The Nautilus having cleared the straits, kept well in the offing. We came to the surface, and our daily airings on the platform were resumed.
I ascended at once, accompanied by Conseil and Ned Land. Cape St. Vincent appeared about twelve miles away. The wind was blowing stiffly from the south, the sea was very rough indeed, and the Nautilus rolled tremendously. It was almost impossible to stand upon the platform, which was swept by the waves almost every instant. We descended, therefore, after having taken in a few mouthfuls of fresh air.
I retired to my room, Conseil went to his cabin also, but the Canadian, who appeared preoccupied, followed me. Our rapid passage through the Mediterranean had not permitted him to put his design into execution, and he did not conceal his disappointment. When he had closed the door he sat down and contemplated me in silence.
“Friend Ned,” I said, “I understand you, but you have nothing to reproach yourself with. Under the circumstances in which the Nautilus was worked, it would have been utter folly to have attempted to leave it.”
Ned made no reply, his compressed lips and lowering brow showed how deeply the idea of escape possessed him.
“But,” said I, “we will not despair. We are coasting up by Portugal. France and England are not far off, where we may easily find refuge. If the Nautilus had gone southwards after clearing the straits we should have been again carried away into mid-ocean, and I should have shared your uneasiness, but we know that Captain Nemo does not fear these frequented seas, and in a few days I believe we shall be in safety.”
Ned Land gazed at me still more intently, and at length opening his lips, said:
“It is for this evening.”
