They were
fairly gasping now. It was difficult to breathe, to say
nothing of working, in that atmosphere. The thought of their
terrible position was in the minds of all.
"Oh, for one breath of fresh air!" cried Mr. Damon, who
seemed to suffer more than any of the others. Grim death was
hovering around them, imprisoned as they were on the ocean's
bed, over a mile from the surface.
Chapter Thirteen
Off for the Treasure
Suddenly Tom, after a moment's pause, seized a wrench and
began loosening some nuts.
"What are you doing?" asked his father faintly, for he was
being weakened by the vitiated atmosphere.
"I'm going to take this valve apart," replied his son. "We
haven't looked there for the trouble. Maybe it's out of
order."
He attacked the valve with energy, but his hands soon
lagged. The lack of oxygen was telling on him. He could no
longer work quickly.
"I'll help," murmured Mr. Sharp thickly. He took a wrench,
but no sooner had he loosened one nut than he toppled over.
"I'm all in," he murmured feebly.
"Is he dead?" cried Mr. Damon, himself gasping.
"No, only fainted. But he soon will be dead, and so will
all of us, if we don't get fresh air," remarked Captain
Weston. "Lie down on the floor, every one. There is a little
fairly good air there.
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