We left very early the next morning. There was no time to waste. According to my calculations, it would take us five exhausting days just to return to the place where the tunnels divided.
I cannot describe the misery of that journey.
My uncle endured it with the angry silence of a man who knew he had made a mistake. Hans accepted everything with his usual calm patience.
As for me, I did nothing but complain and lose hope.
I simply could not accept our terrible luck.
Still, there was one thing that comforted me. If we were defeated so early in our journey, perhaps the whole expedition would have to end.
As I had feared, our water ran out on the very first day.
All we had left to drink was the Schiedam liquor. But that terrible stuff burned my throat. I could hardly stand the smell of it, let alone drink it.
The heat was unbearable.
I became so exhausted that I could barely move. More than once, I nearly collapsed.
Whenever that happened, Hans and my uncle stopped and tried to comfort me.
But I could see that my uncle was suffering terribly too. He was fighting against exhaustion and, above all, the torture of having no water.
Eventually, I lost all sense of time.
Everything around me became a horrible, confused dream.
At last, on Tuesday, July 7, after crawling on our hands and knees for hours, we reached the place where the two tunnels met again.
We were more dead than alive.
I collapsed onto the dry lava floor like a piece of wood.
It was ten o’clock in the morning.
Hans and my uncle leaned against the tunnel wall and tried to eat a few pieces of biscuit.
I could only lie there, groaning weakly through my swollen, burning lips.
Then I slipped into a deep, helpless sleep.
After a while, I felt my uncle come over and gently lift me into his arms.
“Poor boy,” he whispered.
I was deeply moved.
I had never seen my uncle show such tenderness before.
I reached out and held his trembling hands.
He did not pull away. Instead, he looked at me kindly.
His eyes were filled with tears.
Then he took the small gourd hanging at his side.
To my astonishment, he put it against my lips.
“Drink, my boy.”
I stared at him.
Had I heard correctly?
Was my uncle out of his mind?
I was afraid to believe him. I could not bear another disappointment.
“Drink,” he repeated.
Before I could say anything, a little water touched my lips.
Just one mouthful.
But that single mouthful felt as if it brought me back from the dead.
I clasped my hands together in gratitude. I was too emotional to speak.
“Yes,” my uncle said. “That was the last of it. The very last drop.”
He looked at me sadly.
“I kept it hidden at the bottom of my bottle. Twenty times, a hundred times, I wanted to drink it. But I resisted.”
He paused.
“No, Harry. I saved it for you.”
“My dear uncle…”
Tears rolled down my burning cheeks.
“I knew you would collapse when we reached this place,” he continued. “So I kept my last drop of water to save you.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you with all my heart.”
The water had barely touched my thirst, but it gave me enough strength to recover somewhat.
My throat loosened. The swelling in my lips eased a little.
Most importantly, I could speak again.
“Then there is no question about what we must do,” I said. “We have no water left. Our journey is over. We must turn back.”
My uncle avoided looking at me.
He lowered his head and stared everywhere except at my face.
“We must return to Sneffels,” I continued. “We have to get back to the surface. May God give us enough strength to see daylight again. I wish we were already standing on top of the crater.”
“Return?” my uncle muttered. “Must it really come to that?”
“Yes! We must go back, and we must leave immediately!”
For a few moments, neither of us spoke.
Then my uncle said in a strange voice, “So, Harry, those few drops of water have not restored your courage.”
“Courage?”
“I see that you are just as discouraged as before.”
I stared at him.
What was this man made of? What impossible idea was forming in his mind now?
“You aren’t thinking of giving up, are you, sir?”
“Give up now, when we are so close to success?” he cried. “Never! Never will anyone say that Professor Hardwigg turned back!”
“Then we are going to die,” I said helplessly.
“No, Harry. Certainly not.”
He looked at me firmly.
“Go. Leave me. I do not want you to die. Take Hans with you. I will continue alone.”
“You want us to leave you?”
“Yes. I began this dangerous journey, and I will finish it. Either I reach the end, or I never return to the surface.”
He raised his voice.
“Go, Harry! I tell you again—go!”
My uncle was terribly excited now.
The gentle voice he had used a moment before was gone. His words had become hard and threatening.
He seemed determined to fight against the impossible itself.
I did not want to abandon him deep inside the earth. But another part of me screamed that I had to save myself.
Meanwhile, Hans watched us with complete calm.
He understood perfectly well that we were arguing over life and death. Our gestures made it obvious that my uncle and I wanted to take different paths.
Yet Hans showed no emotion.
He simply waited for the order.
If we decided to return to the surface, he would go.
If we continued deeper into the earth, he would go.
I desperately wished I could make him understand what I was saying.
If I could explain all the dangers to him, surely he would help me persuade my uncle.
Perhaps together we could force the Professor to turn back.
I walked over to Hans and took his hand.
He remained completely still.
I pointed toward the tunnel leading back to the crater.
Hans shook his head gently.
Then he pointed toward my uncle.
“Master,” he said.
The word was the same in Icelandic and English.
“The master!” I shouted furiously. “He’s not the master of our lives! We have to leave! We must take him with us! Do you understand?”
I was still holding Hans by the arm.
I tried to pull him to his feet and force him toward the tunnel.
Then my uncle stepped between us.
“My good Harry, calm down,” he said. “You will get nothing from my loyal companion. Now listen to me.”
I folded my arms and stared angrily at him.
“The lack of water is the only thing standing between us and success,” he said.
“During our journey through the lava, schist, and coal tunnels, we found not even a drop of liquid. That is true.”
He paused.
“But we may have better luck in the western tunnel.”
I shook my head.
I could not believe him.
“Listen to me,” my uncle said in his familiar lecturing voice.
“While you were lying there unconscious, I explored the other tunnel.”
“I discovered that it descends directly into the earth. Within a few hours, we should reach the old granite formations.”
“And there, we will almost certainly find springs.”
He spoke with complete confidence.
“The nature of the rock makes it practically certain. Logic tells us there must be water there, and instinct tells me the same thing.”
I remained silent.
My uncle continued.
“Now I am asking you for one final chance.”
He looked directly at me.
“When Christopher Columbus was searching for a new land, his exhausted and frightened sailors wanted to give up. He asked them for only three more days.”
“And they gave him those three days.”
He smiled faintly.
“And the New World was discovered.”
He pointed deeper into the tunnel.
“I am the Christopher Columbus of this underground world. I ask you for only one more day.”
“If I have not found water by then, I promise you, I will abandon this expedition and return to the surface.”
Despite my anger and despair, I understood how difficult it must have been for my uncle to make such a compromise.
Under the circumstances, I could not refuse.
“All right,” I said.
“Let us do as you wish. May heaven reward your incredible determination.”
I took a deep breath.
“But if we do not find water, we have very little time left. So let us not waste another minute.”
I pointed toward the tunnel.
“Let’s go.”