In the centre of the room was a splendidly-served table. Captain Nemo pointed out my place.
“Sit down,” said he, “and eat like a man who is dying of hunger.”
The meal was composed of a certain number of dishes which only the sea could have supplied, and some of which I was entirely ignorant. They were very good, but of curious flavour, to which, however, I speedily became accustomed. These various dishes were rich in phosphorus, and from this I argued that they were of oceanic origin.
Captain Nemo was looking at me. I asked him nothing, but he divined my thoughts, and replied voluntarily to the questions I was burning to address to him.
“The greater part of these dishes are unknown,” said he; “but you may eat without fear. They are wholesome and nourishing. For years I have renounced all sustenance derived from the earth, and am none the worse. My crew, who are strong fellows, live as I do.”
“All these things are produced in the sea, then?”
“Yes, the ocean furnishes me with all I require. Sometimes I spread my nets astern, and haul them in ready to break. Sometimes I go hunting in this element so inaccessible to man, and I take the game that inhabits the submarine forests. My flocks, like those of father Neptune, feed fearlessly in the submarine pastures, and share a vast estate which I cultivate myself, and which is always sown by the hand of the Creator of all things.
