would right herself, no doubt, when the ice-block was separated from her. But at that moment we could not tell whether we might not be crushed up against the iceberg, and crushed between the blocks.
I kept thinking of the consequences of the situation. Captain Nemo never took his gaze from the manometer. The Nautilus, since the fall of the iceberg, had risen about 150 feet, but at the same angle as before.
Suddenly a slight movement was felt. The vessel was evidently righting a little. The objects suspended in the saloon appeared to be recovering their normal position. The sides got more upright. No one spoke a word. With beating hearts we watched, and felt the ship recovering herself. The floor was at length horizontal. Ten minutes elapsed.
“At length we have righted!” I cried.
“Yes,” said the captain, as he advanced to the door.
“But are we floating?” I asked.
“Certainly,” he replied, “since the reservoirs are not empty. When they are empty we shall rise to the surface again.”
The captain went out, and I soon found that the ascent of the Nautilus had been stopped. We should soon have struck against the bottom of the iceberg had we gone up, and it was more prudent to remain beneath the waters.
“We have escaped very well,” said Conseil.
“Yes, indeed. We might have been crushed between the blocks of ice, or at any rate imprisoned. And, then, in the absence of opportunity to renew the air———! Yes, we have escaped very well.”
“If it is all over,” murmured Ned.
I did not wish to enter on a useless discussion with the
