Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the forty-fourth chapter of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.

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Today we'll be continuing 20,000 leagues under the sea by Jules Verne chapter 21 a hecatome the way of describing this unlooked foreseen.

The history of the Patriot ship told it first, so coldly, and the emotion with which this strange man pronounced the last words, the name of the Avenger, the significance of which could not escape me, all impressed itself deeply on my mind.

My eyes did not leave.

The captain, who with his hand stretched out to sea, was watching with a glowing eye the glorious rack.

Perhaps I was never to know who he was, from whence he came, or where he was going to.

But I saw the man move, and apart from the savant, it was no common misanthropy which had shut Captain Nemo and his companions within the Nautilus.

But a hatred either monstrous or sublime, which time could never weaken.

Did this hatred still seek for vengeance?

The future would soon teach me that.

But the nautilus was rising slowly to the surface of the sea, and the form of the avenger disappeared by degrees from my sight.

Soon a slight rolling told me that we were in the open air.

At that moment a dull boom was heard.

I looked at the captain.

He did not move.

Captain, said I.

He did not answer.

I left him and mounted the platform.

Conceal and the Canadian were already there.

Where did that sound come from?

I asked.

It was a gunshot, replied Ned land.

I looked in the direction of the vessel.

I'd already seen it was nearing the nautilus, and we could see that it was putting on steam.

It was within 6 miles of us.

What is that ship, Ned?

By its rigging and the height of its lower masts, said the Canadian, I bet she is a ship of war.

May it reach us and if necessary, sink.

This Kurt's nautilus friend, Ned replied, conceal.

What harm can it do to the nautilus?

Can it attack beneath the waves?

Can its cannon aid us at the bottom of the sea?

Tell me, Ned said.

I can.

You recognize what country she belongs to?

The Canadian knitted his eyebrows, dropped his eyelids, and screwed up the corners of his eyes, and for a few moments fixed a piercing look upon the vessel.

No, sir, he replied.

I cannot tell what nation she belongs to, for she shows no colors, but I can declare she is a man of war.

For a long pennant flutters from her main mast.

For a quarter of an hour, we watched the ship, which was steaming towards us.

I could not, however, believe that she could see the Nautilus from that distance, and still less that she could know what this submarine engine was.

Soon the Canadian informed me that she was a large armored two decker ram.

A thick black smoke was pouring from her two funnels.

Her closely furled sails were stopped to her yards.

She hoisted no flag as her mizzen peak.

The distance prevented us from distinguishing the colors of her pennant, which floated like a thin ribbon.

She advanced rapidly.

If Captain Nemo allowed her to approach, there was a chance of salvation for us.

Sir, said Deadland, if that vessel passes within a mile of us, I shall throw myself into the sea, and I should advise you to do the same.

I did not reply to the Canadian's suggestion, but continued watching the ship.

Whether English, French, American, or Russian, she would be sure to take us in if we could only reach her.

Presently a white smoke burst from the fore part of the vessel.

Some seconds after, the water, agitated by the fall of a heavy body, splashed the stern of the nautilus, and shortly afterwards, a loud explosion struck my ear.

What?

They're firing at us.

I exclaimed.

So please you, sir, said Ned, they have recognized the unicorn, and they are firing at us.

But.

I exclaimed, surely they can see that there are men in the case.

It is perhaps because of that, replied Ned land, looking at me, whole flood of light burst upon my mind.

Doubtless they knew now how to believe the stories of the pretended monster, no doubt on board the Abraham Lincoln.

When the Canadians struck it with the harpoon, Commander Farragut had recognized in the supposed narwhal a submarine vessel more dangerous than a supernatural cetacean.

Yes, it must have been so.

And on every sea they were now seeking this engine of destruction.

Terrible indeed.

If, as we supposed, Captain Nemo employed the nautilus in works of vengeance, on the night when we were imprisoned in that cell in the midst of the Indian Ocean, had he not attacked some vessel, the man buried in the coral cemetery, had he not been a victim to the shock caused by the Nautilus?

Yes, I repeat it.

It must be so.

One part of the mysterious existence of Captain Nemo had been unveiled, and if his identity had not been recognized, at least the nations united against him were no longer hunting a chimerical creature, but a man who had vowed a deadly hatred against them all.

The formidable past rose before me.

Instead of meeting friends on board the approaching ship, we could only expect pitiless enemies.

But the shot rattled about us.

Some of them struck the sea and ricocheted, losing themselves in the distance, but none touched the nautilus.

The vessel was not more than 3 miles from us.

In spite of the serious cannonade, Captain Nemo did not appear on the platform.

But if one of the conical projectiles had struck the shell of the Nautilus, it would have been fatal.

The Canadian then said, sir, we must do all we can to get out of this dilemma.

Let us signal them.

They will then perhaps understand that we are honest folks.

Ned land took his handkerchief to wave in the air, but he had scarcely displayed it when he was struck down by an iron hand and fell, in spite of his great strength, upon the deck.

Fool.

Exclaimed the captain, do you wish to be pierced by the spur of the nautilus before it is hurled at this vessel?

Captain Nemo was terrible to hear.

He was still more terrible to see.

His face was deadly pale, with a spasm at his heart.

For an instant it must have ceased to beat.

His pupils were fearfully contracted.

He did not speak.

He roared.

As with his body thrown forward, he rung the canadian shoulders.

Then, leaving him and turning to the ship of war, whose shot was still raining around him, he exclaimed with a powerful voice, a ship of an accursed nation.

You know who I am.

I do.

Not want your colors to know you by look, and I will show you mine.

And on the four part of the platform, Captain Nemo unfurled a black flag similar to the one he had placed at the south pole.

At that moment a shot struck the shell of the Nautilus obliquely, without piercing it, and, rebounding near the captain, was lost in the sea.

He shrugged his shoulders and, addressing me, said shortly, go down, you and your companions.

Go down.

Sir.

I cried.

Are you going to attack this vessel, sir?

I am going to sink it.

You will not do that.

I shall do it, he replied coldly.

And I advise you not to judge me, sir.

Fate has shown you what ought not to have seen.

The attack has begun.

Go down.

What is this vessel?

You do not know very well.

So much the better.

Its nationality, to you at least, will be a secret.

Go down.

We could but obey.

About 15 of the sailors surrounded the captain, looking with implacable hatred at the vessel.

Nearing them, one could feel that the same desire of vengeance animated every soul.

I went down at the moment another projectile struck the Nautilus, and I heard the captain exclaim, strike, mad vessel, shower your useless shot, and then you will not escape the spur of the Nautilus.

But it is not here that you shall perish.

I would not have your ruins mingle with those of the Avenger.

I reached my room.

The captain and his second had remained on the platform.

The screw was set in motion, and the Nautilus, moving with speed, was soon beyond the reach of the ship's guns.

But the pursuit continued, and Captain Nemo contented himself with keeping his distance.

About four in the afternoon, being no longer able to contain my impatience, I went to the central staircase.

The panel was open, and I ventured onto the platform.

The captain was still walking up and down with an agitated step.

He was looking at the ship, which was five or 6 miles to leeward.

He was going to round it like a wild beast and drawing it eastward.

He allowed them to pursue, but he did not attack.

Perhaps he still hesitated.

I wished to meditate once more, but I had scarcely spoken when Captain Nemo imposed silence, saying, I am the law, and I am the judge.

I am the oppressed, and there is the oppressor.

Through him I have lost all that I loved, cherished and venerated country, wife, children, father and mother.

I saw all perish.

All that I hate is there.

Say no more.

I cast a last look at the man of war, which was putting on steam, and rejoined Nedik and seal.

We will fly.

I exclaimed.

Good, said Ned.

What is this vessel?

I do not know, but whatever it is, it will be sunk before night.

In any case, it is better to perish with it, than be made accomplices in a retaliation, the justice of which we cannot judge.

That is my opinion too, said Ned land coolly.

Let us wait for night.

Night arrived.

Deep silence reigned on board.

The compass showed that the Nautilus had not altered its course.

It was on the surface, rolling slightly.

My companions and I resolved to fly when the vessel should be near enough, either to hear us or to see us.

For the moon, which would be full in two or three days, shone brightly once on board the ship.

If we could not prevent the blow which threatened it, we could.

At least we would do all that circumstances would allow.

Several times I thought the Nautilus was preparing for attack, but Captain Nemo contented himself with allowing his adversary to approach, and then fled once more before it.

Part of the night passed without any incident.

We watched the opportunity for action.

We spoke little, for we were too much moved.

Ned land would have thrown himself into the sea, but I forced him to wait.

According to my idea, the Nautilus would attack the ship at our waterline, and then it would not only be possible, but easy to fly at three in the morning.

Full of uneasiness, I mounted the platform.

Captain Nemo had not left it.

He was standing at the four part near his flag, which a slight breeze displayed above his head.

He did not take his eyes from the vessel.

The intensity of his look seemed to attract and fascinate and draw it onward more surely than if he had been towing it.

The moon was then passing the meridian.

Jupiter was rising in the east.

Amid this peaceful scene of nature, sky and ocean rivaled each other in tranquillity, the sea offering to the orbs of night the finest mirror they could ever have in which to reflect their image.

As I thought of the deep calm of these elements, compared with all those passions brooding imperceptibly within the Nautilus, I shuddered.

The vessel was within 2 miles of us.

It was ever nearing that phosphorescent light which showed the presence of the Nautilus.

I could see its green and red lights, and its white lantern hanging from the large foremast.

An indistinct vibration quivered through its rigging, showing that the furnaces were heated to the uttermost.

Sheaves of sparks and red ashes flew from the funnels, shining in the atmosphere like stars.

I remained thus until six in the morning, without Captain Nemo noticing me.

The ship stood about a mile and a half from us, and with the first dawn of the day, the firing began afresh.

The moment could not be far off when the Nautilus, attacking its adversary, my companions and myself, should forever leave this man.

I was preparing to go down to remind them.

When the second mounted the platform, accompanied by several sailors, Captain Nemo either did not or would not see them.

Some steps were taken, which might be called the signal for action.

They were very simple.

The iron value straight around the platform was lowered, and a lantern and pilot cages were pushed within the shell until they were flush with the deck.

The long surface of the steel cigar no longer offered a single point to check its maneuvers.

I returned to the saloon.

The noddle is still floated.

Some streaks of light were filtering through the liquid beds with the undulations of the waves.

The windows were brightened by the red streaks of the rising sun.

And this dreadful day of the 2 June had dawned at 05:00.

The log showed that the speed of the nautilus was slackening, and I knew that it was allowing them to draw nearer.

Besides, the reports were heard more distinctly, and the projectiles laboring through the ambient water were extinguished with a strange hissing noise.

My friends, said I, the moment has come.

One grasp of the hand, and may God protect us.

Ned land was resolute.

Conceal calm myself so nervous that I knew not how to contain myself.

We all passed into the library, but the moment I pushed the door opening onto the central staircase, I heard the upper panel close sharply.

The Canadian rushed onto the stairs, but I stopped him.

A well known hissing noise told me that the water was running into the reservoirs, and in a few minutes the nautilus was some yards beneath the surface of the waves.

I understood the maneuver.

It was too late to act.

The nautilus did not wish to strike at the impenetrable chorus.

But below the waterline, where the metallic covering no longer protected it, we were again imprisoned, unwilling witnesses of the dreadful drama that was preparing.

We had scarcely time to reflect.

Taking refuge in my room, we looked at each other without speaking.

A deep stupor had taken hold of my mind.

Thought seemed to stand still.

I was in that painful state of expectation preceding a dreadful report.

I waited.

I listened.

Every sense was merged in that of hearing.

The speed of the nautilus was accelerated.

It was preparing to rush, and the whole ship trembled.

Suddenly I screamed.

I felt the shock, but comparatively light.

I felt the penetrating power of the steel spur.

I heard rattlings and scrapings, but the nautilus, carried along by its propelling power, passed through the mass of the vessel like a needle through sailcloth.

I could stand it no longer.

Mad, out of my mind, I rushed from my room into the saloon.

Captain Nemo was there, mute, gloomy, implacable.

He was looking through the port panel.

A large mass cast a shadow on the water and that it might lose nothing of her agony.

The nautilus was going down into the abyss with her.

Ten yards from me, I saw the open shell through which the water was rushing with the noise of thunder, then the double line of guns and the netting.

The bridge was covered with black, agitated shadows.

The water was rising.

The poor creatures were crowding the rat lines clinging to the masts, struggling under the water.

It was a human ant heap, overtaken by the sea, paralyzed, stiffened with anguish, my hair standing on end with my eyes wide open, panting without breath and without voice.

I, too was watching.

An irresistible attraction glued me to the glass.

Suddenly, an explosion took place.

The compressed air blew up her decks as if the magazines had caught fire.

Then the unfortunate vessel sank more rapidly.

Her top mast, laden with victims, now appeared, then her spars bending under the weight of men, and last of all, the top of her main mast.

Then the dark mast disappeared, and with it, the dead crew drawn down by the strong eddy.

I turned to Captain Nemo.

That terrible avenger, a perfect archangel of hatred, was still looking.

When all was over, he turned to his room, opened the door, and entered.

I followed him with my eyes.

On the end wall, beneath his heroes, I saw the portrait of a woman, still young, and two little children.

Captain Nemo looked at them for some moments, stretched his arms towards them, and, kneeling down, burst into deep sobs.

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