Captain Nemo had saved Smith. It was he who had led the dog to the Chimneys, who threw Top out of the water, who stranded the box of useful articles on Jetsam Point, who brought the canoe down the Mercy, who threw the cord from Granite House when it was attacked by the monkeys, who made known the presence of Ayrton on Tabor Island by means of the paper enclosed in the bottle, who blew up the brig by means of a torpedo, who saved Herbert from certain death by bringing the quinine, who, finally, killed the convicts by those electric balls which he employed in his submarine hunting excursions. Thus was explained all those seemingly supernatural incidents, which, all of them, attested the generosity and the power of the Captain.
Nevertheless, this intense misanthrope thirsted to do good. He had some useful advice to give to his protégés, and moreover, feeling the approach of death, he had summoned, as we have seen, the colonists from Granite House, by means of the wire which reached from the corral to the Nautilus. Perhaps he would not have done it, had he thought that Smith knew enough of his history to call him by his name of Nemo.
The Captain finished the recital of his life, and then Smith spoke. He recalled all the instances of the salutary influences exercised over the colonists, and then, in the name of his companions, and in his own, he thanked this generous being for all that he had done.
But Captain Nemo had never dreamed of asking any return for his services. One last thought agitated his spirit, and, before taking the hand which the engineer held out to him, he said:—
“Now, sir, you know my life, judge of it!”
In speaking thus, the Captain evidently alluded to an incident of a serious nature which had been witnessed by the three strangers on the Nautilus—an incident which the French professor had necessarily recounted in his book, an incident whose very recital was terrible.
In brief, some days before the flight of the professor and his companions, the Nautilus, pursued by a frigate in the North Atlantic, had rushed upon her like a battering-ram, and sunk her without mercy.
Smith, understanding this allusion, made no answer.
“It was an English frigate, sir!” cried Captain Nemo, becoming for the moment Prince Dakkar, “an English frigate, you understand! She attacked me! I was shut in, in a narrow and shallow bay; I had to pass out, and—I passed!”
Then, speaking with more calmness:—
“I had right and justice on my side,” he added. “I did good when I could, and evil when I must. All justice is not in forgiveness.”
Some moments of silence followed this response, and Captain Nemo asked again:—
“What do you think of me?”
Smith took the hand of the Captain, and answered him in a grave voice:—
“Captain, your mistake has been in believing that you could bring back the old order of things, and you have struggled against necessary progress. It was one of those errors which some of us admire, others blame, but of which God alone can judge, and which the human mind exonerates. We can disagree with one who misleads himself in an intention which he believes laudable, and at the same time esteem him. Your error is of a kind which does not preclude admiration, and your name has nothing to fear from the judgment of history. She loves heroic follies, though she condemns the results which follow.”
The breast of Captain Nemo heaved; he raised his hand towards heaven.
“Was I wrong, or was I right?” he murmured.
Smith continued:—
“All great actions return to God, from whom they came! Captain Nemo, the worthy men here, whom you have succored, will always weep for you!”
Herbert approached him. He knelt down and took the hand of the captain, and kissed it.
A tear glistened in the eye of the dying man.
“My child,” he said, “bless you!”
LIX
The last hours of Captain Nemo—His dying wishes—A souvenir for his friends—His tomb—Some counsel to the colonists—The supreme moment—At the bottom of the sea.
It was morning, though no ray of daylight penetrated the vault. The sea, at this moment high, covered the outlet. But the artificial light escaping in long rays from the sides of the Nautilus, had not diminished, and the sheet of water around the vessel glowed resplendent.
Captain Nemo, overcome by an extreme fatigue, fell back upon the divan. They did not dream of transporting him to Granite House, as he had shown a wish to remain among the priceless treasures of the Nautilus, awaiting that death which could not be long in coming.
Smith and Spilett observed with great attention his prostration. They saw that he was slowly sinking. His strength, formerly so great, was almost gone, and his body was but a frail envelope for the spirit about escaping. All life was concentrated at the heart and brain.
The engineer and the reporter consulted together in low tones. Could they do anything for the dying man? Could they, if not save him, at least prolong his life for a few days? He himself had said that there was no remedy, and he awaited death calmly and without fear.
“We can do nothing,” said Spilett.
“What is he dying of?” asked Pencroff.
“Of exhaustion,” answered the reporter.
“Supposing we take him out into the open air, into the sunlight, perhaps he would revive?”
“No, Pencroff,” responded the engineer, “there is nothing to do.
