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out on our first day's march. Our provision of liquids was reduced to
our supply of Schiedam; but this horrible--nay, I will say it--this
infernal liquor burnt the throat, and I could not even bear the sight of
it. I found the temperature to be stifling. I was paralyzed with
fatigue. More than once I was about to fall insensible to the ground.
The whole party then halted, and the worthy Icelander and my excellent
uncle did their best to console and comfort me. I could, however,
plainly see that my uncle was contending painfully against the extreme
fatigues of our journey, and the awful torture generated by the absence
of water.
At length a time came when I ceased to recollect anything--when all was
one awfull hideous, fantastic dream!
At last, on Tuesday, the seventh of the month of July, after crawling on
our hands and knees for many hours, more dead than alive, we reached the
point of junction between the galleries. I lay like a log, an inert mass
of human flesh on the arid lava soil. It was then ten in the morning.
Hans and my uncle, leaning against the wall, tried to nibble away at
some pieces of biscuit, while deep groans and sighs escaped from my
scorched and swollen lips. Then I fell off into a kind of deep lethargy.
Presently I felt my uncle approach, and lift me up tenderly in his arms.
"Poor boy," I heard him say in a tone of deep commiseration.
I was profoundly touched by these words, being by no means accustomed to
signs of womanly weakness in the Professor. I caught his trembling hands
in mine and gave them a gentle pressure. He allowed me to do so without
resistance, looking at me kindly all the time. His eyes were wet with
tears.
I then saw him take the gourd which he wore at his side. To my surprise,
or rather to my stupefaction, he placed it to my lips.
"Drink, my boy," he said.
Was it possible my ears had not deceived me? Was my uncle mad? I looked
at him, with, I am sure, quite an idiotic expression. I could not
believe him. I too much feared the counteraction of disappointment.
"Drink," he said again.
Had I heard aright? Before, however, I could ask myself the question a
second time, a mouthful of water cooled my parched lips and throat--one
mouthful, but I do believe it brought me back to life.
I thanked my uncle by clasping my hands. My heart was too full to speak.
"Yes," said he, "one mouthful of water, the very last--do you hear, my
boy--the very last! I have taken care of it at the bottom of my bottle
as the apple of my eye. Twenty times, a hundred times, I have resisted
the fearful desire to drink it. But--no--no, Harry, I saved it for you."
"My dear uncle," I exclaimed, and the big tears rolled down my hot and
feverish cheeks.
"Yes, my poor boy, I knew that when you reached this place, this
crossroad in the earth, you would fall down half dead, and I saved my
last drop of water in order to restore you."
"Thanks," I cried; "thanks from my heart.
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