted a commission for military service in the Crimea.
 
He had lived most of his life without fine things, and so he packed a small valise with only a few possessions.
 
He was going off to war and did not want to be encumbered.
 
He carried a recommendation from Emperor Napoleon himself, but volunteering was primarily an excuse to see exotic landscapes again -- as well as to be distracted from Caroline for a year.
 

When he came back from service, they could finally be together. . . .

Escorted by her carriage driver, Caroline Hatteras came to the bustling, smoky train station to see him off.
 
She stood in full dark skirts, her waist cinched tight with whalebone stays, her high collar buttoned properly, just as a married woman’s should be.
 
To a casual observer, she seemed cool and aloof, unaffected by the crowds and excitement all around her.
 
But when she saw Nemo standing there, her eyes lit with an inner fire.

He had gone to her again the night before, surprising her in the dark stillness so absolute it reminded him of when he and Jules Verne had slipped out to
L’Homme aux Trois Malices
for a celebratory drink before shipping out with Captain Grant.
 
Nemo and Verne had stood below young Caroline’s window and said their goodbyes.

This time, Nemo had given her another farewell but, oh, so much sweeter, so much more painful than that other one.
 
He had tapped on her door, standing in the shadows in the silent streets.
 
He’d seen her astonished expression and sudden welcome as she whisked him into her home, long after midnight.
 

Caroline begged him not to go off to war, promising him all her love if he stayed here in Paris.
 
But Nemo knew he could never resist the temptation of her.
 
Every secret meeting, every stolen kiss would grow easier, and they would grow careless.
 
Someone would see, and disaster would follow.

And so they had made love one more time, bathed in the yellow-orange glow from a single oil lamp.
 
They had room, and clean sheets rather than a crowded bunk on a British ship.
 
Nemo wanted to stay in her arms forever.

But instead, he had departed before dawn, to prepare for the train.

Now, in this crowd where emotion hung as thick as a spring fog, Nemo just wanted to hold her, to smell her hair and feel her lips against his.
 
But he could not.
 
Not here . . . not for another year.
 
Not until he returned from the Crimea.

Beside them, the locomotive hissed and snorted while its boilers built up steam for departure from the Paris railyards.
 
The sulfur smell of coal smoke and thick grease lingered close to the tracks.
 

French volunteer soldiers kissed their sweethearts, accepted bouquets, took hair ribbons as mementos.
 
Nemo felt pain at remembering how Caroline had given the same sort of gift to two young men anxious to set off to sea.
 
Now, without any conception of the horrors of war, these eager soldiers crowded onto a train that would take them to eastern Europe, where they would board a ship to take them to the Black Sea.
 
They cheered and teased each other about going off to fight for their country.

But Nemo had seen men slain by the violence of other men, and he was not so anxious to reach the battlefields.

Amidst cheering and clasped hands and tearful goodbyes, Caroline stood stiffly, keeping her promise to Nemo and not showing her feelings here, especially not in such a crowd.
 
Instead, the two had to embrace with their eyes alone.
 
But they communicated greater love with their soulful expressions than did any of the moonstruck couples in the train station, even without kisses or passionate words.
 
Caroline’s simple smile spoke more eloquently to Nemo than any love letter, any vows.

“Don’t worry about me, Caroline,” he said.
 
“I am an engineer.
 
I will make life more tolerable for our soldiers, and I will stay far from the fighting.”

She gave him a wan smile.
 
“Somehow, André, I cannot imagine you staying far from anything -- but you must promise me that you will return.”

“There is nothing I want more.
 
Nothing . . . other than for time to pass more quickly.
 
After a year, we can both be happy.
 
I have waited all my life for you, but these last months will seem the longest.”

“André, I will count the days.”
 
Her sigh turned into a smile.
 
“Alas, I wore no colorful hair ribbons to give you this time.”

“No need.
 
I have more thoughts of you than I can possibly revisit in twelve months.”

Nemo was the last man to board the car.
 
Though her carriage driver waited impatiently, Caroline refused to move until the train was long gone. . . .

#

Nemo rode with a motley crew of soldiers on the troop train across Europe, then aboard a fast ship through the Mediterranean and the Bosporus Straits into the Black Sea, where battles raged on the Crimean peninsula.
 

The strategic deep channel in front of the Sevastopol naval base had been used for centuries, first by the Tatars and then the Ottoman Empire.
 
The Russian military had sought refuge in the walled city after sweeping through the Ukraine, taking over Moldavia and Besserabia, before attempting to conquer the Crimean peninsula.
 
Now, allied troops laid siege to the huge fortress city of tan and gray stones, and the Russians had been unable to break out for months.
 

After he disembarked on the dock, Nemo looked up at the prisonlike edifice, knowing the Tsar’s soldiers must be starving inside.
 
However, when he saw the deplorable condition of the European troops besieging the walled city, he doubted they were faring much better.

Cholera had raged through the allied camps as the French, British, and Sardinian soldiers outside Sevastopol coped with the changing weather.
 
They’d already been through a damp spring and a hot summer and had no extra uniforms or supplies.
 
As autumn chilled the air, the men could only dread the worse weather ahead.
 
Napoleon Bonaparte’s troops had been defeated by a Russian winter in 1812.
 
Nemo hoped Crimea would not prove to be a similar debacle for France.