This dose of sanity cut the harpooner's complaints clean off.
We sat down at the table.
Our meal proceeded pretty much in silence.
I ate very little.
Conseil, everlastingly prudent, "force–fed" himself; and despite the menu, Ned Land didn't waste a bite.
Then, lunch over, each of us propped himself in a corner.
Just then the luminous globe lighting our cell went out, leaving us in profound darkness.
Ned Land soon dozed off, and to my astonishment, Conseil also fell into a heavy slumber.
I was wondering what could have caused this urgent need for sleep, when I felt a dense torpor saturate my brain.
I tried to keep my eyes open, but they closed in spite of me.
I was in the grip of anguished hallucinations.
Obviously some sleep–inducing substance had been laced into the food we'd just eaten!
So imprisonment wasn't enough to conceal Captain Nemo's plans from us—sleep was needed as well!
Then I heard the hatches close.
The sea's undulations, which had been creating a gentle rocking motion, now ceased.
Had the Nautilus left the surface of the ocean?
Was it reentering the motionless strata deep in the sea?
I tried to fight off this drowsiness.
It was impossible.
My breathing grew weaker.
I felt a mortal chill freeze my dull, nearly paralyzed limbs.
Like little domes of lead, my lids fell over my eyes.
I couldn't raise them.
A morbid sleep, full of hallucinations, seized my whole being.
Then the visions disappeared and left me in utter oblivion.
Chapter 24 The Coral Realm
THE NEXT DAY I woke up with my head unusually clear.
Much to my surprise, I was in my stateroom.
No doubt my companions had been put back in their cabin without noticing it any more than I had.
Like me, they would have no idea what took place during the night, and to unravel this mystery I could count only on some future happenstance.
I then considered leaving my stateroom.
Was I free or still a prisoner?
Perfectly free.
I opened my door, headed down the gangways, and climbed the central companionway.
Hatches that had been closed the day before were now open.
I arrived on the platform.
Ned Land and Conseil were there waiting for me.
I questioned them.
They knew nothing.
Lost in a heavy sleep of which they had no memory, they were quite startled to be back in their cabin.
As for the Nautilus, it seemed as tranquil and mysterious as ever.
It was cruising on the surface of the waves at a moderate speed.
Nothing seemed to have changed on board.
Ned Land observed the sea with his penetrating eyes.
It was deserted.
The Canadian sighted nothing new on the horizon, neither sail nor shore.
A breeze was blowing noisily from the west, and disheveled by the wind, long billows made the submersible roll very noticeably.
After renewing its air, the Nautilus stayed at an average depth of fifteen meters, enabling it to return quickly to the surface of the waves.
And, contrary to custom, it executed such a maneuver several times during that day of January 19.
The chief officer would then climb onto the platform, and his usual phrase would ring through the ship's interior.