CHAPTER XXII.

TOTAL FAILURE OF WATER

This time the descent commenced by the new gallery. Hans walked first

as was his custom.

We had not gone a hundred yards when the Professor, moving his

lantern along the walls, cried:

"Here are primitive rocks. Now we are in the right way. Forward!"

When in its early stages the earth was slowly cooling, its

contraction gave rise in its crust to disruptions, distortions,

fissures, and chasms. The passage through which we were moving was

such a fissure, through which at one time granite poured out in a

molten state. Its thousands of windings formed an inextricable

labyrinth through the primeval mass.

As fast as we descended, the succession of beds forming the primitive

foundation came out with increasing distinctness. Geologists consider

this primitive matter to be the base of the mineral crust of the

earth, and have ascertained it to be composed of three different

formations, schist, gneiss, and mica schist, resting upon that

unchangeable foundation, the granite.

Never had mineralogists found themselves in so marvellous a situation

to study nature in situ. What the boring machine, an insensible,

inert instrument, was unable to bring to the surface of the inner

structure of the globe, we were able to peruse with our own eyes and

handle with our own hands.

Through the beds of schist, coloured with delicate shades of green,

ran in winding course threads of copper and manganese, with traces of

platinum and gold. I thought, what riches are here buried at an

unapproachable depth in the earth, hidden for ever from the covetous

eyes of the human race! These treasures have been buried at such a

profound depth by the convulsions of primeval times that they run no

chance of ever being molested by the pickaxe or the spade.

To the schists succeeded gneiss, partially stratified, remarkable for

the parallelism and regularity of its lamina, then mica schists, laid

in large plates or flakes, revealing their lamellated structure by

the sparkle of the white shining mica.

The light from our apparatus, reflected from the small facets of

quartz, shot sparkling rays at every angle, and I seemed to be moving

through a diamond, within which the quickly darting rays broke across

each other in a thousand flashing coruscations.

About six o'clock this brilliant fete of illuminations underwent a

sensible abatement of splendour, then almost ceased. The walls

assumed a crystallised though sombre appearance; mica was more

closely mingled with the feldspar and quartz to form the proper rocky

foundations of the earth, which bears without distortion or crushing

the weight of the four terrestrial systems. We were immured within

prison walls of granite.

It was eight in the evening. No signs of water had yet appeared. I

was suffering horribly. My uncle strode on. He refused to stop. He

was listening anxiously for the murmur of distant springs. But, no,

there was dead silence.

And now my limbs were failing beneath me. I resisted pain and

torture, that I might not stop my uncle, which would have driven him

to despair, for the day was drawing near to its end, and it was his

last.

At last I failed utterly; I uttered a cry and fell.

"Come to me, I am dying."

My uncle retraced his steps. He gazed upon me with his arms crossed;

then these muttered words passed his lips:

"It's all over!"

The last thing I saw was a fearful gesture of rage, and my eyes

closed.

When I reopened them I saw my two companions motionless and rolled up

in their coverings. Were they asleep? As for me, I could not get one

moment's sleep. I was suffering too keenly, and what embittered my

thoughts was that there was no remedy. My uncle's last words echoed

painfully in my ears: "it's all over!" For in such a fearful state of

debility it was madness to think of ever reaching the upper world

again.

We had above us a league and a half of terrestrial crust. The weight

of it seemed to be crushing down upon my shoulders. I felt weighed

down, and I exhausted myself with imaginary violent exertions to turn

round upon my granite couch.

A few hours passed away. A deep silence reigned around us, the

silence of the grave. No sound could reach us through walls, the

thinnest of which were five miles thick.

Yet in the midst of my stupefaction I seemed to be aware of a noise.

It was dark down the tunnel, but I seemed to see the Icelander

vanishing from our sight with the lamp in his hand.

Why was he leaving us? Was Hans going to forsake us? My uncle was

fast asleep. I wanted to shout, but my voice died upon my parched and

swollen lips. The darkness became deeper, and the last sound died

away in the far distance.

"Hans has abandoned us," I cried. "Hans! Hans!"

But these words were only spoken within me. They went no farther. Yet

after the first moment of terror I felt ashamed of suspecting a man

of such extraordinary faithfulness. Instead of ascending he was

descending the gallery. An evil design would have taken him up not

down. This reflection restored me to calmness, and I turned to other

thoughts. None but some weighty motive could have induced so quiet a

man to forfeit his sleep. Was he on a journey of discovery? Had he

during the silence of the night caught a sound, a murmuring of

something in the distance, which had failed to affect my hearing?