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I crept through the fog as noiselessly as if I trod on velvet, and I hadn't even the company of my own footsteps. I remembered the Canadian's ghost story, and concluded I would be imagining the same sort of thing if I lived in such a place. The door was bolted and padlocked.
One unfortunate circumstance thwarted the Canadian's plans. The weather was very bad. We were nearing those shores where tempests are so frequent, that country of waterspouts and cyclones actually engendered by the current of the Gulf Stream. To tempt the sea in a frail boat was certain destruction. Ned Land owned this himself. He fretted, seized with nostalgia that flight only could cure.
During that little trip of perhaps fifty yards and back I was knocked down and partly buried no less than four times. Then the prisoners commenced to come back. They appeared to be glad to get out of it and I don't blame them. When they found that they had to go through the Canadian's lines, however, they held back. They had been told that the Canadians killed all prisoners.
"I am an engineer in charge of some construction work in the Rockies." Lady Merton's face brightened. "Indeed! I think that must be one of the most interesting things in the world to be." The Canadian's eyebrows lifted a little. "I don't know that I ever thought of it like that," he said, half smiling. "It's good work but I've done things a good deal livelier in my time."
The silence was further disturbed only by the pounding of my heart. Suddenly I felt a mild jolt. I realized the Nautilus had come to rest on the ocean floor. My alarm increased. The Canadian's signal hadn't reached me. I longed to rejoin Ned Land and urge him to postpone his attempt. I sensed that we were no longer navigating under normal conditions.
They then followed the trail of the Canadian's horse, which it was very evident he had caught and mounted before being shot. It led to where the animal had crossed the river. There, all signs disappeared. After a faithful search for the trail, Kit returned to camp, and informed his commander of the result of his day's work. The next morning the search was renewed by all of the company.
The log indicated a moderate speed, the pressure gauge a depth of about sixty feet. So circumstances were in favor of the Canadian's plans. I stayed in my stateroom. I dressed warmly: fishing boots, otter cap, coat of fan-mussel fabric lined with sealskin. I was ready. I was waiting. Only the propeller's vibrations disturbed the deep silence reigning on board. I cocked an ear and listened.
"I haf some spat wid dat Leon, but I not lak to see him drown for all dat!" Benjamin offered no objection. The French Canadian's arm was strong and he possessed skill and experience. Mr. Murray caught Benjamin's arm. "No, no, Benjamin not you I can't see both my boys drowned." Benjamin gently loosed the old man's hold. "It's for Mary Stella's sake," he said hoarsely.
You let me alone!" He began to struggle. His terrified eyes rolling round the little cabin, fell on Butts. "I don' know but one tief in Minóok," he said wildly, like a man wandering in a fever, and unconscious of having spoken, till he noticed there was a diversion of some sort. People were looking at Butts. A sudden inspiration pierced the Canadian's fog of terror.
Just then Captain Nemo appeared on the platform. He spotted the dugong. He understood the Canadian's frame of mind and addressed him directly: "If you held a harpoon, Mr. Land, wouldn't your hands be itching to put it to work?" "Positively, sir."
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