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Horace Bixby, pilot of the "Paul Jones," a man of thirty-two, was looking out over the bow at the head of Island No. 35 when he heard a slow, pleasant voice say, "Good morning." Bixby was a small, clean-cut man. "Good morning, sir," he said, rather briskly, without looking around. He did not much care for visitors in the pilothouse. This one entered and stood a little behind him.
This high rate of speed will necessitate our remaining in the pilothouse; but it will, perhaps, be worth while to put up with that temporary inconvenience on the present occasion, since we have so exceptionally favourable an opportunity of testing the actual speed of the ship through the air.
"Set astern of the pilothouse is a powerful electric reflector whose rays light up the sea for a distance of half a mile." "Oh, bravo! Bravo three times over, captain! That explains the phosphorescent glow from this so-called narwhale that so puzzled us scientists!
Commodore Foote steamed up boldly within 400 yards and pounded the opposing works with his heavy guns. He did little damage, however, while the Confederate fire proved very effective against him. His flag-ship, the Hartford, was struck fifty-nine times. A shot crashed into the pilothouse, destroying the wheel and wounding Foote himself. The boat became unmanageable and drifted down-stream.
Accordingly, I'm in the habit of staying in the pilothouse and directing maneuvers myself. And now if you'll kindly go below, Professor Aronnax, the Nautilus is about to sink beneath the waves, and it will only return to the surface after we've cleared the Arabian Tunnel." I followed Captain Nemo. The hatch closed, the ballast tanks filled with water, and the submersible sank some ten meters down.
When they were tired of sitting there, they climbed, invited or uninvited, but always welcomed, to the pilothouse, where either pilot of the two who were always on watch poured out in an unstinted stream the lore of the river on which all their days had been passed.
The quartette now found themselves inside the pilothouse, which proved to be two stories in height. On their right hand they beheld the companion-way leading to the interior of the ship, with a wide flight of stairs of delightfully easy descent, handsomely carpeted, and a magnificent massive handrail and balusters of gleaming aethereum.
The Blanche had come within fifty yards of her consort, as the sea was quite smooth. "Where is that music, Mr. Boulong?" asked the captain, opening the door from his cabin to the pilothouse. "From the Blanche, Captain." "But it seems to be a band. Is it an orchestrion?" "Not at all; there are eight pieces of music on the promenade deck.
On returning to the pilothouse after luncheon, or about half-past three o'clock in the afternoon, three icebergs were discovered, two ahead and one astern; but they were very small, and it was therefore deemed hardly worth while to pause and examine them.
"Does it work all right?" asked Ned anxiously, as he stood in the pilothouse beside his chum. "As good as it did in Shopton," answered the young inventor, proudly. "Bless my pocketbook! but that's lucky," exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Then we can soon start, eh?" "As soon as we are stocked up," replied the lad.
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