For my part, I did not wish to bury with me my curious and novel studies. I had now the power to write the true book of the sea; and this book, sooner or later, I wished to see daylight. The land nearest us was the archipelago of the Bahamas. There rose high submarine cliffs covered with large weeds. It was about eleven o’clock when Ned Land drew my attention to a formidable pricking, like the sting of an ant, which was produced by means of large seaweeds. “Well,” I said, “these are proper caverns for poulps, and I should not be astonished to see some of these monsters.” “What!” said Conseil; “cuttlefish, real cuttlefish of the cephalopod class?” “No,” I said, “poulps of huge dimensions.” “I will never believe that such animals exist,” said Ned. “Well,” said Conseil, with the most serious air in the world, “I remember perfectly to have seen a large vessel drawn under the waves by an octopus’s arm.” “You saw that?” said the Canadian. “Yes, Ned.” “With your own eyes?” “With my own eyes.” “Where, pray, might that be?” “At St. Malo,” answered Conseil. “In the port?” said Ned, ironically. “No; in a church,” replied Conseil. “In a church!” cried the Canadian. “Yes; friend Ned. In a picture representing the poulp in question.” “Good!” said Ned Land, bursting out laughing. “He is quite right,” I said.