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Updated: June 2, 2025
He got his first mate finally, and snarled orders into the speaker. "They're in the ventilators. Get a crew in there and stop them." But it was dark in the ventilator shafts. No emergency lights in there. Worse, the crewmen were hearing the things that were being whispered around the ship. The ventilator shafts yawned menacingly before them; they went in reluctantly.
Let master have no fears about breathing. There's enough for everyone." As for Ned Land, he didn't say a word, but his wide-open jaws would have scared off a shark. And what powerful inhalations! The Canadian "drew" like a furnace going full blast. Our strength returned promptly, and when I looked around, I saw that we were alone on the platform. No crewmen. Not even Captain Nemo.
He waited, the silence of the loud-speaker more menacing than anything the spaceman had ever encountered before. Again and again, the Solar Guard officer tried to raise the cadet on the Polaris. Finally he turned back to the four crewmen who hovered around the jet boat, hoping against hope. "Whatever it is," he said, "I'm sure Tom is doing the right thing.
There were twelve officers and twelve crewmen of various ratings like himself and Ringg, but there seemed to be little social division between them, as there would have been on a human ship; officers and crew joked and argued without formality of any kind. None of them gave him a second look. Later, in the Recreation Lounge, Ringg challenged him to a game with one of the pinball machines.
Instead of burying the missile deeper, the grenade explosion had uncovered the entire nose cone and part of the section behind it! "Sizzlin' squids! What a break!" Bud whooped. The boys jetted back to the Sea Hound to announce the good news. Zimby and two other crewmen were dispatched in hydrolungs to inform the other ships. Tom requested them to remain submerged and guard the site.
"Maybe," the Canadian answered, "it would be better to hunt it down, in the interests of mealtime." "Then proceed, Mr. Land," Captain Nemo replied. Just then, as mute and emotionless as ever, seven crewmen climbed onto the platform. One carried a harpoon and line similar to those used in whale fishing. Its deck paneling opened, the skiff was wrenched from its socket and launched to sea.
He went to talk to the mess officer, reflecting that he would ask the Morgans how the Sylva had known where to come, and they'd tell him, and it would be extremely unlikely, and he would accept the explanation. The mess-officer looked harassed at the news of fifty additional crewmen to be fed. "Principles of prudence and common sense," said Bors, "don't apply any more. We'll feed them somehow."
Under the best conditions, the crewmen on patrol ships got on each other's nerves; on the Lancet there was an additional focus of tension that grew worse with every passing hour. From the first Jack Alvarez had made no pretense of pleasure at Dal's company, but now it seemed that he deliberately sought opportunities to annoy him.
A sky full of bright stars, growing brighter and closer by the moment, was beckoning to him. He saw the Crewmen coming from their posts now; the rumor had flitted rapidly around the ship, it seemed. They were all there, Art Kandin and Dan Kelleher and a gaping Judy Collier and Roger Bond and all the rest of them. "You won't be leaving right away, will you?" the Captain asked.
Around the Nautilus for a half-mile radius, the waters seemed saturated with electric light. The sandy bottom was clear and bright. Dressed in diving suits, crewmen were busy clearing away half-rotted barrels and disemboweled trunks in the midst of the dingy hulks of ships. Out of these trunks and kegs spilled ingots of gold and silver, cascades of jewels, pieces of eight.
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