Meanwhile preparations for this daring attempt were getting under way. The Nautilus’s powerful pumps forced air down into the tanks and stored it under high pressure. Near four o’clock Captain Nemo informed me that the platform hatches were about to be closed. I took a last look at the dense Ice Bank we were going to conquer. The weather was fair, the skies reasonably clear, the cold quite brisk, namely -12 degrees centigrade; but after the wind had lulled, this temperature didn’t seem too unbearable.
Equipped with picks, some ten men climbed onto the Nautilus’s sides and cracked loose the ice around the ship’s lower plating, which was soon set free. This operation was swiftly executed because the fresh ice was still thin. We all reentered the interior. The main ballast tanks were filled with the water that hadn’t yet congealed at our line of flotation. The Nautilus submerged without delay.
I took a seat in the lounge with Conseil. Through the open window we stared at the lower strata of this southernmost ocean. The thermometer rose again. The needle on the pressure gauge swerved over its dial.
About 300 meters down, just as Captain Nemo had predicted, we cruised beneath the undulating surface of the Ice Bank. But the Nautilus sank deeper still. It reached a depth of 800 meters. At the surface this water gave a temperature of -12 degrees centigrade, but now it gave no more than -10 degrees. Two degrees had already been gained. Thanks to its heating equipment, the Nautilus’s temperature, needless to say, stayed at a much higher degree. Every maneuver was accomplished with extraordinary precision.
“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.