Except for that grueling ordeal under the Ice Bank at the South Pole, we had never felt better, neither Ned, Conseil, nor I.
The nutritious food, life–giving air, regular routine, and uniform temperature kept illness at bay; and for a man who didn't miss his past existence on land, for a Captain Nemo who was at home here, who went where he wished, who took paths mysterious to others if not himself in attaining his ends, I could understand such a life.
But we ourselves hadn't severed all ties with humanity.
For my part, I didn't want my new and unusual research to be buried with my bones.
I had now earned the right to pen the definitive book on the sea, and sooner or later I wanted that book to see the light of day.
There once more, through the panels opening into these Caribbean waters ten meters below the surface of the waves, I found so many fascinating exhibits to describe in my daily notes!
Among other zoophytes there were Portuguese men–of–war known by the name Physalia pelagica, like big, oblong bladders with a pearly sheen, spreading their membranes to the wind, letting their blue tentacles drift like silken threads; to the eye delightful jellyfish, to the touch actual nettles that ooze a corrosive liquid.
Among the articulates there were annelid worms one and a half meters long, furnished with a pink proboscis, equipped with 1,700 organs of locomotion, snaking through the waters, and as they went, throwing off every gleam in the solar spectrum.
From the fish branch there were manta rays, enormous cartilaginous fish ten feet long and weighing 600 pounds, their pectoral fin triangular, their midback slightly arched, their eyes attached to the edges of the face at the front of the head; they floated like wreckage from a ship, sometimes fastening onto our windows like opaque shutters.
There were American triggerfish for which nature has ground only black and white pigments, feather–shaped gobies that were long and plump with yellow fins and jutting jaws, sixteen–decimeter mackerel with short, sharp teeth, covered with small scales, and related to the albacore species.
Next came swarms of red mullet corseted in gold stripes from head to tail, their shining fins all aquiver, genuine masterpieces of jewelry, formerly sacred to the goddess Diana, much in demand by rich Romans, and about which the old saying goes:
"He who catches them doesn't eat them!"
Finally, adorned with emerald ribbons and dressed in velvet and silk, golden angelfish passed before our eyes like courtiers in the paintings of Veronese; spurred gilthead stole by with their swift thoracic fins; thread herring fifteen inches long were wrapped in their phosphorescent glimmers; gray mullet thrashed the sea with their big fleshy tails; red salmon seemed to mow the waves with their slicing pectorals; and silver moonfish, worthy of their name, rose on the horizon of the waters like the whitish reflections of many moons.
How many other marvelous new specimens I still could have observed if, little by little, the Nautilus hadn't settled to the lower strata!
Its slanting fins drew it to depths of 2,000 and 3,500 meters.
There animal life was represented by nothing more than sea lilies, starfish, delightful crinoids with bell–shaped heads like little chalices on straight stems, top–shell snails, blood–red tooth shells, and fissurella snails, a large species of coastal mollusk.
By April 20 we had risen to an average level of 1,500 meters.
The nearest land was the island group of the Bahamas, scattered like a batch of cobblestones over the surface of the water.
There high underwater cliffs reared up, straight walls made of craggy chunks arranged like big stone foundations, among which there gaped black caves so deep our electric rays couldn't light them to the far ends.
These rocks were hung with huge weeds, immense sea tangle, gigantic fucus—a genuine trellis of water plants fit for a world of giants.
In discussing these colossal plants, Conseil, Ned, and I were naturally led into mentioning the sea's gigantic animals.
The former were obviously meant to feed the latter.
However, through the windows of our almost motionless Nautilus, I could see nothing among these long filaments other than the chief articulates of the division Brachyura: long–legged spider crabs, violet crabs, and sponge crabs unique to the waters of the Caribbean.
It was about eleven o'clock when Ned Land drew my attention to a fearsome commotion out in this huge seaweed.
"Well," I said, "these are real devilfish caverns, and I wouldn't be surprised to see some of those monsters hereabouts."
"What!"
Conseil put in.
"Squid, ordinary squid from the class Cephalopoda?"
"No," I said, "devilfish of large dimensions.
But friend Land is no doubt mistaken, because I don't see a thing."
"That's regrettable," Conseil answered.
"I'd like to come face to face with one of those devilfish I've heard so much about, which can drag ships down into the depths.
Those beasts go by the name of krake—"
"Fake is more like it," the Canadian replied sarcastically.
"Krakens!"
Conseil shot back, finishing his word without wincing at his companion's witticism.
"Nobody will ever make me believe," Ned Land said, "that such animals exist."
"Why not?"
Conseil replied.
"We sincerely believed in Master's narwhale."
"We were wrong, Conseil."
"No doubt, but there are others with no doubts who believe to this day!"
"Probably, Conseil.
But as for me, I'm bound and determined not to accept the existence of any such monster till I've dissected it with my own two hands."
"Yet," Conseil asked me, "doesn't Master believe in gigantic devilfish?"
"Yikes!
Who in Hades ever believed in them?" the Canadian exclaimed.
"Many people, Ned my friend," I said.
"No fishermen.
Scientists maybe!"