hermetically sealed, and assured the safety of the Nautilus in the event of any influx of water.
I followed Captain Nemo across the waist, and reached the centre. There was a sort of well, which opened between two bulkheads. An iron ladder led upwards. I asked the use to which this ladder was put.
“It leads to the ‘launch.’”
“What, have you a boat, too?”
“Certainly, and an excellent one—light, and impossible to sink; which serves for pleasure or fishing.”
“But when you wish to embark in it you must surely go up to the surface of the sea?”
“By no means. This boat is fastened to the upper part of the hull of the Nautilus, and rests in a cavity prepared for it. It is decked, absolutely staunch, and kept secured by solid bolts. This ladder leads to a man-hole in the hull of the Nautilus, which corresponds to another hole in the side of the launch. It is through these openings that I enter the boat. In shutting one I open the other, by pressure of a screw. I pull out the bolts, and the boat rises with great swiftness to the surface. I then open the deck-panel, hitherto carefully closed. I ‘step’ the mast, hoist my sail, or take to the oars and pull about.”
“But how do you return on board?”
“I do not return; it is the Nautilus which comes up.”
“At your order?”
“Yes. An electric cord is extended between us. I merely send a telegram, and that is sufficient.”
“In fact,” said I, intoxicated by these wonders, “nothing can be more easy.”
Having passed the staircase leading to the platform,
