The platform emerged only eighty centimeters above the waves. The Nautilus’s bow and stern boasted that spindle-shaped outline that had caused the ship to be compared appropriately to a long cigar. I noted the slight overlap of its sheet-iron plates, which resembled the scales covering the bodies of our big land reptiles. So I had a perfectly natural explanation for why, despite the best spyglasses, this boat had always been mistaken for a marine animal. Near the middle of the platform, the skiff was half set in the ship’s hull, making a slight bulge. Fore and aft stood two cupolas of moderate height, their sides slanting and partly inset with heavy biconvex glass, one reserved for the helmsman steering the Nautilus, the other for the brilliance of the powerful electric beacon lighting his way. The sea was magnificent, the skies clear. This long aquatic vehicle could barely feel the broad undulations of the ocean. A mild breeze out of the east rippled the surface of the water. Free of all mist, the horizon was ideal for taking sights. There was nothing to be seen. Not a reef, not an islet. No more Abraham Lincoln. A deserted immenseness. Raising his sextant, Captain Nemo took the altitude of the sun, which would give him his latitude. He waited for a few minutes until the orb touched the rim of the horizon. While he was taking his sights, he didn’t move a muscle, and the instrument couldn’t have been steadier in hands made out of marble. “Noon,” he said. “Professor, whenever you’re ready. . . .” I took one last look at the sea, a little yellowish near the landing places of Japan, and I went below again to the main lounge. There the captain fixed his position and used a chronometer to calculate his longitude, which he double-checked against his previous observations of hour angles. Then he told me: “Professor Aronnax, we’re in longitude 137 degrees 15′ west—” “West of which meridian?” I asked quickly, hoping the captain’s reply might give me a clue to his nationality. “Sir,” he answered me, “I have chronometers variously set to the meridians of Paris, Greenwich, and Washington, D.C. But in your honor, I’ll use the one for Paris.” This reply told me nothing. I bowed, and the commander went on: “We’re in longitude 137 degrees 15′ west of the meridian of Paris, and latitude 30 degrees 7′ north, in other words, about 300 miles from the shores of Japan. At noon on this day of November 8, we hereby begin our voyage of exploration under the waters.” “May God be with us!” I replied. “And now, professor,” the captain added, “I’ll leave you to your intellectual pursuits. I’ve set our course east-northeast at a depth of fifty meters. Here are some large-scale charts on which you’ll be able to follow that course. The lounge is at your disposal, and with your permission, I’ll take my leave.”