“In my opinion, they are not trying to rescue us,” said Uncle Gaspard, breaking the silence at last. “We can’t hear a sound.”
“How can you think that of your comrades?” cried the professor hotly. “You know well enough that in every mine accident the miners have never deserted one another, and that twenty men, one hundred men, would sooner be killed than leave a comrade without assistance. You know that well enough.”
“That is true,” murmured Uncle Gaspard.
“Make no error, they are trying their hardest to reach us. They have two ways,… one is to bore a tunnel to us down here, the other is to drain off the water.”
The men began a vague discussion as to how long it would take to accomplish this task. All realized that we should have to remain at least eight days in our tomb. Eight days! I had heard of miners being imprisoned for twenty-four days, but that was in a story and this was reality. When I was able to fully grasp what this meant, I paid no heed to the talk around me. I was stunned.
Again there was silence. All were plunged in thought. How long we remained so I cannot tell, but suddenly there was a cry;
“The pumps are at work!”
This was said with one voice, for the sounds that had just reached our ears had seemed to touch us by an electric current and we all rose up. We should be saved!
Carrory took my hand and squeezed it.
“You’re a good boy,” he said.