Its fins set vertically, its propeller thrown in gear at the captain’s signal, the Nautilus rose with lightning speed, shooting upward like an air balloon into the sky. Vibrating resonantly, it knifed through the watery mass. Not a single detail was visible. In four minutes it had cleared the four vertical leagues separating it from the surface of the ocean, and after emerging like a flying fish, it fell back into the sea, making the waves leap to prodigious heights. CHAPTER 12 Sperm Whales and Baleen Whales DURING THE NIGHT of March 13-14, the Nautilus resumed its southward heading. Once it was abreast of Cape Horn, I thought it would strike west of the cape, make for Pacific seas, and complete its tour of the world. It did nothing of the sort and kept moving toward the southernmost regions. So where was it bound? The pole? That was insanity. I was beginning to think that the captain’s recklessness more than justified Ned Land’s worst fears. For a good while the Canadian had said nothing more to me about his escape plans. He had become less sociable, almost sullen. I could see how heavily this protracted imprisonment was weighing on him. I could feel the anger building in him. Whenever he encountered the captain, his eyes would flicker with dark fire, and I was in constant dread that his natural vehemence would cause him to do something rash. That day, March 14, he and Conseil managed to find me in my stateroom. I asked them the purpose of their visit. “To put a simple question to you, sir,” the Canadian answered me. “Go on, Ned.” “How many men do you think are on board the Nautilus?” “I’m unable to say, my friend.” “It seems to me,” Ned Land went on, “that it wouldn’t take much of a crew to run a ship like this one.” “Correct,” I replied. “Under existing conditions some ten men at the most should be enough to operate it.” “All right,” the Canadian said, “then why should there be any more than that?” “Why?” I answered. I stared at Ned Land, whose motives were easy to guess. “Because,” I said, “if I can trust my hunches, if I truly understand the captain’s way of life, his Nautilus isn’t simply a ship. It’s meant to be a refuge for people like its commander, people who have severed all ties with the shore.” “Perhaps,” Conseil said, “but in a nutshell, the Nautilus can hold only a certain number of men, so couldn’t master estimate their maximum?” “How, Conseil?” “By calculating it. Master is familiar with the ship’s capacity, hence the amount of air it contains; on the other hand, master knows how much air each man consumes in the act of breathing, and he can compare this data with the fact that the Nautilus must rise to the surface every twenty-four hours . . .” Conseil didn’t finish his sentence, but I could easily see what he was driving at. “I follow you,” I said. “But while they’re simple to do, such calculations can give only a very uncertain figure.” “No problem,” the Canadian went on insistently.