I replied in good French that I did not know his language; but he seemed not to understand me, and my situation became more embarrassing.
“If master were to tell our story,” said Conseil, “perhaps these gentlemen may understand some words.”
I began to tell our adventures, articulating each syllable clearly, and without omitting one single detail. I announced our names and rank, introducing in person Professor Aronnax, his servant Conseil, and Master Ned Land, the harpooner.
The man with the soft calm eyes listened to me quietly, even politely, and with extreme attention; but nothing in his countenance indicated that he had understood my story. When I finished he said not a word.
There remained one resource, to speak English. Perhaps they would know this almost universal language. I knew it, as well as the German language—well enough to read it fluently, but not to speak it correctly. But anyhow, we must make ourselves understood.
“Go on in your turn,” I said to the harpooner; “speak your best Anglo-Saxon, and try to do better than I.”
Ned did not beg off, and recommenced our story.
To his great disgust, the harpooner did not seem to have made himself more intelligible than I had. Our visitors did not stir. They evidently understood neither the language of Arago nor of Faraday.
Very much embarrassed, after having vainly exhausted our philological resources, I knew not what part to take, when Conseil said:
“If master will permit me, I will relate it in German.”
But in spite of the elegant turns and good accent of the narrator, the German language had no success. At last, nonplussed, I tried to remember my first lessons, and to narrate our adventures in Latin, but with no better success. This last attempt being of no avail, the two strangers exchanged some words in their unknown language and retired.
The door shut.
“It is an infamous shame,” cried Ned Land, who broke out for the twentieth time; “we speak to those rogues in French, English, German, and Latin, and not one of them has the politeness to answer!”
“Calm yourself,” I said to the impetuous Ned, “anger will do no good.”
“But do you see, professor,” replied our irascible companion, “that we shall absolutely die of hunger in this iron cage?”
“Bah,” said Conseil philosophically; “we can hold out some time yet.”
“My friends,” I said, “we must not despair. We have been worse off than this. Do me the favor to wait a little before forming an opinion upon the commander and crew of this boat.”
“My opinion is formed,” replied Ned Land sharply. “They are rascals.”
“Good! And from what country?”
“From the land of rogues!”
“My brave Ned, that country is not clearly indicated on the map of the world; but I admit that the nationality of the two strangers is hard to determine. Neither English, French, nor German, that is quite certain. However, I am inclined to think that the commander and his companion were born in low latitudes. There is southern blood in them. But I cannot decide by their appearance whether they are Spaniards, Turks, Arabians, or Indians. As to their language, it is quite incomprehensible.”
“There is the disadvantage of not knowing all languages,” said Conseil, “or the disadvantage of not having one universal language.”
As he said these words, the door opened. A steward entered. He brought us clothes, coats and trousers, made of a stuff I did not know. I hastened to dress myself, and my companions followed my example. During that time, the steward—dumb, perhaps deaf—had arranged the table, and laid three plates.
“This is something like,” said Conseil.
“Bah,” said the rancorous harpooner, “what do you suppose they eat here? Tortoise liver, filleted shark, and beefsteaks from sea dogs.”
“We shall see,” said Conseil.
The dishes, of bell metal, were placed on the table, and we took our places. Undoubtedly we had to do with civilized people, and had it not been for the electric light which flooded us, I could have fancied I was in the dining-room of the Adelphi Hotel at Liverpool, or at the Grand Hotel in Paris. I must say, however, that there was neither bread nor wine. The water was fresh and clear, but it was water, and did not suit Ned Land’s taste. Among the dishes which were brought to us, I recognized several fish delicately dressed; but of some, although excellent, I could give no opinion, neither could I tell to what kingdom they belonged, whether animal or vegetable. As to the dinner service, it was elegant, and in perfect taste. Each utensil, spoon, fork, knife, plate, had a letter engraved on it, with a motto above it, of which this is an exact facsimile: