In essence, over an hour's time a single human being consumes all the oxygen found in 100 liters of air, at which point that air has become charged with a nearly equal amount of carbon dioxide and is no longer fit for breathing.
So it was now urgent to renew the air in our prison, and no doubt the air in this whole underwater boat as well.
Here a question popped into my head. How did the commander of this aquatic residence go about it?
Did he obtain air using chemical methods, releasing the oxygen contained in potassium chlorate by heating it, meanwhile absorbing the carbon dioxide with potassium hydroxide?
If so, he would have to keep up some kind of relationship with the shore, to come by the materials needed for such an operation.
Did he simply limit himself to storing the air in high–pressure tanks and then dispense it according to his crew's needs?
Perhaps.
Or, proceeding in a more convenient, more economical, and consequently more probable fashion, was he satisfied with merely returning to breathe at the surface of the water like a cetacean, renewing his oxygen supply every twenty–four hours?
In any event, whatever his method was, it seemed prudent to me that he use this method without delay.
In fact, I had already resorted to speeding up my inhalations in order to extract from the cell what little oxygen it contained, when suddenly I was refreshed by a current of clean air, scented with a salty aroma.
It had to be a sea breeze, life–giving and charged with iodine!
I opened my mouth wide, and my lungs glutted themselves on the fresh particles.
At the same time, I felt a swaying, a rolling of moderate magnitude but definitely noticeable.
This boat, this sheet–iron monster, had obviously just risen to the surface of the ocean, there to breathe in good whale fashion.
So the ship's mode of ventilation was finally established.
When I had absorbed a chestful of this clean air, I looked for the conduit—the "air carrier," if you prefer—that allowed this beneficial influx to reach us, and I soon found it.
Above the door opened an air vent that let in a fresh current of oxygen, renewing the thin air in our cell.
I had gotten to this point in my observations when Ned and Conseil woke up almost simultaneously, under the influence of this reviving air purification.
They rubbed their eyes, stretched their arms, and sprang to their feet. "Did master sleep well?"
Conseil asked me with his perennial good manners.
"Extremely well, my gallant lad," I replied.
"And how about you, Mr. Ned Land?"
"Like a log, professor.
But I must be imagining things, because it seems like I'm breathing a sea breeze!"
A seaman couldn't be wrong on this topic, and I told the Canadian what had gone on while he slept.
"Good!" he said.
"That explains perfectly all that bellowing we heard, when our so–called narwhale lay in sight of the Abraham Lincoln."
"Perfectly, Mr. Land.
It was catching its breath!"
"Only I've no idea what time it is, Professor Aronnax, unless maybe it's dinnertime?"
"Dinnertime, my fine harpooner?
I'd say at least breakfast time, because we've certainly woken up to a new day."
"Which indicates," Conseil replied, "that we've spent twenty–four hours in slumber."
"That's my assessment," I replied.
"I won't argue with you," Ned Land answered.
"But dinner or breakfast, that steward will be plenty welcome whether he brings the one or the other."
"The one and the other," Conseil said.
"Well put," the Canadian replied.
"We deserve two meals, and speaking for myself, I'll do justice to them both."
"All right, Ned, let's wait and see!"
I replied.
"It's clear that these strangers don't intend to let us die of hunger, otherwise last evening's dinner wouldn't make any sense."
"Unless they're fattening us up!"
Ned shot back.
"I object," I replied.
"We have not fallen into the hands of cannibals."
"Just because they don't make a habit of it," the Canadian replied in all seriousness, "doesn't mean they don't indulge from time to time.
Who knows?
Maybe these people have gone without fresh meat for a long while, and in that case three healthy, well–built specimens like the professor, his manservant, and me—"
"Get rid of those ideas, Mr. Land," I answered the harpooner.