How long we slept I do not know; but our sleep must have lasted long,
for it rested us completely from our fatigues. I woke first. My
companions had not moved, and were still stretched in their corner.
Hardly roused from my somewhat hard couch, I felt my brain freed, my
mind clear. I then began an attentive examination of our cell. Nothing
was changed inside. The prison was still a prison,—the prisoners,
prisoners. However, the steward, during our sleep, had cleared the
table. I breathed with difficulty. The heavy air seemed to oppress my
lungs. Although the cell was large, we had evidently consumed a great
part of the oxygen that it contained. Indeed, each man consumes, in one
hour, the oxygen contained in more than 176 pints of air, and this air,
charged (as then) with a nearly equal quantity of carbonic acid,
becomes unbreathable.
It became necessary to renew the atmosphere of our prison, and no doubt
the whole in the submarine boat. That gave rise to a question in my
mind. How would the commander of this floating dwelling-place proceed?
Would he obtain air by chemical means, in getting by heat the oxygen
contained in chlorate of potash, and in absorbing carbonic acid by
caustic potash? Or, a more convenient, economical, and consequently
more probable alternative, would he be satisfied to rise and take
breath at the surface of the water, like a cetacean, and so renew for
twenty-four hours the atmospheric provision?
In fact, I was already obliged to increase my respirations to eke out
of this cell the little oxygen it contained, when suddenly I was
refreshed by a current of pure air, and perfumed with saline
emanations. It was an invigorating sea breeze, charged with iodine. I
opened my mouth wide, and my lungs saturated themselves with fresh
particles.
At the same time I felt the boat rolling. The iron-plated monster had
evidently just risen to the surface of the ocean to breathe, after the
fashion of whales. I found out from that the mode of ventilating the
boat.
When I had inhaled this air freely, I sought the conduit-pipe, which
conveyed to us the beneficial whiff, and I was not long in finding it.
Above the door was a ventilator, through which volumes of fresh air
renewed the impoverished atmosphere of the cell.
I was making my observations, when Ned and Conseil awoke almost at the
same time, under the influence of this reviving air. They rubbed their
eyes, stretched themselves, and were on their feet in an instant.
"Did master sleep well?" asked Conseil, with his usual politeness.
"Very well, my brave boy. And you, Mr. Land?"
"Soundly, Professor. But I don't know if I am right or not; there seems
to be a sea breeze!"
A seaman could not be mistaken, and I told the Canadian all that had
passed during his sleep.
"Good!" said he; "that accounts for those roarings we heard, when the
supposed narwhal sighted the _Abraham Lincoln_."
"Quite so, Master Land; it was taking breath."
"Only, M. Aronnax, I have no idea what o'clock it is, unless it is
dinner-time."
"Dinner-time! my good fellow? Say rather breakfast-time, for we
certainly have begun another day."
"So," said Conseil, "we have slept twenty-four hours?"
"That is my opinion."
"I will not contradict you," replied Ned Land. "But dinner or
breakfast, the steward will be welcome, whichever he brings."
"Master Land, we must conform to the rules on board, and I suppose our
appetites are in advance of the dinner hour."
"That is just like you, friend Conseil," said Ned, impatiently. "You
are never out of temper, always calm; you would return thanks before
grace, and die of hunger rather than complain!"
Time was getting on, and we were fearfully hungry; and this time the
steward did not appear. It was rather too long to leave us, if they
really had good intentions towards us. Ned Land, tormented by the
cravings of hunger, got still more angry; and, notwithstanding his
promise, I dreaded an explosion when he found himself with one of the
crew.
For two hours more Ned Land's temper increased; he cried, he shouted,
but in vain. The walls were deaf. There was no sound to be heard in the
boat: all was still as death. It did not move, for I should have felt
the trembling motion of the hull under the influence of the screw.
Plunged in the depths of the waters, it belonged no longer to
earth:—this silence was dreadful.
I felt terrified, Conseil was calm, Ned Land roared.
Just then a noise was heard outside. Steps sounded on the metal flags.
The locks were turned, the door opened, and the steward appeared.
Before I could rush forward to stop him, the Canadian had thrown him
down, and held him by the throat. The steward was choking under the
grip of his powerful hand.
Conseil was already trying to unclasp the harpooner's hand from his
half-suffocated victim, and I was going to fly to the rescue, when
suddenly I was nailed to the spot by hearing these words in French—
"Be quiet, Master Land; and you, Professor, will you be so good as to
listen to me?"