It was strange, for we were under low latitudes; and even then the Nautilus,
submerged as it was, ought to experience no change of temperature.
I looked at the manometer; it showed a depth of sixty feet, to which
atmospheric heat could never attain.
I continued my work, but the temperature rose to such a pitch
as to be intolerable.
"Could there be fire on board?" I asked myself.
I was leaving the saloon, when Captain Nemo entered; he approached
the thermometer, consulted it, and, turning to me, said:
"Forty-two degrees."
"I have noticed it, Captain," I replied; "and if it gets much
hotter we cannot bear it."
"Oh, sir, it will not get better if we do not wish it."
"You can reduce it as you please, then?"
"No; but I can go farther from the stove which produces it."
"It is outward, then!"
"Certainly; we are floating in a current of boiling water."
"Is it possible!" I exclaimed.
"Look."
The panels opened, and I saw the sea entirely white all round.
A sulphurous smoke was curling amid the waves, which boiled like
water in a copper.
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