Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the thirty-ninth chapter of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.

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Today we'll be continuing 20,000 leagues under the sea by Jules Verne chapter 16 Want 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 it's not to be feared because our reservoirs are full.

Just so, but they will only yield two days supply of air.

Now, for 36 hours, we've been hidden under the water, and already the heavy atmosphere of the Nautilus requires renewal.

In 48 hours, our reserve will be exhausted.

Well, captain, can we be delivered before 48 hours.

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

On which side?

Sound will tell us.

I'm 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 hands.

To the Canadian.

I will add, he continued, not 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 conceal.

I examined the ambient beds that supported the Nautilus.

Some instance 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 sidewalls, but after 15 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 6000 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 indefatiguable energy.

Instead of digging round the nautilus, which would have involved greater difficulty, Captain Nemo had an immense trench, made it 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 conceal and I joined the second lieutenant of the Nautilus superintendent 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 30 atmospheres.

When I reentered, after working 2 hours to take some food and rest, I found a perceptible difference between the pure fluid with which the roquerol engine supplied me and the atmosphere of the nautilus, already charged with carbonic acid.

The air had not been renewed for 48 hours, and its vivifying qualities were considerably enfeebled.

However, after a lapse of 12 hours, we had only raised a block of ice 1 yd.

Thick on the marked surface, which was about 600 cubic yards.

Reckoning that it took 12 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 sidewalls 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 hindered the solidification of this liquid medium that would burst the partitions of the nautiluslike 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 bar apparatus, and to quit the impoverished in vitiated atmosphere.

Towards evening, the trench was dug 1 yd.

Deeper.

When I returned on board, I was nearly suffocated by the carbonic acid with which the air was filled.

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 tops 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 26, I resumed my miners work.

In beginning the fifth yard, the sidewalls in 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 frosty 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 hole 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.

Monsir Aranax, we must attempt some desperate means, or we shall be sealed up in the solidified water as in cement?

Yes, but what is to be done 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 conjulation 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.

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 sidewalls be pressed together, but there is not 10ft 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 tomorrow, 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 degrees.

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 conjulation?

Let us try it, I said resolutely.

Let us try it, professor.

The thermometer then stood at seven degrees outside.

Captain Nemo took me to the galleys, where the vast disulatory 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 degrees.

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 3 hours after, thermometer marked six degrees below zero.

Outside one degree was gained.

2 hours later, thermometer only marked four degrees.

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 one degree below zero.

The injections could not carry it to a higher point.

But as the conjulation of the seawater produces at least two degrees, I was at least reassured against the dangers of solidification.

The next day, March 27, six yards of ice had been cleared 12ft, only remaining to be cleared away.

There was yet 48 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.

00 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 torpure took hold of me.

I was powerless, almost unconscious.

My brave conceal, 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 icebeds.

Our arms ached.

The skin was torn off our hands.

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 this 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, unmuring.

On that day, the ordinary work was accomplished with unusual vigor.

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 companion showed the same symptoms some of the crew had, rattling in the throat.

On that day, the 6th of our imprisonment, Captain Nemo, finding the pickaxe, worked too slowly, resolved to crush the icebed 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 icebed 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 waterline.

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 1 yd 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 1800 tons.

We waited.

We listened, forgetting our sufferings and hope.

Our safety depended on this last chance.

Notwithstanding the buzzing in my head, I soon heard the humming sound under the hole of the nautilus.

The ice cracked with a singular noise like tearing paper, and the nautilus sank.

We are off, murmured conceal 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 monometer indicated an ascending movement.

The screw, going at full speed, made the iron hole 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 devan in the library, I was suffocating.

My face was purple, my lips blue, my faculties suspended.

I neither saw nor heard.

Whole 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 too.

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 conceal.

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 28 march.

The nautilus went at a frightful pace, 40 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 monometer indicated that we were not more than 20ft 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 boughs.

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 like 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.

Thank you for joining bite at a time books today while we read a bite of one of your favorite classics.

Again, my name is Brie Carlyle, and.

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