Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius (70 page)

That night, Nemo took his sub-marine boat northward through the shallow channel out of the Red Sea, reentered the Mediterranean, then headed west toward the Straits of Gibraltar.
 

In the following weeks, Cyrus Harding took over the less pleasant chores whenever they encountered prospective victims, vulnerable warships.
 
Nemo found himself spending more and more time in the great salon, admiring the wonders of the oceans, the cradle of life on Earth.
 

He rested, reading his treasured books, even some of Jules Verne’s amusing “Extraordinary Voyages,” obtained through secretive forays into dockside cities where they could purchase newspapers and learn what was going on in the world.
 

He had read
Five Weeks in a Balloon
, and though the adventure was certainly entertaining, Jules Verne’s inexperience had shown, depicting many of the African people in a distorted and highly unflattering manner, painting sinister pictures of Arabs and calling them all slavers, though Nemo had found many groups and tribes engaging in the heinous practice.
 
It was a matter of evil men, not a matter of their race.
 
But Verne’s civilized readers knew no better, and accepted the broad-strokes account as well-researched fact.

Nemo felt empty and dejected, aimless and lost, but could not articulate exactly why.
 
How much would have been different if he’d just stayed with Caroline, so long ago?
 
Or if he’d gone back to her, like a sensible man?

He was 42 years old now and had seen many things and many places in his life.
 
For amusement, he’d even taken the
Nautilus
up to the coast of Norway and seen the fabled maelstrom from Verne’s story, in which the fictional
Nautilus
had sunk.
 
The real sub-marine vessel swam through the whirlpool with ease, though, looking down on a graveyard of less-fortunate ships. . . .

As Nemo relaxed in the salon, looking into the depths of the Atlantic, Cyrus Harding came to him.
 
“Captain, sir, we’ve encountered another warship.
 
A vessel from the United States.
 
She carries forty cannon and rides low in the water.
 
Full of armaments, I believe.”

Searching for the passion that had driven him to such a crusade in the first place, Nemo left his books and his moment of peace, and walked to the porthole, yet said nothing.
 
Harding, a man of calm demeanor and intent, waited for his captain’s response.
 
“Should we attack, Captain?
 
She fits the criteria we’ve established.”

Nemo detected no eagerness in Harding’s voice.
 
The British second-in-command was never eager for the kill, but he did know his duty.
 
“At your discretion, Mr. Harding,” Nemo said, taking the other man aback.
 

Finally, Harding gave a brief nod.
 
“She does meet the criteria, Captain.
 
I recommend we engage.”

“Very well.”
 
Nemo ran a hand along his dark, trimmed beard.
 
“I will meet you on the bridge momentarily.”

He should have returned to Paris, asked Caroline to accept him again, even with the dark blots on his past.
 
At any time he could go back to her, if he could gather the courage.
 
What would he say to her?
 
Why had he taken so long?

The sub-marine boat crested the calm surface while Harding and two crewmen emerged from the hatch.
 
It was late afternoon; the sun would set within an hour.
 
They used spyglasses to assess the American warship.

As soon as the armored vessel was visible, the United States ship began blasting with its cannon.
 
Orange tongues of flame shrank in the distance to the size of firecrackers.
 
After several seconds’ delay, the booms of gunpowder reached their ears across the still sea.
 
A scattered pattern of cannonballs splashed in the water.
 
None of the projectiles came close to the
Nautilus
, but Harding and the other crew members went below.

Nemo was standing at the helm controls.
 
“She’s begun firing at us, Captain,” Harding said.

Nemo nodded, waited for them to secure the upper hatch, then gave the order to submerge.
 
“Mr. Harding, this is your hunt.”
 
He stepped aside to let his second-in-command take the controls, but the captain of the
Nautilus
displayed a greater degree of uncertainty than ever before.
 
He felt no passion, only numbness, a blind momentum that led them nowhere.

“Power up engines,” Harding called.
 

The grim men had been through the routine numerous times before and responded with military efficiency.
 
The growl of the electric engines built to a loud roar, and the
Nautilus
leaped forward, cutting a wake across the surface.
 
Its brilliant spotlights shone like the eyes of a dragon in the sea, as foretold in the book of Revelation.

Distant vibrations followed them as the American ship continued its cannonade.
 
The
Nautilus
picked up speed -- a bullet streaking toward its doomed target.
 

Nemo gripped the railing, breathing heavily and trying to focus his thoughts.
 
His obsession, his war against War, had given him a purpose during the bleakest time in his life.
 
But the men aboard the naval vessels he destroyed also had wives and families.
 
Perhaps some of those sailors had been conscripted against their wills.
 
By what right did he rob them all of their futures?

He squeezed his eyes shut.

I could have been with Caroline all this time.

The sawblade spine of the
Nautilus
struck the hull of the American battleship.
 
The impact ripped the vessel’s keel open, breaching the lower decks.
 
Within moments, the wooden-hulled ship exploded, spewing debris into the unexplored waters of the Atlantic.
 

Nemo didn’t even know the name of the ship.
 
Nor did he care. . .

#

Within an hour, the American war vessel had fallen over on its side and began to go down, dragging victims to the bottom.
 
Nemo remembered the wrecked
Cynthia
at the docks in Nantes, his father trapped in a sealed stateroom as the boat sank.
 
He thought of Auda and the boy Jules, trying to flee Rurapente, drowning after their ship was attacked. . . .

But somehow the fury was gone now.
 
He saw only more misery caused by others, caused by
him
.
 
He had not helped at all, merely made the situation worse.

After dark, Nemo ordered the
Nautilus
to surface.
 
With engines humming at low speed, the vessel crept toward the floating debris.
 
A few fires glowed in the ocean’s night, and he wondered if the sharks would come.
 
He stood in silence outside the hatch, inhaling the tang of smoke, gunpowder . . . and death in the fresh sea air.

He felt no exhilaration at what he had done, no triumph at striking another blow against the warmongers.
 
Evil men would always find evil things to do, and innocent men would always become cannon fodder.
 
By destroying so many warships, he had only added to the number of victims sent to their deaths by incompetent commanders or politicians.
 

Nemo wondered if he should isolate himself, take the
Nautilus
and go somewhere away from the world.
 
Surely, he deserved a respite from his dark quest by now?
 
What more must he do?

And then there was Caroline.

As his eyes adjusted to the distant firelight and the pale moon, Nemo saw a lone human figure clinging to the wreckage.
 
The man waved a long, angular arm, trying to draw attention to himself.
 
Nemo froze, considering options before finally calling down to the bridge deck and ordering Cyrus Harding to pick up the castaway.

In all their attacks, never before had Nemo chosen to take prisoners or pick up survivors.
 
But now, with his heart heavy, the silhouette of the single refugee made him think of how he himself had clung to flotsam after pirates had captured the
Coralie
.
 
This man would die out here if the
Nautilus
didn’t pick him up . . . and somehow turning his back on that one soul seemed even more cold-blooded than destroying the ship itself.

When the
Nautilus
drew up to the wreckage, Nemo remained outside, looking down at the bedraggled survivor.
 
He and two crewmen reached over to help the spluttering man onto the metal-plated hull.
 

The stranger had dark hair, a trim mustache, and gangly legs that seemed even more awkward in his wet, though dapper, clothes.
 
His face was gaunt, his eyes close-set.
 
The survivor’s expression and his huffy demeanor puzzled Nemo.
 
He expected the refugee to express either terror or outrage -- or even pathetic appreciation for being rescued.
 
Instead, the man stamped his feet on the hull plates of the
Nautilus
to shake the water from his drenched clothes.

With long-fingered hands he wrung out cupfuls of water, and then neatly arranged his hair.
 
He met Nemo’s gaze with a stern look and didn’t seem the least bit curious about the
Nautilus
or its wonders.
 
He looked more ruffled and indignant than frightened.

“My name is Phileas Fogg, sir.”
 
He sniffed with great displeasure, then looked over his shoulder at the remains of the sunken warship.
 
“You and this abomination of a vessel have just cost me a very large wager.”

ii

Though space was at a premium in the sub-marine, the ornate salon was large enough for Nemo and the odd-tempered refugee to stretch their limbs and make themselves comfortable.
 
Fogg looked as if he had settled into a dark and smoky gentleman’s club, perfectly at home.

As the
Nautilus
departed from the wreckage of the American warship (a vessel ironically named the
Invincible
), Nemo saw to it that his lanky passenger recovered, was well-fed, and received new clothes.
 
This done, he found himself in a dilemma as to what to do with Mr. Phileas Fogg.
 
Nemo did not want to keep this tall and fastidious man a prisoner aboard his underwater craft forever.

He intended to keep the
Nautilus
a secret, mainly to make sure that no other warlord like Robur decided to build such a vessel for his own ambitions.
 
Though the sub-marine had been observed numerous times, most people still considered it a sea monster.
 
Even after his friend’s novelistic account in
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea
, no one suspected that Verne’s “extraordinary voyages” had any basis in reality.

Fogg accepted his situation with grace and lounged in one of the chairs in the salon.
 
He folded his long right leg over his left and sat at an angle, ignoring the undersea wonders that passed by the salon’s circular viewing window.
 
He seemed entirely uninterested in the armored underwater vessel.

Anxious to learn more about his new guest, Nemo stayed close to the man.
 
Fogg asked no questions concerning the
Nautilus
, paid little heed to the engineering innovations designed into the craft.
 
When the prim man finally asked a question, he looked Nemo in the eye and said, “My good man, might you happen to have a cigar?
 
My own were irreparably soaked, and after all these inconveniences, I have a powerful craving for tobacco.”