Nevertheless, no one prolonged his turn under water beyond his allotted time. His task finished, each one handed to a companion the reservoirs that supplied him with vital air. Captain Nemo set the example, and was the first to submit to this severe discipline. As the time came round he handed his dress to another, and returned to the vitiated atmosphere on board, calm as ever, without a murmur, unflinchingly.
On that day our usual work was accomplished with more than usual vigour. Six feet only remained to be raised. Only two yards separated us from the open sea. But the air reservoirs were almost empty. What little remained must be kept for the working parties. Not an atom for the Nautilus.
When I returned on board I felt half suffocated. What a night I passed! I do not know how to describe it.
Such sufferings are better untold. Next day my breathing was oppressed. A sensation of dizziness oppressed my brain, and I went about like one intoxicated. My companions were affected in the same way, and some of the crew had rattling in the throat.
This, the sixth day of our imprisonment, Captain Nemo, thinking the work progressed too slowly with mattock and pick, resolved to crush the bed of ice that separated us from the open water. He had preserved his coolness and energy throughout. He overcame physical pain by moral force. He deliberated, he combined his reasonings, and acted.
By his order the Nautilus was lightened, that is to say, raised from the ice-bed by an alteration in the specific gravity. So soon as it floated it was towed over the top of the circumference of the trench, which had been excavated according to its line of flotation. Then the reservoirs of water were filled, it descended, and was engulphed in the hole.
