“Can’t be,” the Canadian replied, “because this one’s complete while the other one lost its tail!”
“That doesn’t necessarily follow,” I said. “The arms and tails of these animals grow back through regeneration, and in seven years the tail on Bouguer’s Squid has surely had time to sprout again.”
“Anyhow,” Ned shot back, “if it isn’t this fellow, maybe it’s one of those!”
Indeed, other devilfish had appeared at the starboard window. I counted seven of them. They provided the Nautilus with an escort, and I could hear their beaks gnashing on the sheet-iron hull. We couldn’t have asked for a more devoted following.
I continued sketching. These monsters kept pace in our waters with such precision, they seemed to be standing still, and I could have traced their outlines in miniature on the window. But we were moving at a moderate speed.
All at once the Nautilus stopped. A jolt made it tremble through its entire framework.
“Did we strike bottom?” I asked.
“In any event we’re already clear,” the Canadian replied, “because we’re afloat.”
The Nautilus was certainly afloat, but it was no longer in motion. The blades of its propeller weren’t churning the waves. A minute passed. Followed by his chief officer, Captain Nemo entered the lounge.
I hadn’t seen him for a good while. He looked gloomy to me. Without speaking to us, without even seeing us perhaps, he went to the panel, stared at the devilfish, and said a few words to his chief officer.