To tempt the sea in a frail boat was certain destruction. Ned Land
owned this himself. He fretted, seized with nostalgia that flight
only could cure.
"Master," he said that day to me, "this must come to an end. I must make
a clean breast of it. This Nemo is leaving land and going up to the north.
But I declare to you that I have had enough of the South Pole, and I will not
follow him to the North."
"What is to be done, Ned, since flight is impracticable just now?"
"We must speak to the Captain," said he; "you said nothing when we
were in your native seas. I will speak, now we are in mine.
When I think that before long the Nautilus will be by Nova Scotia,
and that there near New foundland is a large bay, and into that bay
the St. Lawrence empties itself, and that the St. Lawrence is my river,
the river by Quebec, my native town--when I think of this,
I feel furious, it makes my hair stand on end. Sir, I would
rather throw myself into the sea! I will not stay here!
I am stifled!"
The Canadian was evidently losing all patience.
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