So Conseil and I were deep in the contemplation of our treasure, and I was solemnly promising myself to enrich the Paris Museum with it, when an ill-timed stone, hurled by one of the islanders, whizzed over and shattered the valuable object in Conseil’s hands. I gave a yell of despair! Conseil pounced on his rifle and aimed at a savage swinging a sling just ten meters away from him. I tried to stop him, but his shot went off and shattered a bracelet of amulets dangling from the islander’s arm. “Conseil!” I shouted. “Conseil!” “Eh? What? Didn’t master see that this man-eater initiated the attack?” “A shell isn’t worth a human life!” I told him. “Oh, the rascal!” Conseil exclaimed. “I’d rather he cracked my shoulder!” Conseil was in dead earnest, but I didn’t subscribe to his views. However, the situation had changed in only a short time and we hadn’t noticed. Now some twenty dugout canoes were surrounding the Nautilus. Hollowed from tree trunks, these dugouts were long, narrow, and well designed for speed, keeping their balance by means of two bamboo poles that floated on the surface of the water. They were maneuvered by skillful, half-naked paddlers, and I viewed their advance with definite alarm. It was obvious these Papuans had already entered into relations with Europeans and knew their ships. But this long, iron cylinder lying in the bay, with no masts or funnels—what were they to make of it? Nothing good, because at first they kept it at a respectful distance. However, seeing that it stayed motionless, they regained confidence little by little and tried to become more familiar with it. Now then, it was precisely this familiarity that we needed to prevent. Since our weapons made no sound when they went off, they would have only a moderate effect on these islanders, who reputedly respect nothing but noisy mechanisms. Without thunderclaps, lightning bolts would be much less frightening, although the danger lies in the flash, not the noise. Just then the dugout canoes drew nearer to the Nautilus, and a cloud of arrows burst over us. “Fire and brimstone, it’s hailing!” Conseil said. “And poisoned hail perhaps!” “We’ve got to alert Captain Nemo,” I said, reentering the hatch. I went below to the lounge. I found no one there. I ventured a knock at the door opening into the captain’s stateroom. The word “Enter!” answered me. I did so and found Captain Nemo busy with calculations in which there was no shortage of X and other algebraic signs. “Am I disturbing you?” I said out of politeness. “Correct, Professor Aronnax,” the captain answered me. “But I imagine you have pressing reasons for looking me up?” “Very pressing. Native dugout canoes are surrounding us, and in a few minutes we’re sure to be assaulted by several hundred savages.” “Ah!” Captain Nemo put in serenely. “They’ve come in their dugouts?” “Yes, sir.” “Well, sir, closing the hatches should do the trick.” “Precisely, and that’s what I came to tell you—”