“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.” “On which side?” “Sound will tell us. I am going to run the _Nautilus_ aground on the lower bank, and my men will attack the iceberg on the side that is least thick.” Captain Nemo went out. Soon I discovered by a hissing noise that the water was entering the reservoirs. The _Nautilus_ sank slowly, and rested on the ice at a depth of 350 yards, the depth at which the lower bank was immersed. “My friends,” I said, “our situation is serious, but I rely on your courage and energy.” “Sir,” replied the Canadian, “I am ready to do anything for the general safety.” “Good! Ned,” and I held out my hand to the Canadian. “I will add,” he continued, “that, being as handy with the pickaxe as with the harpoon, if I can be useful to the Captain, he can command my services.” “He will not refuse your help. Come, Ned!”