Page:Twenty Thousand Verne Frith 1876.pdf/446

 mometer marked 6° below zero. We had gained a degree. Two hours after the thermometer marked 4°.

We shall succeed,” said I to the captain, having most carefully watched the progress of the operation.

“I think so,” he said. “We shall not be crushed, and so have only suffocation to fear.”

During the night the temperature of the water rose to one degree below zero. The injections could not carry it any higher. But as the congelation of the sea water is only produced at 2°, I was reassured against solidification.

The following day, 27th March, eighteen feet of ice had been cut away. Twelve feet only remained. We had still forty-eight hours to work in. The air could not be renewed in the interior of the Nautilus, so this day would make it worse still. An intolerable weight pressed upon me. About 3 this feeling of distress affected me in a violent degree. I yawned enough to dislocate my jaws. I panted in endeavouring to inhale the burning fluid so necessary to respiration, and which became more and more rarefied. A mortal torpor oppressed me. I was powerless, almost unconscious. My brave Conseil, similarly affected, and suffering as I did, never quitted my side. He took my hand, he gave me encouragement, and I heard him murmur:

“Ah, if I were not obliged to breathe I should be able to leave more air for Monsieur.” Tears came to my eyes at hearing him speak thus.

If our situation all round was so intolerable on board, you can imagine how willingly we donned our diving-dresses for work. The blows of the pickaxes resounded on the frozen ice-beds. Our arms were aching, the skin was peeling from our hands, but what was fatigue? what did wounds matter? We had air for our lungs, we breathed—we breathed!