glasses I make use of are not less than twenty-one centimetres thick in the centre—that is to say, thirty times more than those.”
“Admitted,” said I; “but to be able to see the light you must overcome the obscurity of the water. How is that accomplished?”
“Behind the steersman a powerful electric light is placed, which lights up the sea for half a mile ahead.”
“Well done, indeed, captain! I can now comprehend the phosphoresence of the pretended narwhal, which has puzzled all the “knowing ones.” By the way, may I ask if the collision between the Nautilus and the Scotia was purely accidental?”
“Entirely so. I was moving two yards under water when the collision occurred. I saw that it had no unpleasant result.”
“None; but how about your meeting with the Abraham Lincoln?”
“I am very sorry, Monsieur, for one of the ships of the fine American navy; but she attacked me, and I only defended myself. Moreover, I was content to let the frigate off easily. They will have no difficulty to repair her in the nearest port.”
“Ah!” I cried, with an air of conviction, “there is no doubt that your Nautilus is a wonderful vessel.”
“Yes,” replied Captain Nemo, with emotion, “indeed she is, and I love her as my own child. If all is danger upon one of your vessels launched upon the ocean, if upon the sea “the first impression is of the gulf beneath”—as has been well said by Jansen—in the Nautilus a man has nothing to fear. No injury, for the double hull is as strong as iron can be; no inconvenience from
