off than this. Do me the favour to wait a little before forming
an opinion upon the commander and crew of this boat."

"My opinion is formed," replied Ned Land, sharply. "They are rascals."

"Good! and from what country?"

"From the land of rogues!"

"My brave Ned, that country is not clearly indicated on the map of the world;
but I admit that the nationality of the two strangers is hard to determine.
Neither English, French, nor German, that is quite certain. However, I am
inclined to think that the commander and his companion were born in
low latitudes. There is southern blood in them. But I cannot decide by
their appearance whether they are Spaniards, Turks, Arabians, or Indians.
As to their language, it is quite incomprehensible."

"There is the disadvantage of not knowing all languages," said Conseil,
"or the disadvantage of not having one universal language."

As he said these words, the door opened. A steward entered.
He brought us clothes, coats and trousers, made of a stuff I did not know.
I hastened to dress myself, and my companions followed my example.
During that time, the steward--dumb, perhaps deaf--had arranged the table,
and laid three plates.

"This is something like!" said Conseil.

"Bah!" said the angry harpooner, "what do you suppose they eat here?
Tortoise liver, filleted shark, and beef steaks from seadogs."

"We shall see," said Conseil.

The dishes, of bell metal, were placed on the table, and we took
our places. Undoubtedly we had to do with civilised people,
and, had it not been for the electric light which flooded us,
I could have fancied I was in the dining-room of the Adelphi
Hotel at Liverpool, or at the Grand Hotel in Paris.
I must say, however, that there was neither bread nor wine.
The water was fresh and clear, but it was water and did not suit
Ned Land's taste. Amongst the dishes which were brought to us,
I recognised several fish delicately dressed; but of some,
although excellent, I could give no opinion, neither could I tell
to what kingdom they belonged, whether animal or vegetable.
As to the dinner-service, it was elegant, and in perfect taste.
Each utensil--spoon, fork, knife, plate--had a letter engraved on it,
with a motto above it, of which this is an exact facsimile:


MOBILIS IN MOBILI N

The letter N was no doubt the initial of the name of the enigmatical
person who commanded at the bottom of the seas.

Ned and Conseil did not reflect much. They devoured the food,
and I did likewise. I was, besides, reassured as to our fate;
and it seemed evident that our hosts would not let us die of want.

However, everything has an end, everything passes away,
even the hunger of people who have not eaten for fifteen hours.
Our appetites satisfied, we felt overcome with sleep.

"Faith! I shall sleep well," said Conseil.

"So shall I," replied Ned Land.

My two companions stretched themselves on the cabin carpet,
and were soon sound asleep. For my own part, too many thoughts
crowded my brain, too many insoluble questions pressed upon me,
too many fancies kept my eyes half open. Where were we?
What strange power carried us on? I felt--or rather fancied I felt--
the machine sinking down to the lowest beds of the sea.
Dreadful nightmares beset me; I saw in these mysterious asylums
a world of unknown animals, amongst which this submarine boat seemed
to be of the same kind, living, moving, and formidable as they.
Then my brain grew calmer, my imagination wandered into
vague unconsciousness, and I soon fell into a deep sleep.



CHAPTER IX

NED LAND'S TEMPERS

How long we slept I do not know; but our sleep must have lasted long,
for it rested us completely from our fatigues. I woke first.
My companions had not moved, and were still stretched in their corner.

Hardly roused from my somewhat hard couch, I felt my brain freed,
my mind clear. I then began an attentive examination of our cell.
Nothing was changed inside. The prison was still a prison--
the prisoners, prisoners. However, the steward, during our sleep,
had cleared the table. I breathed with difficulty. The heavy air
seemed to oppress my lungs. Although the cell was large, we had
evidently consumed a great part of the oxygen that it contained.
Indeed, each man consumes, in one hour, the oxygen contained in more
than 176 pints of air, and this air, charged (as then) with a nearly
equal quantity of carbonic acid, becomes unbreathable.

It became necessary to renew the atmosphere of our prison, and no doubt


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