Part 1 · Chapter 9Ned Land’s Tempers

Ned Land’s Tempers. I don’t know how long we slept, but it totally rested us up from being so exhausted. I woke up first. My friends hadn't moved, still sprawled out in their corner.

Still a little stiff from the not-so-comfy bed, I felt my brain clear up, my mind sharp. I started checking out our cell. Nothing had changed. It was still a prison, and we were still prisoners. But the guy in charge had cleared the table while we slept.

It was hard to breathe; the heavy air felt like it was crushing my lungs. Even though the cell was big, we'd used up a lot of the air inside. Seriously, each person breathes in the oxygen from over one hundred and seventy-six pints of air every hour, and that air, loaded with carbon dioxide, becomes unbreathable.

We needed to refresh the air in our prison, and probably in the whole submarine. That made me wonder - how would the captain of this floating house handle it? Would he make air using chemicals, heating potassium chlorate to get oxygen and absorbing carbon dioxide with potassium hydroxide?

Or, a simpler, cheaper, and more likely option, would he just surface and take a breath like a whale, refreshing the air for the whole day?

I was already breathing faster, trying to squeeze every last bit of oxygen out of the cell, when suddenly a rush of fresh, salty air hit me. It was an amazing sea breeze, full of iodine. I opened my mouth wide and filled my lungs with the fresh air.

At the same time, I felt the boat rocking. The metal giant had just broken the surface of the ocean to breathe, just like a whale. That’s how they were ventilating the boat.

After I’d taken a good, deep breath, I looked for the vent pipe that was bringing us the fresh air. It wasn't long before I found it. Above the door was a vent, pumping fresh air into the cell and replacing the stale air.

I was checking things out when Ned and Conseil woke up almost at the same time, thanks to the reviving air. They rubbed their eyes, stretched, and were on their feet in a flash.

"Did the professor sleep well?" asked Conseil, polite as always.

"Great, my brave boy. And you, Mr. Land?"

"Like a log, Professor. But I’m not sure; it feels like a sea breeze!"

A sailor knows what he’s talking about, and I told the Canadian everything that had happened while he slept.

"Good," he said. "That explains those noises we heard when the supposed narwhal spotted the Abraham Lincoln."

"Exactly, Master Land; it was taking a breath."

"Only, M. Aronnax, I have no idea what time it is, unless it’s dinner time."

"Dinner time! My good fellow? It’s more like breakfast time; we’ve definitely started another day."

"So," said Conseil, "we slept twenty-four hours?" "That’s what I think."

"I won’t argue with you," replied Ned Land.

"But dinner or breakfast, the cook will be welcome, whatever he brings."

"Master Land, we have to follow the rules on board, and I guess our appetites are ahead of dinner."

"That’s just like you, friend Conseil," said Ned, a little annoyed.

"You’re always calm, never out of sorts; you’d say grace before you even started eating, and starve to death before complaining!"

We were seriously hungry, and time was ticking. The steward still hadn't shown up - that was a really bad sign if they actually meant to help us. Ned Land was beyond frustrated, totally losing it from hunger.

I was worried he'd blow up every time he saw another crew member, even though he's promised not to.

For another two hours, Ned Land's temper just kept building. He yelled and shouted, but it was like talking to a brick wall. The boat was totally silent - like a tomb. It wasn't moving either; I wouldn’t have felt the vibration from the propeller.

Way down in the water, it felt like we weren’t even on Earth anymore. That silence was seriously creepy.

I was freaked out, but Conseil was cool as a cucumber. Ned Land was just raging.

Suddenly, we heard something outside. Footsteps echoed on the metal walkways. The locks clicked, and the door swung open - the steward finally showed up.

Before I could even jump up to stop him, the Canadian tackled him, grabbing him by the throat. The steward was struggling, choking under his super strong grip.

Conseil was already trying to pry Ned Land’s hand off his half-suffocated victim, and I was about to rush over and help when I froze, hearing these words in French -

"Quiet down, Master Land; and you, Professor, would you mind listening to me?"