ou recognise what country she belongs to?"

The Canadian knitted his eyebrows, dropped his eyelids, and screwed up
the corners of his eyes, and for a few moments fixed a piercing look
upon the vessel.

"No, sir," he replied; "I cannot tell what nation she belongs to, for
she shows no colours. But I can declare she is a man-of-war, for a
long pennant flutters from her main mast."

For a quarter of an hour we watched the ship which was steaming towards
us. I could not, however, believe that she could see the Nautilus from
that distance; and still less that she could know what this submarine
engine was. Soon the Canadian informed me that she was a large,
armoured, two-decker ram. A thick black smoke was pouring from her two
funnels. Her closely-furled sails were stopped to her yards. She
hoisted no flag at her mizzen-peak. The distance prevented us from
distinguishing the colours of her pennant, which floated like a thin
ribbon. She advanced rapidly. If Captain Nemo allowed her to
approach, there was a chance of salvation for us.

"Sir," said Ned Land, "if that vessel passes within a mile of us I
shall throw myself into the sea, and I should advise you to do the
same."

I did not reply to the Canadian's suggestion, but continued watching
the ship. Whether English, French, American, or Russian, she would be
sure to take us in if we could only reach her. Presently a white smoke
burst from the fore part of the vessel; some seconds after, the water,
agitated by the fall of a heavy body, splashed the stern of the
Nautilus, and shortly afterwards a loud explosion struck my ear.

"What! they are firing at us!" I exclaimed.

"So please you, sir," said Ned, "they have recognised the unicorn, and
they are firing at us."

"But," I exclaimed, "surely they can see that there are men in the
case?"

"It is, perhaps, because of that," replied Ned Land, looking at me.

A whole flood of light burst upon my mind. Doubtless they knew now how
to believe the stories of the pretended monster. No doubt, on board
the Abraham Lincoln, when the Canadian struck it with the harpoon,
Commander Farragut had recognised in the supposed narwhal a submarine
vessel, more dangerous than a supernatural cetacean. Yes, it must have
been so; and on every sea they were now seeking this engine of
destruction. Terrible indeed! if, as we supposed, Captain Nemo
employed the Nautilus in works of vengeance. On the night when we were
imprison