A Journey to the Interior of the Earth

CHAPTER XXI.

COM­PAS­SION FUS­ES THE PRO­FES­SOR’S HEART

Next day we start­ed ear­ly. We had to has­ten for­ward. It was a three days’ march to the cross roads.

I will not speak of the suf­fer­ings we en­dured in our re­turn. My un­cle bore them with the an­gry im­pa­tience of a man obliged to own his weak­ness; Hans with the res­ig­na­tion of his pas­sive na­ture; I, I con­fess, with com­plaints and ex­pres­sions of de­spair. I had no spir­it to op­pose this ill for­tune.

As I had fore­told, the wa­ter failed en­tire­ly by the end of the first day’s ret­ro­grade march. Our flu­id al­iment was now noth­ing but gin; but this in­fer­nal flu­id burned my throat, and I could not even en­dure the sight of it. I found the tem­per­ature and the air sti­fling. Fa­tigue paral­ysed my limbs. More than once I dropped down mo­tion­less. Then there was a halt; and my un­cle and the Ice­lander did their best to re­store me. But I saw that the for­mer was strug­gling painful­ly against ex­ces­sive fa­tigue and the tor­tures of thirst.

At last, on Tues­day, Ju­ly 8, we ar­rived on our hands and knees, and half dead, at the junc­tion of the two roads. There I dropped like a life­less lump, ex­tend­ed on the la­va soil. It was ten in the morn­ing.

Hans and my un­cle, cling­ing to the wall, tried to nib­ble a few bits of bis­cuit. Long moans es­caped from my swollen lips.

Af­ter some time my un­cle ap­proached me and raised me in his arms.

“Poor boy!” said he, in gen­uine tones of com­pas­sion.

I was touched with these words, not be­ing ac­cus­tomed to see the ex­citable Pro­fes­sor in a soft­ened mood. I grasped his trem­bling hands in mine. He let me hold them and looked at me. His eyes were moist­ened.

Then I saw him take the flask that was hang­ing at his side. To my amaze­ment he placed it on my lips.

“Drink!” said he.

Had I heard him? Was my un­cle be­side him­self? I stared at, him stupid­ly, and felt as if I could not un­der­stand him.

“Drink!” he said again.

And rais­ing his flask he emp­tied it ev­ery drop be­tween my lips.

Oh! in­fi­nite plea­sure! a slen­der sip of wa­ter came to moist­en my burn­ing mouth. It was but one sip but it was enough to re­call my ebbing life.

I thanked my un­cle with clasped hands.

“Yes,” he said, “a draught of wa­ter; but it is the very last - you hear! - the last. I had kept it as a pre­cious trea­sure at the bot­tom of my flask. Twen­ty times, nay, a hun­dred times, have I fought against a fright­ful im­pulse to drink it off. But no, Ax­el, I kept it for you.”

“My dear un­cle,” I said, whilst hot tears trick­led down my face.

“Yes, my poor boy, I knew that as soon as you ar­rived at these cross roads you would drop half dead, and I kept my last drop of wa­ter to re­an­imate you.”

“Thank you, thank you,” I said. Al­though my thirst was on­ly par­tial­ly quenched, yet some strength had re­turned. The mus­cles of my throat, un­til then con­tract­ed, now re­laxed again; and the in­flam­ma­tion of my lips abat­ed some­what; and I was now able to speak. .

“Let us see,” I said, “we have now but one thing to do. We have no wa­ter; we must go back.”

While I spoke my un­cle avoid­ed look­ing at me; he hung his head down; his eyes avoid­ed mine.

“We must re­turn,” I ex­claimed ve­he­ment­ly; “we must go back on our way to Snæfell. May God give us strength to climb up the crater again!”

“Re­turn!” said my un­cle, as if he was rather an­swer­ing him­self than me.

“Yes, re­turn, with­out the loss of a minute.”

A long si­lence fol­lowed.

“So then, Ax­el,” replied the Pro­fes­sor iron­ical­ly, “you have found no courage or en­er­gy in these few drops of wa­ter?”

“Courage?”

“I see you just as fee­ble-​mind­ed as you were be­fore, and still ex­press­ing on­ly de­spair!”

What sort of a man was this I had to do with, and what schemes was he now re­volv­ing in his fear­less mind?

“What! you won’t go back?”

“Should I re­nounce this ex­pe­di­tion just when we have the fairest chance of suc­cess! Nev­er!”

“Then must we re­sign our­selves to de­struc­tion?”

“No, Ax­el, no; go back. Hans will go with you. Leave me to my­self!”

“Leave you here!”

“Leave me, I tell you. I have un­der­tak­en this ex­pe­di­tion. I will car­ry it out to the end, and I will not re­turn. Go, Ax­el, go!”

My un­cle was in high state of ex­cite­ment. His voice, which had for a mo­ment been ten­der and gen­tle, had now be­come hard and threat­en­ing. He was strug­gling with gloomy res­olu­tions against im­pos­si­bil­ities. I would not leave him in this bot­tom­less abyss, and on the oth­er hand the in­stinct of self-​preser­va­tion prompt­ed me to fly.

The guide watched this scene with his usu­al phleg­mat­ic un­con­cern. Yet he un­der­stood per­fect­ly well what was go­ing on be­tween his two com­pan­ions. The ges­tures them­selves were suf­fi­cient to show that we were each bent on tak­ing a dif­fer­ent road; but Hans seemed to take no part in a ques­tion up­on which de­pend­ed his life. He was ready to start at a giv­en sig­nal, or to stay, if his mas­ter so willed it.

How I wished at this mo­ment I could have made him un­der­stand me. My words, my com­plaints, my sor­row would have had some in­flu­ence over that frigid na­ture. Those dan­gers which our guide could not un­der­stand I could have demon­strat­ed and proved to him. To­geth­er we might have over-​ruled the ob­sti­nate Pro­fes­sor; if it were need­ed, we might per­haps have com­pelled him to re­gain the heights of Snæfell.

I drew near to Hans. I placed my hand up­on his. He made no move­ment. My part­ed lips suf­fi­cient­ly re­vealed my suf­fer­ings. The Ice­lander slow­ly moved his head, and calm­ly point­ing to my un­cle said:

“Mas­ter.”

“Mas­ter!” I shout­ed; “you mad­man! no, he is not the mas­ter of our life; we must fly, we must drag him. Do you hear me? Do you un­der­stand?”

I had seized Hans by the arm. I wished to oblige him to rise. I strove with him. My un­cle in­ter­posed.

“Be calm, Ax­el! you will get noth­ing from that im­mov­able ser­vant. There­fore, lis­ten to my pro­pos­al.”

I crossed my arms, and con­front­ed my un­cle bold­ly.

“The want of wa­ter,” he said, “is the on­ly ob­sta­cle in our way. In this east­ern gallery made up of lavas, schists, and coal, we have not met with a sin­gle par­ti­cle of mois­ture. Per­haps we shall be more for­tu­nate if we fol­low the west­ern tun­nel.”

I shook my head in­cred­ulous­ly.

“Hear me to the end,” the Pro­fes­sor went on with a firm voice. “Whilst you were ly­ing there mo­tion­less, I went to ex­am­ine the con­for­ma­tion of that gallery. It pen­etrates di­rect­ly down­ward, and in a few hours it will bring us to the gran­ite rocks. There we must meet with abun­dant springs. The na­ture of the rock as­sures me of this, and in­stinct agrees with log­ic to sup­port my con­vic­tion. Now, this is my pro­pos­al. When Colum­bus asked of his ships’ crews for three days more to dis­cov­er a new world, those crews, dis­heart­ened and sick as they were, recog­nised the jus­tice of the claim, and he dis­cov­ered Amer­ica. I am the Colum­bus of this nether world, and I on­ly ask for one more day. If in a sin­gle day I have not met with the wa­ter that we want, I swear to you we will re­turn to the sur­face of the earth.”

In spite of my ir­ri­ta­tion I was moved with these words, as well as with the vi­olence my un­cle was do­ing to his own wish­es in mak­ing so haz­ardous a pro­pos­al.

“Well,” I said, “do as you will, and God re­ward your su­per­hu­man en­er­gy. You have now but a few hours to tempt for­tune. Let us start!”