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 is not to be feared,
because our reservoirs are full."
"Just so; but they will only yield two days' supply of air.
Now, for thirty-six hours we have been hidden under the water,
and already the heavy atmosphere of the Nautilus requires renewal.
In forty-eight hours our reserve will be exhausted."
"Well, Captain, can we be delivered before forty-eight hours?"
"We will attempt it, at least, by piercing the wall that surrounds us.
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