us, he went to the panel, looked at the cuttle-fish, and said something to the mate.
The latter went out; the panels were soon closed, and the ceiling was lighted. I approached the captain.
“A curious collection of cuttles,” I said, in the easy way a person might speak of them in an aquarium.
“Yes, indeed, professor, and we are going to fight them hand to hand.”
I looked at the captain, not thinking I had heard aright.
“Hand to hand?” I repeated.
“Yes, the screw is stopped; I think one of their horny beaks has seized it. That is why we cannot move.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“Rise to the surface and kill the vermin.”
“Rather difficult, won’t it?”
“Yes, indeed, for the electric bullets do not meet with sufficient resistance in their pulpy bodies to take effect.”
“But we shall attack them with hatchets.”
“And a harpoon,” suggested the Canadian, “if you will accept my assistance.”
“I do, Master Land.”
“We will accompany you,” I said; and, with Captain Nemo, we advanced to the staircase.
There a dozen men, armed with boarding hatchets, were in readiness for the attack. Conseil and I armed ourselves likewise. Ned Land seized a harpoon.
The Nautilus now floated at the surface. One of the sailors, placed on the top of the ladder, unscrewed the bolts of the panel, But the screws were scarcely loosened when the panel was wrenched violently open, evidently drawn in by the suckers of an octopus.
Immediately one of the long arms glided through the
