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. My heart was pounding. Would we emerge into the open and find the polar air again? No. A jolt told me that the Nautilus had bumped the underbelly of the Ice Bank, still quite thick to judge from the hollowness of the accompanying noise. Indeed, we had “struck bottom,” to use nautical terminology, but in the opposite direction and at a depth of 3,000 feet. That gave us 4,000 feet of ice overhead, of which 1,000 feet emerged above water. So the Ice Bank was higher here than we had found it on the outskirts. A circumstance less than encouraging. Several times that day, the Nautilus repeated the same experiment and always it bumped against this surface that formed a ceiling above it. At certain moments the ship encountered ice at a depth of 900 meters, denoting a thickness of 1,200 meters, of which 300 meters rose above the level of the ocean. This height had tripled since the moment the Nautilus had dived beneath the waves.