SECOND PART
CHAPTER 19: The Gulf Stream
(continued)
I might add that during the night, the Gulf Stream's phosphorescent
waters rivaled the electric glow of our beacon, especially in
the stormy weather that frequently threatened us.
On May 8, while abreast of North Carolina, we were across from
Cape Hatteras once more. There the Gulf Stream is seventy-five
miles wide and 210 meters deep. The Nautilus continued to wander
at random. Seemingly, all supervision had been jettisoned.
Under these conditions I admit that we could easily have gotten away.
In fact, the populous shores offered ready refuge everywhere.
The sea was plowed continuously by the many steamers providing
service between the Gulf of Mexico and New York or Boston,
and it was crossed night and day by little schooners engaged
in coastal trade over various points on the American shore.
We could hope to be picked up. So it was a promising opportunity,
despite the thirty miles that separated the Nautilus from
these Union coasts.
But one distressing circumstance totally thwarted the Canadian's plans.
The weather was thoroughly foul. We were approaching waterways
where storms are commonplace, the very homeland of tornadoes
and cyclones specifically engendered by the Gulf Stream's current.
To face a frequently raging sea in a frail skiff was a race
to certain disaster. Ned Land conceded this himself.
So he champed at the bit, in the grip of an intense homesickness
that could be cured only by our escape.
"Sir," he told me that day, "it's got to stop. I want to get to
the bottom of this. Your Nemo's veering away from shore and heading
up north. But believe you me, I had my fill at the South Pole
and I'm not going with him to the North Pole."
"What can we do, Ned, since it isn't feasible to escape right now?"
"I keep coming back to my idea. We've got to talk to the captain.
When we were in your own country's seas, you didn't say a word.
Now that we're in mine, I intend to speak up. Before a few days
are out, I figure the Nautilus will lie abreast of Nova Scotia,
and from there to Newfoundland is the mouth of a large gulf,
and the St. Lawrence empties into that gulf, and the St. Lawrence
is my own river, the river running by Quebec, my hometown--
and when I think about all this, my gorge rises and my hair
stands on end! Honestly, sir, I'd rather jump overboard!
I can't stay here any longer! I'm suffocating!"
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