I began to tell our adventures, articulating each syllable clearly, and without omitting one single detail. I announced our names and rank, introducing in person Professor Aronnax, his servant Conseil, and master Ned Land, the harpooner. The man with the soft calm eyes listened to me quietly, even politely, and with extreme attention; but nothing in his countenance indicated that he had understood my story. When I finished, he said not a word. There remained one resource, to speak English. Perhaps they would know this almost universal language. I knew it, as well as the German language,—well enough to read it fluently, but not to speak it correctly. But, anyhow, we must make ourselves understood. “Go on in your turn,” I said to the harpooner; “speak your best Anglo-Saxon, and try to do better than I.” Ned did not beg off, and recommenced our story. To his great disgust, the harpooner did not seem to have made himself more intelligible than I had. Our visitors did not stir. They evidently understood neither the language of Arago nor of Faraday. Very much embarrassed, after having vainly exhausted our speaking resources, I knew not what part to take, when Conseil said— “If master will permit me, I will relate it in German.” But in spite of the elegant terms and good accent of the narrator, the German language had no success. At last, nonplussed, I tried to remember my first lessons, and to narrate our adventures in Latin, but with no better success. This last attempt being of no avail, the two strangers exchanged some words in their unknown language, and retired. The door shut. “It is an infamous shame,” cried Ned Land, who broke out for the twentieth time. “We speak to those rogues in French, English, German, and Latin, and not one of them has the politeness to answer!” “Calm yourself,” I said to the impetuous Ned, “anger will do no good.” “But do you see, Professor,” replied our irascible companion, “that we shall absolutely die of hunger in this iron cage?” “Bah!” said Conseil, philosophically; “we can hold out some time yet.” “My friends,” I said, “we must not despair. We have been worse off than this. Do me the favour to wait a little before forming an opinion upon the commander and crew of this boat.” “My opinion is formed,” replied Ned Land, sharply. “They are rascals.” “Good! and from what country?” “From the land of rogues!” “My brave Ned, that country is not clearly indicated on the map of the world; but I admit that the nationality of the two strangers is hard to determine. Neither English, French, nor German, that is quite certain. However, I am inclined to think that the commander and his companion were born in low latitudes. There is southern blood in them. But I cannot decide by their appearance whether they are Spaniards, Turks, Arabians, or Indians. As to their language, it is quite incomprehensible.”