We hugged it from less than two miles out.
A sudden jolt threw me down. The Nautilus had just struck a reef,
and it remained motionless, listing slightly to port.
When I stood up, I saw Captain Nemo and his chief officer on
the platform. They were examining the ship's circumstances,
exchanging a few words in their incomprehensible dialect.
Here is what those circumstances entailed. Two miles to starboard lay
Gueboroa Island, its coastline curving north to west like an immense arm.
To the south and east, heads of coral were already on display,
left uncovered by the ebbing waters. We had run aground at full tide
and in one of those seas whose tides are moderate, an inconvenient
state of affairs for floating the Nautilus off. However, the ship
hadn't suffered in any way, so solidly joined was its hull.
But although it could neither sink nor split open, it was in serious
danger of being permanently attached to these reefs, and that would
have been the finish of Captain Nemo's submersible.
I was mulling this over when the captain approached, cool and calm,
forever in control of himself, looking neither alarmed nor annoyed.
"An accident?" I said to him.
"No, an incident," he answered me.
"But an incident," I replied, "that may oblige you to become
a resident again of these shores you avoid!"
Captain Nemo gave me an odd look and gestured no.
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