One day, amidst the confusion of the different winding passages in the rock, they came to a place out of which there seemed to be no exit. They struck the wall. It returned a hollow sound, so that they drew the conclusion that on the other side there was a large cavern, or space of some sort. The tumbled masses of slate-stratum fallen over one another was a proof that the blockade had been recently made.
"We must clear a passage here," said Ivan, taking the pick in his hand.
Paul cowered down, clinging to the wall. He trembled at every blow of the pick given by the vigorous arm of Ivan, who worked with terrible earnestness. So might a despairing soul beat against the gates of hell and summon the devil to single combat.
At last the pick made a small hole, through which Ivan passed the iron rod, and raised a whole mass of slates.
"Now, if the water is overhead the crack of doom has come."
The old man crossed himself, and recommended his soul to God.
Ivan, however, shouted with all the joy of a discoverer: "Do you hear? The rubbish as it falls makes a splash. The lower basin I am in search of is here, underneath us!"
But what if the one above is full? They had still to wait while they counted a hundred beats of the pulse.
Never was a pulse felt under such terrible circumstances, not even when Ivan had gone down into the burning mine. Not a sound was heard. In the bosom of the earth all is quiet. Ivan was trembling with joyful excitement.
"Found at last!" he cried. "Now bind the cord round me, and lower me into the well cavern."