more, when, on the 16th November, as I entered my room with Conseil and Ned, I found a note on my table addressed to me.
I opened it quickly. It was written in a clear, bold hand, something of a German type was evident.
“To M. Aronnax,
“On board the Nautilus,
“16th November, 1867.
“Captain Nemo requests the pleasure of Professor Aronnax’s society at a shooting party, to be held tomorrow morning, in the woods of the island of Crespo. Captain Nemo hopes that nothing will prevent M. Aronnax from attending, and will be pleased if his companions will also join the party.”
“A shooting party!” cried Ned.
“And in his forests of Crespo!” added Conseil.
“But this particular gentleman must go ashore then!” said Ned.
“That is sufficiently clear from the note,” I said, re-reading it.
“Well, we must accept the invitation,” said the Canadian. “Once on shore we shall know what to do. Moreover, I shall not be sorry to have a little fresh meat.”
Without stopping to reconcile the inconsistency of Captain Nemo, who, while professing horror of continents and islands, yet goes shooting in a wood, I merely accepted the invitation.
“Let us find where this island of Crespo is!”
I turned to the map, and at 32° 40′ N. lat., and 167° 50′ E. long., I found the island discovered by Captain Crespo, in 1801. The old Spanish maps call it “Rocca
