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 day the firing began afresh. The moment could not be far off when,
the Nautilus attacking its adversary, my companions and myself should
for ever 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 balustrade around the platform was lowered, and the 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 manoeuvres. I returned to the saloon. The Nautilus 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 2nd of
June had dawned.
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