But in the open sea it could not be thought of. The Canadian,
Conseil, and I had a long conversation on this subject.
For six months we had been prisoners on board the Nautilus.
We had travelled 17,000 leagues; and, as Ned Land said, there was
no reason why it should come to an end. We could hope nothing
from the Captain of the Nautilus, but only from ourselves.
Besides, for some time past he had become graver, more retired,
less sociable. He seemed to shun me. I met him rarely.
Formerly he was pleased to explain the submarine marvels to me;
now he left me to my studies, and came no more to the saloon.
What change had come over him? For what cause? For my part,
I did not wish to bury with me my curious and novel studies.
I had now the power to write the true book of the sea;
and this book, sooner or later, I wished to see daylight.
The land nearest us was the archipelago of the Bahamas. There rose
high submarine cliffs covered with large weeds. It was about eleven
o'clock when Ned Land drew my attention to a formidable pricking,
like the sting of an ant, which was produced by means of large
seaweeds.
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