By the next day, our terrible thirst had almost become a forgotten memory.
The first thing that surprised me was that I was no longer thirsty at all.
“Why don’t I feel thirsty anymore?” I wondered aloud.
The answer was right there at my feet. The little stream was still running beside us, its clear water rippling over the rocks.
We ate breakfast with a healthy appetite and then drank as much of the fresh water as we wanted.
I felt completely renewed.
“I’m ready to go anywhere my uncle wants to take me,” I thought.
My confidence had returned. I even began to wonder why a man as determined as my uncle could possibly fail, especially with a guide as capable as Hans and a nephew as loyal as me.
If someone had suggested that we turn around and climb all the way back to the top of Mount Sneffels, I would have refused without hesitation.
Fortunately, there was no need to go back.
We were going deeper.
“Come on!” I shouted. “Let’s keep moving!”
My voice echoed through the ancient tunnels.
We started walking again at eight o’clock on Thursday morning.
The great granite passage twisted and turned so often that it looked like a giant underground maze. In general, however, we were still heading southwest.
My uncle stopped several times to check his compass.
Little by little, the tunnel began to slope downward, although the descent was extremely gentle—only about two inches for every furlong.
The stream continued flowing beside our feet.
I began to think of it almost as a friendly spirit guiding us through the darkness.
I dipped my fingers into its pleasantly warm water as we walked.
The sound of the stream made me strangely cheerful.
My mood became so lighthearted that I started imagining the stream as some mythical creature leading us into the underworld.
My uncle, however, was not nearly as amused.
He soon became annoyed by the nearly level path.
“This road is taking far too long,” he complained. “We were supposed to be sliding down toward the center of the earth, not walking along a flat road forever!”
There was nothing we could do about it.
As long as we were moving toward the center of the earth, even slowly, there was no real reason to complain.
Besides, the slope occasionally became much steeper.
Whenever that happened, the stream rushed more loudly beside us, and we began to descend in earnest.
I still felt no serious discomfort.
The discovery of water had filled me with too much excitement to worry about anything else.
For the next two days, we traveled mostly forward and only a little downward.
By Friday evening, July tenth according to our calculations, we believed that we were about thirty leagues southeast of Reykjavik and roughly two and a half leagues beneath the surface.
Then something unexpected happened.
A terrible-looking shaft suddenly opened beneath our feet.
My uncle was delighted.
He actually clapped his hands when he saw how steep the descent was.
“Excellent!” he cried. “This will take us much farther down!”
He pointed excitedly at the rocks sticking out from the walls.
“Look at those projections! What a staircase!”
Hans, as calm and careful as ever, immediately secured the ropes.
“We’ll need these,” he said.
Our descent began.
I would hardly call it dangerous anymore. By then, I had become so accustomed to climbing down cliffs and shafts that this seemed almost ordinary.
The shaft was actually a narrow crack in the enormous granite rock.
It had probably been formed when the earth’s crust cooled and contracted.
Perhaps it had once served as a passage for the molten material that had erupted from Sneffels.
But if that was true, I could not understand why there were no signs of it.
In reality, we were descending along a huge spiral crack.
It was rather like going down one of the winding staircases found in modern houses.
Every fifteen minutes or so, we had to stop and rest.
Our legs and calves were beginning to ache badly.
We would sit on a piece of rock sticking out from the wall, letting our legs hang over the edge.
Then we would eat a little, drink some of the warm water, and talk for a while.
Inside this strange crack, the Hansbach had turned into a small waterfall.
The steep slope made the stream much narrower, but there was still more than enough water for us.
We knew that once the slope became gentler, the stream would return to its normal peaceful flow.
As I watched it, I could not help comparing it to my uncle.
When the water rushed wildly down the rocks, it reminded me of my uncle’s impatience and anger.
When it flowed quietly again, it made me think of calm, steady Hans.
For two whole days, July sixth and seventh according to our records, we followed this extraordinary spiral staircase.
We descended another two leagues into the earth.
That meant we were now about five leagues below sea level.
On the eighth, at noon, the crack suddenly became much less steep.
It was still heading southeast.
The road became easier, but it also became terribly boring.
There was no scenery to distract us.
No forests.
No mountains.
No rivers or valleys.
Nothing changed except the darkness around us.
Still, I suppose there was no reason to expect anything else on a journey like ours.
At last, on Wednesday, July fifteenth, we reached a depth of seven leagues—about twenty-one miles—beneath the surface.
We were also fifty leagues away from Mount Sneffels.
Although we were extremely tired, our health remained surprisingly good.
We had suffered greatly, but none of us had become seriously ill.
In fact, we had not even needed to open our medicine chest.
My uncle continued recording everything carefully.
Every hour, he checked the compass, the manometer, and the thermometer.
He planned to use these measurements later in his scientific account of our journey.
So when he told me that we were now fifty leagues away from our starting point in a horizontal direction, an idea suddenly struck me.
I could not help shouting.
“What’s wrong now?” my uncle asked.
“Nothing serious. I’ve just had an idea.”
“Then tell me.”
“If your calculations are correct, I don’t think we’re under Iceland anymore.”
My uncle looked at me.
“You really think so?”
“We can find out.”
I pulled out a map and my compasses.
After measuring the distances carefully, I pointed to the map.
“Look. I’m right. We have already gone far beyond Cape Portland. If we continue fifty leagues southeast from there, we’ll be under the open sea.”
My uncle’s eyes lit up.
“Under the open sea!”
“Yes,” I said. “There must be a whole ocean above our heads!”
My uncle rubbed his hands together happily.
“Well, my boy, why should that surprise you?”
He smiled.
“You know that near Newcastle, coal mines have been worked far beneath the sea.”
To my uncle, this seemed like nothing remarkable.
To me, however, the thought was rather frightening.
The idea that the entire Atlantic Ocean might be directly above our heads was not exactly comforting.
But when I thought about it carefully, perhaps it made little difference.
Whether the land of Iceland was hanging above us or the enormous waves of the Atlantic Ocean, our real concern was the same.
Everything depended on whether the granite roof above us was strong enough.
Soon, however, I became used to the idea.
The tunnel continued sometimes level and sometimes downward, always leading southeast.
And with every step, we went deeper into the enormous depths of the earth.
Three days later, on Saturday, July eighteenth, we finally reached a vast underground cavern.
My uncle stopped there and paid Hans his usual wages.
Then we decided that the following day would be a day of rest.