e
not going to eat us. This isn't an oven, and I think we are better here
than up above."

"At least we had our liberty," continued the doctor, who was never
satisfied or happy unless he was at work or grumbling.

"I've got a knife," said Stump boldly, "and I'll stick the first that
comes near me. It's a regular pig-sticker, my knife, and I'll bet they
feel it."

"Don't you do anything of the sort!" cried Mont. "You might get us all
killed."

"It's very hard if a poor boy can't do something."

"You'll get it hot if anyone is listening to you. If you don't care for
yourself, think of us."

Stump grumbled inaudibly, and Mont began to take the dimensions of the
prison in which they were.

This he did by walking about, and he made it twenty feet long by ten
wide. The walls were of iron, made of plates riveted together.

Half an hour passed. At the expiration of that time, the cabin was
illuminated by a flood of light so vivid and blinding that it was
difficult to bear the intensity.

Mont recognized the electric light that had floated round the ship when
he first saw it.

When he got used to its clear whiteness, he looked up and saw that it
proceeded from a globe which hung from the ceiling.

"Light at last; our captors are becoming more civil," said the doctor,
rubbing his hands gayly.

"It's about time, I think," answered our hero.

They were not much better off, however, for the cabin only contained a
table and five wooden stools, but the light was refreshing and made them
more cheerful.

Not a sound reached their ears; everywhere reigned the silence of the
grave.

Perhaps the ship had sunk to the bottom of the ocean, for it seemed to
have the power of going where its strange owner wished.

In a short time the door opened and two men appeared.

"Visitors at last!" murmured Mont to himself.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE OWNER OF THE SUBMARINE MONSTER.

Of the two who had entered one was a negro, with intelligent but flat
face, and short, woolly hair.

The other was a tall, handsome white man, with keen, searching eyes that
looked into the very soul.

He wore a thick mustache, whiskers, and beard, and appeared to be an
American.

He regarded the prisoners with a fixed gaze and said something to the
negro in an unknown language, which was so sweet and soft that it seemed
to be all vowels and no consonants.

At length he fixed his eyes upon the doctor, who, as the eldest of the
party, seemed