2.40 p.m., the Nautilus will float, and leave Torres Strait uninjured.”
These words were spoken quickly, and Captain Nemo reseated himself and bowed slightly. This was the signal for my departure, and I regained my room.
There I found Conseil, anxious to hear the result of my interview with the captain.
“My lad,” I replied, “when I fancied his Nautilus was threatened by these Papuans, he replied to my fears in a bantering tone. I have but one thing to say—have confidence in him, and go to sleep in peace.”
“Monsieur does not want me?”
“No. What is Ned Land doing?”
“Monsieur will excuse me, but Ned is making a kangaroo pie, which will be a great success.”
I was left alone, and I went to bed, but slept badly. I heard the savages trampling overhead, and uttering discordant yells. The night passed in this manner, and none of the crew seemed to be in the least disturbed about it. They no more disturbed themselves about these cannibals, than in an iron battery they would trouble about the ants crawling on it.
At six o’clock I got up. The panels had not been opened. The air in the interior had not therefore been renewed, but the reservoirs, which were destined to act under such circumstances, forced fresh oxygen into the vitiated atmosphere within the Nautilus.
I worked in my room up to mid-day, without even having a glimpse of Captain Nemo. There did not appear any preparation for departure.
I waited some time longer, then went into the saloon. The clock showed it was half-past two. In ten minutes
