We were on the first landing. Water was here also. We had no lights, for our lamps had been put out.
“I’m afraid we are lost,” said the professor quietly; “say your prayers, my boy.”
At this moment seven or eight miners with lamps came running in our direction, trying to reach the ladder. The water was now rushing through the mine in a regular torrent, dragging in its mad course pieces of wood, whirling them round like feathers.
“We must make for an airshaft, boys,” said the professor. “That is the only place where we might find refuge. Give me a lamp.”
Usually no one took any notice of the old man when he spoke, unless it was to make fun of him, but the strongest man there had lost his nerve and it was the voice of the old man, whom they had mocked so often, that they were now ready to obey. A lamp was handed to him. He seized it and dragged me along with him, taking the lead. He, more than any man, knew every nook and corner of the mine. The water was up to my waist. The professor led us to the nearest airshaft. Two miners refused to enter, saying that we were throwing ourselves into a blind alley. They continued along the gallery and we never saw them again.
Then came a deafening noise. A rush of water, a splintering of wood, explosions of compressed air, a dreadful roaring which terrified us.
“It’s the deluge,” shrieked one.
“The end of the world!”
“Oh, God, have mercy on us.”
Hearing the men shrieking their cries of despair, the professor said calmly, but in a voice to which all listened.