Happy Ned proposed to return to this enchanting island the next day, for he wished to depopulate it of all the eatable quadrupeds. But he reckoned without his host.
At six o'clock in the evening we had regained the shore; our boat was moored to the usual place. The Nautilus, like a long rock, emerged from the waves two miles from the beach. Ned Land, without waiting, occupied himself about the important dinner business. He understood all about cooking well. The "bari-outang," grilled on the coals, soon scented the air with a delicious odor.
Indeed, the dinner was excellent. Two wood-pigeons completed this extraordinary menu. The sago pasty, the artocarpus bread, some mangos, half a dozen pineapples, and the liquid fermented from some cocoanuts, overjoyed us. I even think that my worthy companions' ideas had not all the plainness desirable.
"Suppose we do not return to the Nautilus this evening?" said Conseil.
"Suppose we never return?" added Ned Land.
Just then a stone fell at our feet, and cut short the harpooner's proposition.
CHAPTER XXI
CAPTAIN NEMO'S THUNDERBOLT
We looked at the edge of the forest without rising, my hand stopping in the action of putting it to my mouth. Ned Land's completing its office.
"Stones do not fall from the sky," remarked Conseil, "or they would merit the name of aërolites."
A second stone, carefully aimed, that made a savory pigeon's leg fall from Conseil's hand, gave still more weight to his observation. We all three arose, shouldered our guns, and were ready to reply to any attack.
"Are they apes?" cried Ned Land.
"Very nearly—they are savages."
"To the boat!" I said, hurrying to the sea.
It was indeed necessary to beat a retreat, for about twenty natives, armed with bows and slings, appeared on the skirts of a copse that masked the horizon to the right, hardly a hundred steps from us.
