Chapter Chapter 39 · WANT OF AIR

OF AIR

Thus around the _Nautilus_, above and below, was an impenetrable wall

of ice. We were prisoners to the iceberg. I watched the Captain. His

countenance had resumed its habitual imperturbability.

“Gentlemen,” he said calmly, “there are two ways of dying in the

circumstances in which we are placed.” (This puzzling person had the

air of a mathematical professor lecturing to his pupils.) “The first is

to be crushed; the second is to die of suffocation. I do not speak of

the possibility of dying of hunger, for the supply of provisions in the

_Nautilus_ will certainly last longer than we shall. Let us, then,

calculate our chances.”

“As to suffocation, Captain,” I replied, “that is not to be feared,

because our reservoirs are full.”

“Just so; but they will only yield two days’ supply of air. Now, for

thirty-six hours we have been hidden under the water, and already the

heavy atmosphere of the _Nautilus_ requires renewal. In forty-eight

hours our reserve will be exhausted.”

“Well, Captain, can we be delivered before forty-eight hours?”

“We will attempt it, at least, by piercing the wall that surrounds us.”

“On which side?”

“Sound will tell us. I am going to run the _Nautilus_ aground on the

lower bank, and my men will attack the iceberg on the side that is

least thick.”

Captain Nemo went out. Soon I discovered by a hissing noise that the

water was entering the reservoirs. The _Nautilus_ sank slowly, and

rested on the ice at a depth of 350 yards, the depth at which the lower

bank was immersed.

“My friends,” I said, “our situation is serious, but I rely on your

courage and energy.”

“Sir,” replied the Canadian, “I am ready to do anything for the general

safety.”

“Good! Ned,” and I held out my hand to the Canadian.

“I will add,” he continued, “that, being as handy with the pickaxe as

with the harpoon, if I can be useful to the Captain, he can command my

services.”

“He will not refuse your help. Come, Ned!”

I led him to the room where the crew of the _Nautilus_ were putting on

their cork-jackets. I told the Captain of Ned’s proposal, which he

accepted. The Canadian put on his sea-costume, and was ready as soon as

his companions. When Ned was dressed, I re-entered the drawing-room,

where the panes of glass were open, and, posted near Conseil, I

examined the ambient beds that supported the _Nautilus_. Some instants

after, we saw a dozen of the crew set foot on the bank of ice, and

among them Ned Land, easily known by his stature. Captain Nemo was with

them. Before proceeding to dig the walls, he took the soundings, to be

sure of working in the right direction. Long sounding lines were sunk

in the side walls, but after fifteen yards they were again stopped by

the thick wall. It was useless to attack it on the ceiling-like

surface, since the iceberg itself measured more than 400 yards in

height. Captain Nemo then sounded the lower surface. There ten yards of

wall separated us from the water, so great was the thickness of the

ice-field. It was necessary, therefore, to cut from it a piece equal in

extent to the waterline of the _Nautilus_. There were about 6,000 cubic

yards to detach, so as to dig a hole by which we could descend to the

ice-field. The work had begun immediately and carried on with

indefatigable energy. Instead of digging round the _Nautilus_ which

would have involved greater difficulty, Captain Nemo had an immense

trench made at eight yards from the port-quarter. Then the men set to

work simultaneously with their screws on several points of its

circumference. Presently the pickaxe attacked this compact matter

vigorously, and large blocks were detached from the mass. By a curious

effect of specific gravity, these blocks, lighter than water, fled, so

to speak, to the vault of the tunnel, that increased in thickness at

the top in proportion as it diminished at the base. But that mattered

little, so long as the lower part grew thinner. After two hours’ hard

work, Ned Land came in exhausted. He and his comrades were replaced by

new workers, whom Conseil and I joined. The second lieutenant of the

_Nautilus_ superintended us. The water seemed singularly cold, but I

soon got warm handling the pickaxe. My movements were free enough,

although they were made under a pressure of thirty atmospheres. When I

re-entered, after working two hours, to take some food and rest, I

found a perceptible difference between the pure fluid with which the

Rouquayrol engine supplied me and the atmosphere of the _Nautilus_,

already charged with carbonic acid. The air had not been renewed for

forty-eight hours, and its vivifying qualities were considerably

enfeebled. However, after a lapse of twelve hours, we had only raised a

block of ice one yard thick, on the marked surface, which was about 600

cubic yards! Reckoning that it took twelve hours to accomplish this

much it would take five nights and four days to bring this enterprise

to a satisfactory conclusion. Five nights and four days! And we have

only air enough for two days in the reservoirs! “Without taking into

account,” said Ned, “that, even if we get out of this infernal prison,

we shall also be imprisoned under the iceberg, shut out from all

possible communication with the atmosphere.” True enough! Who could

then foresee the minimum of time necessary for our deliverance? We

might be suffocated before the _Nautilus_ could regain the surface of

the waves? Was it destined to perish in this ice-tomb, with all those

it enclosed? The situation was terrible. But everyone had looked the

danger in the face, and each was determined to do his duty to the last.

As I expected, during the night a new block a yard square was carried

away, and still further sank the immense hollow. But in the morning

when, dressed in my cork-jacket, I traversed the slushy mass at a

temperature of six or seven degrees below zero, I remarked that the

side walls were gradually closing in. The beds of water farthest from

the trench, that were not warmed by the men’s work, showed a tendency

to solidification. In presence of this new and imminent danger, what

would become of our chances of safety, and how hinder the

solidification of this liquid medium, that would burst the partitions

of the _Nautilus_ like glass?

I did not tell my companions of this new danger. What was the good of

damping the energy they displayed in the painful work of escape? But

when I went on board again, I told Captain Nemo of this grave

complication.

“I know it,” he said, in that calm tone which could counteract the most

terrible apprehensions. “It is one danger more; but I see no way of

escaping it; the only chance of safety is to go quicker than

solidification. We must be beforehand with it, that is all.”

On this day for several hours I used my pickaxe vigorously. The work

kept me up. Besides, to work was to quit the _Nautilus_, and breathe

directly the pure air drawn from the reservoirs, and supplied by our

apparatus, and to quit the impoverished and vitiated atmosphere.

Towards evening the trench was dug one yard deeper. When I returned on

board, I was nearly suffocated by the carbonic acid with which the air

was filled—ah! if we had only the chemical means to drive away this

deleterious gas. We had plenty of oxygen; all this water contained a

considerable quantity, and by dissolving it with our powerful piles, it

would restore the vivifying fluid. I had thought well over it; but of

what good was that, since the carbonic acid produced by our respiration

had invaded every part of the vessel? To absorb it, it was necessary to

fill some jars with caustic potash, and to shake them incessantly. Now

this substance was wanting on board, and nothing could replace it. On

that evening, Captain Nemo ought to open the taps of his reservoirs,

and let some pure air into the interior of the _Nautilus;_ without this

precaution we could not get rid of the sense of suffocation. The next

day, March 26th, I resumed my miner’s work in beginning the fifth yard.

The side walls and the lower surface of the iceberg thickened visibly.

It was evident that they would meet before the _Nautilus_ was able to

disengage itself. Despair seized me for an instant; my pickaxe nearly

fell from my hands. What was the good of digging if I must be

suffocated, crushed by the water that was turning into stone?—a

punishment that the ferocity of the savages even would not have

invented! Just then Captain Nemo passed near me. I touched his hand and

showed him the walls of our prison. The wall to port had advanced to at

least four yards from the hull of the _Nautilus_. The Captain

understood me, and signed me to follow him. We went on board. I took

off my cork-jacket and accompanied him into the drawing-room.

“M. Aronnax, we must attempt some desperate means, or we shall be

sealed up in this solidified water as in cement.”

“Yes; but what is to be done?”

“Ah! if my _Nautilus_ were strong enough to bear this pressure without

being crushed!”

“Well?” I asked, not catching the Captain’s idea.

“Do you not understand,” he replied, “that this congelation of water

will help us? Do you not see that by its solidification, it would burst

through this field of ice that imprisons us, as, when it freezes, it

bursts the hardest stones? Do you not perceive that it would be an

agent of safety instead of destruction?”

“Yes, Captain, perhaps. But, whatever resistance to crushing the

_Nautilus_ possesses, it could not support this terrible pressure, and

would be flattened like an iron plate.”

“I know it, sir. Therefore we must not reckon on the aid of nature, but

on our own exertions. We must stop this solidification. Not only will

the side walls be pressed together; but there is not ten feet of water

before or behind the _Nautilus_. The congelation gains on us on all

sides.”

“How long will the air in the reservoirs last for us to breathe on

board?”

The Captain looked in my face. “After to-morrow they will be empty!”

A cold sweat came over me. However, ought I to have been astonished at

the answer? On March 22, the _Nautilus_ was in the open polar seas. We

were at 26°. For five days we had lived on the reserve on board. And

what was left of the respirable air must be kept for the workers. Even

now, as I write, my recollection is still so vivid that an involuntary

terror seizes me and my lungs seem to be without air. Meanwhile,

Captain Nemo reflected silently, and evidently an idea had struck him;

but he seemed to reject it. At last, these words escaped his lips:

“Boiling water!” he muttered.

“Boiling water?” I cried.

“Yes, sir. We are enclosed in a space that is relatively confined.

Would not jets of boiling water, constantly injected by the pumps,

raise the temperature in this part and stay the congelation?”

“Let us try it,” I said resolutely.

“Let us try it, Professor.”

The thermometer then stood at 7° outside. Captain Nemo took me to the

galleys, where the vast distillatory machines stood that furnished the

drinkable water by evaporation. They filled these with water, and all

the electric heat from the piles was thrown through the worms bathed in

the liquid. In a few minutes this water reached 100°. It was directed

towards the pumps, while fresh water replaced it in proportion. The

heat developed by the troughs was such that cold water, drawn up from

the sea after only having gone through the machines, came boiling into

the body of the pump. The injection was begun, and three hours after

the thermometer marked 6° below zero outside. One degree was gained.

Two hours later the thermometer only marked 4°.

“We shall succeed,” I said to the Captain, after having anxiously

watched the result of the operation.

“I think,” he answered, “that we shall not be crushed. We have no more

suffocation to fear.”

During the night the temperature of the water rose to 1° below zero.

The injections could not carry it to a higher point. But, as the

congelation of the sea-water produces at least 2°, I was at least

reassured against the dangers of solidification.

The next day, March 27th, six yards of ice had been cleared, twelve

feet only remaining to be cleared away. There was yet forty-eight

hours’ work. The air could not be renewed in the interior of the

_Nautilus_. And this day would make it worse. An intolerable weight

oppressed me. Towards three o’clock in the evening this feeling rose to

a violent degree. Yawns dislocated my jaws. My lungs panted as they

inhaled this burning fluid, which became rarefied more and more. A

moral torpor took hold of me. I was powerless, almost unconscious. My

brave Conseil, though exhibiting the same symptoms and suffering in the

same manner, never left me. He took my hand and encouraged me, and I

heard him murmur, “Oh! if I could only not breathe, so as to leave more

air for my master!”

Tears came into my eyes on hearing him speak thus. If our situation to

all was intolerable in the interior, with what haste and gladness would

we put on our cork-jackets to work in our turn! Pickaxes sounded on the

frozen ice-beds. Our arms ached, the skin was torn off our hands. But

what were these fatigues, what did the wounds matter? Vital air came to

the lungs! We breathed! we breathed!

All this time no one prolonged his voluntary task beyond the prescribed

time. His task accomplished, each one handed in turn to his panting

companions the apparatus that supplied him with life. Captain Nemo set

the example, and submitted first to this severe discipline. When the

time came, he gave up his apparatus to another and returned to the

vitiated air on board, calm, unflinching, unmurmuring.

On that day the ordinary work was accomplished with unusual vigour.

Only two yards remained to be raised from the surface. Two yards only

separated us from the open sea. But the reservoirs were nearly emptied

of air. The little that remained ought to be kept for the workers; not

a particle for the _Nautilus_. When I went back on board, I was half

suffocated. What a night! I know not how to describe it. The next day

my breathing was oppressed. Dizziness accompanied the pain in my head

and made me like a drunken man. My companions showed the same symptoms.

Some of the crew had rattling in the throat.

On that day, the sixth of our imprisonment, Captain Nemo, finding the

pickaxes work too slowly, resolved to crush the ice-bed that still

separated us from the liquid sheet. This man’s coolness and energy

never forsook him. He subdued his physical pains by moral force.

By his orders the vessel was lightened, that is to say, raised from the

ice-bed by a change of specific gravity. When it floated they towed it

so as to bring it above the immense trench made on the level of the

water-line. Then, filling his reservoirs of water, he descended and

shut himself up in the hole.

Just then all the crew came on board, and the double door of

communication was shut. The _Nautilus_ then rested on the bed of ice,

which was not one yard thick, and which the sounding leads had

perforated in a thousand places. The taps of the reservoirs were then

opened, and a hundred cubic yards of water was let in, increasing the

weight of the _Nautilus_ to 1,800 tons. We waited, we listened,

forgetting our sufferings in hope. Our safety depended on this last

chance. Notwithstanding the buzzing in my head, I soon heard the

humming sound under the hull of the _Nautilus_. The ice cracked with a

singular noise, like tearing paper, and the _Nautilus_ sank.

“We are off!” murmured Conseil in my ear.

I could not answer him. I seized his hand, and pressed it convulsively.

All at once, carried away by its frightful overcharge, the _Nautilus_

sank like a bullet under the waters, that is to say, it fell as if it

was in a vacuum. Then all the electric force was put on the pumps, that

soon began to let the water out of the reservoirs. After some minutes,

our fall was stopped. Soon, too, the manometer indicated an ascending

movement. The screw, going at full speed, made the iron hull tremble to

its very bolts and drew us towards the north. But if this floating

under the iceberg is to last another day before we reach the open sea,

I shall be dead first.

Half stretched upon a divan in the library, I was suffocating. My face

was purple, my lips blue, my faculties suspended. I neither saw nor

heard. All notion of time had gone from my mind. My muscles could not

contract. I do not know how many hours passed thus, but I was conscious

of the agony that was coming over me. I felt as if I was going to die.

Suddenly I came to. Some breaths of air penetrated my lungs. Had we

risen to the surface of the waves? Were we free of the iceberg? No! Ned

and Conseil, my two brave friends, were sacrificing themselves to save

me. Some particles of air still remained at the bottom of one

apparatus. Instead of using it, they had kept it for me, and, while

they were being suffocated, they gave me life, drop by drop. I wanted

to push back the thing; they held my hands, and for some moments I

breathed freely. I looked at the clock; it was eleven in the morning.

It ought to be the 28th of March. The _Nautilus_ went at a frightful

pace, forty miles an hour. It literally tore through the water. Where

was Captain Nemo? Had he succumbed? Were his companions dead with him?

At the moment the manometer indicated that we were not more than twenty

feet from the surface. A mere plate of ice separated us from the

atmosphere. Could we not break it? Perhaps. In any case the _Nautilus_

was going to attempt it. I felt that it was in an oblique position,

lowering the stern, and raising the bows. The introduction of water had

been the means of disturbing its equilibrium. Then, impelled by its

powerful screw, it attacked the ice-field from beneath like a

formidable battering-ram. It broke it by backing and then rushing

forward against the field, which gradually gave way; and at last,

dashing suddenly against it, shot forwards on the ice-field, that

crushed beneath its weight. The panel was opened—one might say torn

off—and the pure air came in in abundance to all parts of the

_Nautilus_.

CHAPT