In this spot, the Dromans had left a food-depot, and right glad were we to see this accession to the larder. There was also a supply of oil.
That evening (I find it convenient to use these inaccurate terms) I fished out my journal and carefully brought it forward, up to the hour, to the very minute. I felt blithe as a lark, and so, indeed, did everybody else, everybody save Drorathusa, and even she was somberly happy.
I thought that our troubles were over!
Of a sudden Rhodes slapped down his journal and, to the surprise of the Dromans and, forsooth to my own, made a dive at an oil-container, which Ondonarkus had just emptied.
"At last—our depth, Bill," he cried.
And he proceeded to ascertain the boiling-point of water, the heat being furnished by Drorathusa's lamp and that of Silvisiris, the older of the young women. Nandradelphis, by the way, was the name of the other, the white-haired girl.
It was a strange, a striking picture truly—Milton Rhodes bending over his improvised hypogemeter, the Dromans looking on with curiosity, perplexity and with strange questionings in their looks.
At last Rhodes was satisfied with the result, that it was as near accuracy as the circumstances would permit.
"We are," said he after computing for some moments in his journal, "at a depth of a little more than twelve thousand feet. The exact figures are twelve thousand two hundred and sixty feet, though we can not, of course, claim for our determination any high degree of accuracy. I feel confident, however, that it is near the truth. Call it twelve thousand feet."
"Twelve thousand feet!" I echoed. "Below the level of the sea?"