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 She rapidly approached us. If Captain Nemo remained apathetic here was our chance of escape.

“Monsieur,” said Ned Land to me, “when this vessel is a mile distant I will throw myself into the sea, and I should suggest your doing the same thing.”

To this I made no reply, but continued to look at the vessel, which became rapidly more distinguishable. French, English, American, or Russian, she would receive us hospitably if we could only get on board.

“Monsieur will remember,” said Conseil, “that we have some little experience of swimming; he can rest upon me if he decide to follow Ned Land.”

I was about to reply, when a puff of white smoke burst from the man-of-war. Some seconds later the water was splashed up by the fall of a heavy shot astern of the Nautilus. A little later the report came to our ears.

“Hullo! they are firing at us,” I exclaimed.

“Good men,” murmured the Canadian.

“They evidently do not take us for shipwrecked sailors,” said I.

“If Monsieur has no objection Good,” said Conseil, as another shot ploughed up the water close to us. “If Monsieur has no objection, I think they have recognised the narwhal, and are cannonading it.”

“But they ought to see that there are human beings in question,” I said.

“Perhaps that is why they fire,” said Ned, looking at me.

A sudden idea struck me. No doubt they had formed their own conclusions respecting the pretended monster. Doubtless, on board the Abraham Lincoln, when the Canadian struck the narwhal with the harpoon, Commodore