The next day, January 30, when the Nautilus rose to the surface of the ocean, there was no more land in sight.
Setting its course to the north–northwest, the ship headed toward the Gulf of Oman, carved out between Arabia and the Indian peninsula and providing access to the Persian Gulf.
This was obviously a blind alley with no possible outlet.
So where was Captain Nemo taking us?
I was unable to say.
Which didn't satisfy the Canadian, who that day asked me where we were going.
"We're going, Mr. Ned, where the Captain's fancy takes us."
"His fancy," the Canadian replied, "won't take us very far.
The Persian Gulf has no outlet, and if we enter those waters, it won't be long before we return in our tracks."
"All right, we'll return, Mr. Land, and after the Persian Gulf, if the Nautilus wants to visit the Red Sea, the Strait of Bab el Mandeb is still there to let us in!"
"I don't have to tell you, sir," Ned Land replied, "that the Red Sea is just as landlocked as the gulf, since the Isthmus of Suez hasn't been cut all the way through yet; and even if it was, a boat as secretive as ours wouldn't risk a canal intersected with locks.
So the Red Sea won't be our way back to Europe either."
"But I didn't say we'd return to Europe."
"What do you figure, then?"
"I figure that after visiting these unusual waterways of Arabia and Egypt, the Nautilus will go back down to the Indian Ocean, perhaps through Mozambique Channel, perhaps off the Mascarene Islands, and then make for the Cape of Good Hope."
"And once we're at the Cape of Good Hope?" the Canadian asked with typical persistence.
"Well then, we'll enter that Atlantic Ocean with which we aren't yet familiar.
What's wrong, Ned my friend?
Are you tired of this voyage under the seas?
Are you bored with the constantly changing sight of these underwater wonders?
Speaking for myself, I'll be extremely distressed to see the end of a voyage so few men will ever have a chance to make."
"But don't you realize, Professor Aronnax," the Canadian replied, "that soon we'll have been imprisoned for three whole months aboard this Nautilus?"
"No, Ned, I didn't realize it, I don't want to realize it, and I don't keep track of every day and every hour."
"But when will it be over?"
"In its appointed time.
Meanwhile there's nothing we can do about it, and our discussions are futile.
My gallant Ned, if you come and tell me,
'A chance to escape is available to us,' then I'll discuss it with you.
But that isn't the case, and in all honesty, I don't think Captain Nemo ever ventures into European seas."
This short dialogue reveals that in my mania for the Nautilus, I was turning into the spitting image of its commander.
As for Ned Land, he ended our talk in his best speechifying style:
"That's all fine and dandy.
But in my humble opinion, a life in jail is a life without joy."
For four days until February 3, the Nautilus inspected the Gulf of Oman at various speeds and depths.
It seemed to be traveling at random, as if hesitating over which course to follow, but it never crossed the Tropic of Cancer.
After leaving this gulf we raised Muscat for an instant, the most important town in the country of Oman.
I marveled at its strange appearance in the midst of the black rocks surrounding it, against which the white of its houses and forts stood out sharply.
I spotted the rounded domes of its mosques, the elegant tips of its minarets, and its fresh, leafy terraces.
But it was only a fleeting vision, and the Nautilus soon sank beneath the dark waves of these waterways.
Then our ship went along at a distance of six miles from the Arabic coasts of Mahra and Hadhramaut, their undulating lines of mountains relieved by a few ancient ruins.
On February 5 we finally put into the Gulf of Aden, a genuine funnel stuck into the neck of Bab el Mandeb and bottling these Indian waters in the Red Sea.
On February 6 the Nautilus cruised in sight of the city of Aden, perched on a promontory connected to the continent by a narrow isthmus, a sort of inaccessible Gibraltar whose fortifications the English rebuilt after capturing it in 1839.
I glimpsed the octagonal minarets of this town, which used to be one of the wealthiest, busiest commercial centers along this coast, as the Arab historian Idrisi tells it.
I was convinced that when Captain Nemo reached this point, he would back out again; but I was mistaken, and much to my surprise, he did nothing of the sort.
The next day, February 7, we entered the Strait of Bab el Mandeb, whose name means
"Gate of Tears" in the Arabic language.
Twenty miles wide, it's only fifty–two kilometers long, and with the Nautilus launched at full speed, clearing it was the work of barely an hour.
But I didn't see a thing, not even Perim Island where the British government built fortifications to strengthen Aden's position.
There were many English and French steamers plowing this narrow passageway, liners going from Suez to Bombay, Calcutta, Melbourne, Reunion Island, and Mauritius; far too much traffic for the Nautilus to make an appearance on the surface.
So it wisely stayed in midwater.