SECOND PART
CHAPTER 13: The Ice Bank
(continued)
"With all due respect to master," Conseil told me, "we'll pass it by."
"I fully expect to!" I replied in a tone of deep conviction.
Now in open water, the Nautilus took a direct course to the pole
without veering from the 52nd meridian. From 67 degrees 30'
to 90 degrees, twenty-two and a half degrees of latitude were
left to cross, in other words, slightly more than 500 leagues.
The Nautilus adopted an average speed of twenty-six miles per hour,
the speed of an express train. If it kept up this pace, forty hours
would do it for reaching the pole.
For part of the night, the novelty of our circumstances kept Conseil
and me at the lounge window. The sea was lit by our beacon's
electric rays. But the depths were deserted. Fish didn't linger
in these imprisoned waters. Here they found merely a passageway
for going from the Antarctic Ocean to open sea at the pole.
Our progress was swift. You could feel it in the vibrations
of the long steel hull.
Near two o'clock in the morning, I went to snatch a few hours of sleep.
Conseil did likewise. I didn't encounter Captain Nemo while going
down the gangways. I assumed that he was keeping to the pilothouse.
The next day, March 19, at five o'clock in the morning, I was back
at my post in the lounge. The electric log indicated that the
Nautilus had reduced speed. By then it was rising to the surface,
but cautiously, while slowly emptying its ballast tanks.
My heart was pounding. Would we emerge into the open and find
the polar air again?
No. A jolt told me that the Nautilus had bumped the underbelly
of the Ice Bank, still quite thick to judge from the hollowness
of the accompanying noise. Indeed, we had "struck bottom,"
to use nautical terminology, but in the opposite direction
and at a depth of 3,000 feet. That gave us 4,000 feet
of ice overhead, of which 1,000 feet emerged above water.
So the Ice Bank was higher here than we had found it on the outskirts.
A circumstance less than encouraging.
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