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 tinctly dwelling upon all the words, and without omitting a single detail. I announced our names and station—then I presented in due form M. Aronnax—his servant Conseil, and Ned Land, the harpooner. The individual with the calm eyes listened quietly, even politely, and with great attention. But his face betrayed no sign that he understood a word. When I had finished, he remained perfectly silent.

There still remained the English language, as a last resource. Perhaps he would understand that almost universal tongue. I was acquainted with it, and with German sufficiently to read fluently, but not to speak it correctly. Now here it was absolutely necessary to be understood.

“Do you try,” I said to the harpooner, “speak the best English ever heard, Master Land, and try to be more successful than I have been.”

Ned made no objection, and repeated my recital, so as I could understand it pretty well. The issue was the same, but the form was different. The Canadian was more energetic. He complained bitterly at being imprisoned, against the rights of nations, demanded legal satisfaction for his detention, invoked the Habeas Corpus Act, threatened to prosecute those who had kept us prisoners unlawfully. He kicked about, gesticulated, cried out, and finally, by a most expressive pantomime, gave them to understand that we were almost dying of hunger.

This was true as a matter of fact, but we had nearly forgotten it.

To his intense surprise, the harpooner did not appear