Well, but allow me to finish, please, sir; if this phenomenon should take place, it will be troublesome for M. Lesseps, who has taken so much pains to pierce the isthmus. Well, captain, what the ancients dared not undertake, this junction between the two seas, which will shorten the road from Cadiz to India, M. Lesseps has succeeded in doing; and before long he will have changed Africa into an immense island. But how shall we get off? Go, Ned, said the captain. Engineer, put on more pressure.
And I can visit the celebrated islands where the Boussole and the Astrolabe struck? If you will excuse me, sir, answered Conseil, friend Ned is busy making a kangaroo-pie, which will be a marvel. Just then a noise was heard outside. Steps sounded on the metal flags. The locks were turned, the door opened, and the steward appeared. Can a whale-fisher ever forget his old trade, sir? Can he ever tire of the emotions caused by such a chase?
You wished to see, friend Ned; well, you see now. I admit your calculations, captain, I replied; I should be wrong to dispute them since daily experience confirms them; but I foresee a real difficulty in the way. Now, permit me to finish what I have to say to you. I know you, M. Aronnax. You and your companions will not, perhaps, have so much to complain of in the chance which has bound you to my fate. You will find among the books which are my favorite study the work which you have published on 'the depths of the sea.' I have often read it. You have carried your work as far as terrestrial science permitted you. But you do not know all-you have not seen all. Let me tell you then, professor, that you will not regret the time passed on board my vessel. You are going to visit the land of marvels. There indeed, under my eyes, ruined, destroyed, lay a town-its roofs open to the sky, its temples fallen, its arches dislocated, its columns lying on the ground, from which one could still recognize the massive character of Tuscan architecture. Further on, some remains of a gigantic aqueduct; here the high base of an Acropolis, with the floating outline of a Parthenon; there traces of a quay, as if an ancient port had formerly abutted on the borders of the ocean, and disappeared with its merchant vessels and its war galleys. Further on again, long lines of sunken walls and broad deserted streets-a perfect Pompeii escaped beneath the waters. Such was the sight that Captain Nemo brought before my eyes.