n this ocean river that the Nautilus then sailed.

I must add that, during the night, the phosphorescent waters of the
Gulf Stream rivalled the electric power of our watch-light, especially
in the stormy weather that threatened us so frequently. May 8th, we
were still crossing Cape Hatteras, at the height of the North Caroline.
The width of the Gulf Stream there is seventy-five miles, and its depth
210 yards. The Nautilus still went at random; all supervision seemed
abandoned. I thought that, under these circumstances, escape would be
possible. Indeed, the inhabited shores offered anywhere an easy
refuge. The sea was incessantly ploughed by the steamers that ply
between New York or Boston and the Gulf of Mexico, and overrun day and
night by the little schooners coasting about the several parts of the
American coast. We could hope to be picked up. It was a favourable
opportunity, notwithstanding the thirty miles that separated the
Nautilus from the coasts of the Union. One unfortunate circumstance
thwarted the Canadian's plans. The weather was very bad. We were
nearing those shores where tempests are so frequent, that country of
waterspouts and cyclones actually engendered by the current of the Gulf
Stream. To tempt the sea in a frail boat was certain destruction. Ned
Land owned this himself. He fretted, seized with nostalgia that flight
only could cure.

"Master," he said that day to me, "this must come to an end. I must
make a clean breast of it. This Nemo is leaving land and going up to
the north. But I declare to you that I have had enough of the South
Pole, and I will not follow him to the North."

"What is to be done, Ned, since flight is impracticable just now?"

"We must speak to the Captain," said he; "you said nothing when we were
in your native seas. I will speak, now we are in mine. When I think
that before long the Nautilus will be by Nova Scotia, and that there
near New foundland is a large bay, and into that bay the St. Lawrence
empties itself, and that the St. Lawrence is my river, the river by
Quebec, my native town--when I think of this, I feel furious, it makes
my hair stand on end. Sir, I would rather throw myself into the sea!
I will not stay here! I am stifled!"

The Canadian was evidently losing all patience. His vigorous nature
could not stand this prolonged imprisonment. His face altered daily;
his temper became more surly. I knew what he must suffer, for I was
seized