A disagreeable sensation, however, against which they had been for some
time struggling, at last put an end to their contemplations, and
compelled them to think of themselves. This was nothing less than a
pretty sharp cold, at first somewhat endurable, but which soon covered
the inside surface of the window panes with a thick coating of ice. The
fact was that, the Sun's direct rays having no longer an opportunity of
warming up the Projectile, the latter began to lose rapidly by radiation
whatever heat it had stored away within its walls. The consequence was a
very decided falling of the thermometer, and so thick a condensation of
the internal moisture on the window glasses as to soon render all
external observations extremely difficult, if not actually impossible.
The Captain, as the oldest man in the party, claimed the privilege of
saying he could stand it no longer. Striking a light, he consulted the
thermometer and cried out:
"Seventeen degrees below zero, centigrade! that is certainly low enough
to make an old fellow like me feel rather chilly!"
"Just one degree and a half above zero, Fahrenheit!" observed Barbican;
"I really had no idea that it was so cold.
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