Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea : Jules Verne

The Man of the Waters

IT WAS THE ship's commander who had just spoken.

At these words Ned Land stood up quickly. Nearly strangled, the steward staggered out at a
signal from his superior; but such was the commander's authority aboard his vessel, not one
gesture gave away the resentment that this man must have felt toward the Canadian. In silence
we waited for the outcome of this scene; Conseil, in spite of himself, seemed almost
fascinated, I was stunned. Arms crossed, leaning against a corner of the table, the commander
studied us with great care. Was he reluctant to speak further? Did he regret those words he
had just pronounced in French? You would have thought so. After a few moments of silence,
which none of us would have dreamed of interrupting:

"Gentlemen," he said in a calm, penetrating voice, "I speak French, English, German, and
Latin with equal fluency. Hence I could have answered you as early as our initial interview,
but first I wanted to make your acquaintance and then think things over. Your four versions of
the same narrative, perfectly consistent by and large, established your personal identities for
me. I now know that sheer chance has placed in my presence Professor Pierre Aronnax,
specialist in natural history at the Paris Museum and entrusted with a scientific mission
abroad, his manservant Conseil, and Ned Land, a harpooner of Canadian origin aboard the
Abraham Lincoln, a frigate in the national navy of the United States of America."

I bowed in agreement. The commander hadn't put a question to me. So no answer was called
for. This man expressed himself with perfect ease and without a trace of an accent. His
phrasing was clear, his words well chosen, his facility in elocution remarkable. And yet, to
me, he didn't have "the feel" of a fellow countryman. He went on with the conversation as
follows:

"No doubt, sir, you've felt that I waited rather too long before paying you this second visit.
After discovering your identities, I wanted to weigh carefully what policy to pursue toward
you. I had great difficulty deciding. Some extremely inconvenient circumstances have brought
you into the presence of a man who has cut himself off from humanity. Your coming has
disrupted my whole existence."

"Unintentionally," I said.

"Unintentionally?" the stranger replied, raising his voice a little. "Was it unintentionally that
the Abraham Lincoln hunted me on every sea? Was it unintentionally that you traveled aboard
that frigate? Was it unintentionally that your shells bounced off my ship's hull? Was it
unintentionally that Mr. Ned Land hit me with his harpoon?"

I detected a controlled irritation in these words. But there was a perfectly natural reply to
these charges, and I made it.
"Sir," I said, "you're surely unaware of the discussions that have taken place in Europe and
America with yourself as the subject. You don't realize that various accidents, caused by
collisions with your underwater machine, have aroused public passions on those two
continents. I'll spare you the innumerable hypotheses with which we've tried to explain this
inexplicable phenomenon, whose secret is yours alone. But please understand that the
Abraham Lincoln chased you over the Pacific high seas in the belief it was hunting some
powerful marine monster, which had to be purged from the ocean at all cost."

A half smile curled the commander's lips; then, in a calmer tone:

"Professor Aronnax," he replied, "do you dare claim that your frigate wouldn't have chased
and cannonaded an underwater boat as readily as a monster?"

This question baffled me, since Commander Farragut would certainly have shown no such
hesitation. He would have seen it as his sworn duty to destroy a contrivance of this kind just
as promptly as a gigantic narwhale.

"So you understand, sir," the stranger went on, "that I have a right to treat you as my enemy."

I kept quiet, with good reason. What was the use of debating such a proposition, when superior force
can wipe out the best arguments?

"It took me a good while to decide," the commander went on. "Nothing obliged me to grant you
hospitality. If I were to part company with you, I'd have no personal interest in ever seeing you again.
I could put you back on the platform of this ship that has served as your refuge. I could sink under the
sea, and I could forget you ever existed. Wouldn't that be my right?"

"Perhaps it would be the right of a savage," I replied. "But not that of a civilized man."

"Professor," the commander replied swiftly, "I'm not what you term a civilized man! I've severed all
ties with society, for reasons that I alone have the right to appreciate. Therefore I obey none of its
regulations, and I insist that you never invoke them in front of me!"

This was plain speaking. A flash of anger and scorn lit up the stranger's eyes, and I glimpsed a
fearsome past in this man's life. Not only had he placed himself beyond human laws, he had
rendered himself independent, out of all reach, free in the strictest sense of the word! For who
would dare chase him to the depths of the sea when he thwarted all attacks on the surface? What
ship could withstand a collision with his underwater Monitor? What armor plate, no matter how
heavy, could bear the thrusts of his spur? No man among men could call him to account for his
actions. God, if he believed in Him, his conscience if he had one-- these were the only judges to
whom he was answerable.