It was near midnight when the Clubmen were lifted out of the manhole.
Their faces were pale, their eyes bloodshot, their figures stooped. Even
the _Herald_ Reporter seemed to have got enough of exploring. But
Marston was as confident as ever, and tried to be as brisk.
He had hardly swallowed the refreshment so positively enjoined in the
circumstances, when he abruptly addressed the Captain:
"What's the weight of your heaviest cannon balls?"
"Thirty pounds, Mr. Marston."
"Can't you attach thirty of them to the Nautilus and sink us again?"
"Certainly, Mr. Marston, if you wish it. It shall be the first thing
done to-morrow."
"To-night, Captain! At once! Barbican has not an instant to lose."
"At once then be it, Mr. Marston. Just as you say."
The new sinkers were soon attached to the Nautilus, which disappeared
once more with all its former occupants inside, except the _Herald_
Reporter, who had fallen asleep over his notes, or at least seemed to
be. He had probably made up his mind as to the likelihood of the
Nautilus ever getting back again.
The second descent was quicker than the first, but just as futile. At
1152 feet, the Nautilus positively refused to go a single inch further.
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