Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius Read Online Free Page A

monster’s gullet, I did, to pull ‘im back out.   But them jaws, they clamped shut and gobbled up me mate.   Lucky I only lost this much.”  
    Behind them at the barge, men hauled on hemp ropes to raise crates of animal skins, botanical specimens, and mineralogical samples.
    “We sailed down and up the Ivory Coast o’ Africa, the Gold Coast to the Bight o’ Benin, saw men there blacker ‘n coal, with fangs as long as yer fingers.   Aye, it’s true.   Those demons’ll strike ye dead just by looking at ye -- and then rush up and chew the flesh off yer bones.   Cannibals!”
    “If they could strike you dead just by looking at you, then how did you see them and survive?” Nemo asked with a skeptical frown.
    “Pah!   Tweren’t hungry that day.”   The old sailor spoke in a rough but convincing voice, waving his three-fingered hand for emphasis.   He told them stories about Prester John’s kingdom, with its fountain of youth and a throne cut from an enormous diamond coughed up out of the gullet of a giant whale.   Isolated from the rest of Christianity, Prester John defended Europe against Poseidon’s followers, who lived in underwater cities such as sunken Atlantis.
    Verne and Nemo soaked up details about colorful lands, fabulous treasures, strange peoples.   They learned about New Zealand , the Canary Islands, even Tierra del Fuego at the tip of South America .   They heard of bloodthirsty pirates, whirlpools big enough to swallow four-masted barks, and sea monsters that could rip the hull out of even the largest ships.
    Before the weathered man could finish his tale, though, an explosion echoed through the shipyards like a cannon salute for the king.   Everyone in the market and on the docks turned to look.   Black smoke gushed like a geyser from the Cynthia.  
    Nemo gave a strangled cry as he leaped to his feet.   “My father!”
    The fingerless sailor swore out loud.   “One o’ them tar-pot fires must ‘a caught ‘n the powder magazine.”
    The explosion had blasted out the starboard side of the new hull.   The Cynthia , once a graceful cathedral of masts and rigging and furled sails, now shuddered and twisted, its backbone broken.   Buckets of varnish and turpentine blazed hot, spreading fires across the deck.
    A second explosion rumbled as another keg of gunpowder caught fire.   Pots of boiling tar sprayed black liquid like dark blood.   Carpenters and sailors dove overboard into the river, some with their breeches on fire.
    Nemo sprinted down the dock, dodging crates and excited onlookers.   A crowd clogged the narrow ways so that even firemen could not get through.   He shouldered aside two ladies dressed in enormous crinoline gowns, ignoring their indignant glares.   Following him, Verne excused his friend and squirmed to the water’s edge.
    Scorched or smeared with soot, shipbuilders climbed out of the water on the river’s edge, panting and trembling.   All turned in horrified awe to watch the Cynthia groan and tip.   The bow rolled over on its side, while the stern upended itself before plunging into the water.   As if drowning, the painted figurehead -- “Cynthia” herself -- stared skyward before rolling into the oily current.
    “Where is my father?” Nemo said to anyone who could hear him.   “Jacques Nemo.   Where is he?”   The hubbub, accompanied by the crackling inferno of the doomed ship, was so loud that no one heard him.   As several spectators hauled another exhausted man onto a dock, Nemo recognized him and rushed forward.   “My father!   Did he get off?   Where is he?”
    The survivor’s wild eyes focused on the dark-haired young man.   “André?”   He put his soggy arm around Nemo in an awkward embrace.   “Jacques . . . your father . . . trapped in one of the passenger cabins.”   The man pointed a big hand at the flaming wreck as the stern sank into the deep channel.   He shook his head.   “Underwater by now.”
    Nemo yanked