“It is probable, Conseil; but I have made up my mind not to admit the existence of these monsters till I have dissected them myself,” said I.
“So,” replied Conseil, “Monsieur does not believe in these gigantic octopi?”
“Why, who the devil has ever believed in them?” asked Ned.
“Lots of people, friend Ned.”
“No fishermen; savants perhaps may!”
“Excuse me, Ned, both fishermen and savants.”
“But,” said Conseil, with the most serious air in the world, “I perfectly remember to have seen a large ship pulled down beneath the waves by one of the arms of a cuttle.”
“You have seen that!” exclaimed the Canadian.
“Yes, Ned.”
“With your own eyes?”
“With my own eyes.”
“And where, if you please?”
“At St. Malo,” replied the imperturbable Conseil.
“In the harbour, I suppose,” said Ned, ironically.
“No, in a church.”
“In a church!” exclaimed Ned.
“Yes, there is a picture there, representing the cuttle.”
“Capital!” cried Ned, laughing. “Conseil did puzzle me a bit.”
“As a fact, he is quite right,” I said. “I have heard of that picture, but the subject is taken from a legend, and you know what to think of legends, when applied to natural history. Besides, when monsters are in question, the imagination is apt to run wild a little. Not only has it been stated that these cuttles can drag ships down, but a certain Olaüs Magnus speaks of a cephalopod a mile long, which
