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18 - The Wrong Road! - Journey to the Center of the Earth - Jules Verne · Classic Science Fiction Books

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  Chapter eighteen, the wrong road. Next day, our departure took place at
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  a very early hour. There was no time for the least delay. According
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  to my account, we had five days hard work to get back to the
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  place where the galleries divided. I can never tell all the sufferings we endured
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  upon our return. My uncle bore them like a man who has been in
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  the wrong, that is, with concentrated and suppressed anger, Hans with all
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  the resignation of his pacific character. And I I confess that I did nothing
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  but complain and despair. I had no heart for this bad fortune. But
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  there was one consolation. Defeat at the outset would probably upset the whole journey.
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  As I had expected from the first Our supply of water gave completely out
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  on our first day's march. Our proof of liquids was reduced to our supply
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  of sheedom. But this horrible, nay, I will say, this infernal
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  liquor burned the throat, and I could not even bear the sight of it.
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  I found the temperature to be stifling. I was paralyzed with fatigue.
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  More than once, I was about to fall insensible to the ground. The
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  whole party then halted and the worthy icelander and my excellent uncle did their best
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  to console and comfort me. I could, however, plainly see that my
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  uncle was contending painfully against the extreme fatigues of our journey and the awful torture
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  generated by the absence of water. At length, the time came when I
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  ceased to recollect anything, when all was one awful, hideous, fantastic dream.
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  At last, on Tuesday, the seventh of the month of July,
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  after crawling on our hands and knees for many hours, more dead than alive,
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  we reached the point of junction between the galleries. I lay like a
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  log an inert mass of human flesh on the arid lava soil. It was
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  then ten in the morning. Hans and my uncle, leaning against the wall,
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  tried to nibble away at some pieces of biscuit, while deep groans and
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  sighs escaped from my scorched and swollen lips. Then I fell off into a
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  kind of deep lethargy. Presently I felt my uncle approach and lift me up
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  tenderly in his arms. Poor boy, I heard him say, in a
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  tone of deep commiseration. I was profoundly touched by these words, being by
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  no means accustomed to signs of womanly weakness in the professor. I caught his
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  trembling hands in mine and gave them a gentle pressure. He allowed me to
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  do so without resistance, looking at me kindly all the time. His eyes
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  were wet with tears. I then saw him take the gourd, which he
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  wore at his side. To my surprise, or rather to my stupefaction,
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  he placed it to my lips. Drink, my boy, he said,
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  Was it possible my ears had not deceived me? Was my uncle mad?
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  I looked at him with I am sure, quite an idiotic expression. I
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  could not believe him. I too much feared the counteraction of disappointment. Drink
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  he said again. Had I heard aright before? However, I could ask
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  myself the question a second time. A mouthful of water cooled my parched lips
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  and throat one mouthful. But I do believe it brought me back to life.
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  I thanked my uncle by clasping my hands. My heart was too full
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  to speak. Yes, said he one mouthful of water. The very last,
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  do you hear, my boy? The very last? I have taken
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  care of it at the bottom of my bottle, as the apple of my
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  eyes. Twenty times, a hundred times I have resisted the fearful desire to
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  drink it. But no, no hurry, I saved it for you,
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  my dear uncle, I exclaimed, and the big tears rolled down my hot
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  and feverish cheeks. Yes, my poor boy, I knew that when you
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  reached this place, this cross road in the earth, you would fall down
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  half dead. And I saved my last drop of water in order to restore
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  you. Thanks, I cried, Thanks from my heart. As little as
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  my thirst was really quenched, I I had nevertheless partially recovered my strength.
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  The contracted muscles of my throat relaxed, and the inflammation of my lips in
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  some measure subsided. At all events, I was able to speak well.
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  I said, there can be no doubt as to what we have to do.
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  Water has utterly failed us our journeys. Therefore, at an end,
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  let us return. While I spoke. Thus, my uncle evidently avoided my
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  face. He held down his head. His eyes were turned in every possible
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  direction but the right one. Yes, I continued, getting excited by my
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  own words. We must go back to Sneffels. May Heaven give us strength
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  to enable us once more to revisit the light of day. Would that we
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  now stood on the summit of the crater? Go back, said my uncle,
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  speaking to himself. And must it be so? Go back? Yes,
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  and without losing a single moment, I vehemently cried. For some moment
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  there was silence under that dark and gloomy vault. So, my dear,
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  hurry, said the professor, in a very singular tone of voice. Those
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  few drops of water have not sufficed to restore your energy and courage. Courage,
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  I cried. I see that you are quite as downcast as before,
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  and still give way to discouragement and despair. What then was the man made
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  of? And what other projects were entering his fertile and odacious prain? You
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  are not discouraged, sir? What give up? Just as we are on
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  the verge of success? He cried. Never never shall it be said that
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  Professor Hartwick retreated. Then we must make up our minds to per I cried,
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  with a helpless sigh. No, hurry, my voice, certainly not
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  go leave me. I am very far from desiring your death. Take hands
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  with you, I will go on alone. You ask us to leave you,
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  leave me, I say, I have undertaken this dangerous and perilous adventure.
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  I will carry it to the end, or I will never return to
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  the surface of mother Earth. Go hurry once more, I say to you.
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  Go. My uncle, as he spoke, was terribly excited. His
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  voice, which before had been tender, almost womanly, became harsh and menacing.
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  He appeared to be struggling with desperate energy against the impossible. I did
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  not wish to abandon him at the bottom of that abyss, while on the
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  other hand, the instinct of preservation told me to fly. Meanwhile, our
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  guide was looking on with profound calmness and indifference. He appeared to be an
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  unconcerned party, and yet he perfectly well knew what was going on between us.
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  Our gestures sufficiently indicated the different roads each wished to follow, and which
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  each tried to influence the other to undertake. But Hans appeared not to take
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  the slightest interest in what was really a question of life and death for us
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  all, but waited, quite ready to pay the signal which should say go
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  aloft, or to resume his desperate journey into the interior of the earth.
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  How then, I wished with all my heart and soul, that I could
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  make him understand my words, my representations, my size and groans. The
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  earnest accents in which I should have spoken would have convinced that cold, hard
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  nature. Those fearful dangers and perils of which the stolid guide had no idea.
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  I would have pointed them out to him. I would have, as
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  it were, made him see and feel. Between us. We might have
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  convinced the obstinate professor. If the worst had come to the worst, we
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  could have compelled him to return to the summit of Sneffelds. I quietly approached
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  Hans. I caught his hand in mine. He never moved a muscle.
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  I indicated to him the road to the top of the crater. He remained
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  motionless. My pounting form, my haggard countenance must have indicated the extent of
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  my sufferings. The Icelander gently shook his head and pointed to my uncle Master.
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  He said, the word is Icelandic as well as English. The Master,
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  I cried beside myself with fury, Madman, no, I tell you
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  is not the master of our lives. We must fly, We must drag
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  him with us. Do you hear me? Do your stand me, I
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  say, I have already explained that I held hands by the arm. I
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  tried to make him rise from his seat. I struggled with him and tried
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  to force him away. My uncle now interposed, my good Henry b calm.
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  He said, you will obtain nothing from my devoted follower. Therefore listen
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  to what I have to say. I folded my arms as well as I
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  could, and looked at my uncle full in the face. This wretched want
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  of water, he said, is the sole obstacle to the success of my
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  project. In the entire gallery made of lavaskist and coal, it is true
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  we found not one liquid molecule. It is quite possible that we may be
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  more fortunate in the Western tunnel. My sole reply was to shake my head
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  with an air of deep incredulity. Listen to me to the end, said
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  the professor in his well known lecturing voice. While you lay yonder without life
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  for motion. I undertook a conottering journey into the conformation of this other gallery.
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  I have discovered that it goes directly downwards into the bowels of the earth,
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  and in a few hours will take us to the old Granitik formation.
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  In this we shall undoubtedly find innumerable springs. The nature of the rock makes
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  this a mathematical certainty, and instinct agreece with logic to say that it is
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  so. Now, this is the serious proposition which I have to make to
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  you. When Christopher Columbus asked of his men three days to discover the land
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  of Promise, his men, ill, terrified and hopeless, yet gave him
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  three days, and the new world was discovered. Now, I, the
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  Christopher Columbus of this subterranean region, only ask of you one more day.
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  If when that time is expired, I have not found the water of which
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  we are in search, I swear to you I will give up my mighty
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  enterprise and return to the Earth's surface. Despite my irritation and despair. I
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  knew how much it cost my uncle to make this proposition, and to hold
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  such conciliatory language. Under the circumstances, What could I do but yield?
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  Well, I cried, Let it be as you wish, and may Heaven
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  reward your superhuman energy. But as unless we discover water, our hours are
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  numbered. Let us lose no time, but go ahead. End of Chapter eighteen