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 were like yielding suits of armour, and were composed of trousers and vest. The former terminated in a thick pair of leaden-soled boots. The vest was fastened by copper plates, which protected the chest against the pressure of the water, leaving the lungs free to act; the sleeves ended in flexible gloves, which did not interfere with the movements of the hands.

Captain Nemo, one of his crew—a perfect Hercules—Conseil, and I, were soon ready. It only remained for us to put on the helmet. But before I did so I asked the captain’s permission to examine the guns.

I was handed an ordinary gun, the stock of which was made of sheet-iron, and hollow. It served as a reservoir for compressed air, which a valve, worked by a “tumbler,” permitted to escape into the barrel. A box, hollowed out in the stock, contained twenty electric bullets, which the elasticity of the air placed in the barrel. So soon as one shot was discharged, the gun was again loaded automatically.

“Captain Nemo,” I said, “this is a perfect weapon, and easily managed. I am anxious to try my skill. But how are we to reach the bottom of the sea?”

“At this moment the Nautilus is aground. We have not far to go.”

“But how are we to get out?”

“You shall see.”

Captain Nemo then put on his helmet. Conseil and I did likewise, not without hearing the Canadian’s ironical wishes for “good sport.”

The upper part of the vest was encircled by a copper collar with screws, to which the helmet was fastened. Three glazed apertures permitted us to see in all direc-