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Such a process, simple as
it seemed, would most certainly not have entered our heads. Nothing
could be more dangerous than to begin to work with pickaxes in that
particular part of the globe. Supposing while he was at work a break-up
were to take place, and supposing the torrent once having gained an inch
were to take an ell, and come pouring bodily through the broken rock!
Not one of these dangers was chimerical. They were only too real. But at
that moment no fear of falling in of the roof, or even of inundation was
capable of stopping us. Our thirst was so intense that to quench it we
would have dug below the bed of old Ocean itself.
Hans went quietly to work--a work which neither my uncle nor I would
have undertaken at any price. Our impatience was so great that if we had
once begun with pickax and crowbar, the rock would soon have split into
a hundred fragments. The guide, on the contrary, calm, ready, moderate,
wore away the hard rock by little steady blows of his instrument, making
no attempt at a larger hole than about six inches. As I stood, I heard,
or I thought I heard, the roar of the torrent momentarily increasing in
loudness, and at times I almost felt the pleasant sensation of water
upon my parched lips.
At the end of what appeared an age, Hans had made a hole which enabled
his crowbar to enter two feet into the solid rock. He had been at work
exactly an hour. It appeared a dozen. I was getting wild with
impatience. My uncle began to think of using more violent measures. I
had the greatest difficulty in checking him. He had indeed just got hold
of his crowbar when a loud and welcome hiss was heard. Then a stream, or
rather jet, of water burst through the wall and came out with such force
as to hit the opposite side!
Hans, the guide, who was half upset by the shock, was scarcely able to
keep down a cry of pain and grief. I understood his meaning when,
plunging my hands into the sparkling jet, I myself gave a wild and
frantic cry. The water was scalding hot!
"Boiling," I cried, in bitter disappointment.
"Well, never mind," said my uncle, "it will soon get cool."
The tunnel began to be filled by clouds of vapor, while a small stream
ran away into the interior of the earth. In a short time we had some
sufficiently cool to drink. We swallowed it in huge mouthfuls.
Oh! what exalted delight--what rich and incomparable luxury! What was
this water, whence did it come? To us what was that? The simple fact
was--it was water; and, though still with a tingle of warmth about it,
it brought back to the heart, that life which, but for it, must surely
have faded away. I drank greedily, almost without tasting it.
When, however, I had almost quenched my ravenous thirst, I made a
discovery.
"Why, it is chalybeate water!"
"A most excellent stomachic," replied my uncle, "and highly mineralized.
Here is a journey worth twenty to Spa."
"It's very good," I replied.
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