Want Of Air
:
PART TWO
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
rushed; 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 deg.. 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 deg. 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 deg.. 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 deg. below zero
outside. One degree was gained. Two hours later the thermometer only
marked 4 deg..
"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 deg. below
zero. The injections could not carry it to a higher point. But, as
the congelation of the sea-water produces at least 2 deg., 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.