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      Chapter XXVIII.

       The Rescue In The Whispering Gallery

       Table of Contents

      When I returned to partial life my face was wet with tears. How long that state of insensibility had lasted I cannot say. I had no means now of taking account of time. Never was solitude equal to this, never had any living being been so utterly forsaken.

      After my fall I had lost a good deal of blood. I felt it flowing over me. Ah! how happy I should have been could I have died, and if death were not yet to be gone through. I would think no longer. I drove away every idea, and, conquered by my grief, I rolled myself to the foot of the opposite wall.

      Already I was feeling the approach of another faint, and was hoping for complete annihilation, when a loud noise reached me. It was like the distant rumble of continuous thunder, and I could hear its sounding undulations rolling far away into the remote recesses of the abyss.

      Whence could this noise proceed? It must be from some phenomenon proceeding in the great depths amidst which I lay helpless. Was it an explosion of gas? Was it the fall of some mighty pillar of the globe?

      I listened still. I wanted to know if the noise would be repeated. A quarter of an hour passed away. Silence reigned in this gallery. I could not hear even the beating of my heart.

      Suddenly my ear, resting by chance against the wall, caught, or seemed to catch, certain vague, indescribable, distant, articulate sounds, as of words.

      “This is a delusion,” I thought.

      But it was not. Listening more attentively, I heard in reality a murmuring of voices. But my weakness prevented me from understanding what the voices said. Yet it was language, I was sure of it.

      For a moment I feared the words might be my own, brought back by the echo. Perhaps I had been crying out unknown to myself. I closed my lips firmly, and laid my ear against the wall again.

      “Yes, truly, some one is speaking; those are words!”

      Even a few feet from the wall I could hear distinctly. I succeeded in catching uncertain, strange, undistinguishable words. They came as if pronounced in low murmured whispers. The word ‘forlorad‘ was several times repeated in a tone of sympathy and sorrow.

      “Help!” I cried with all my might. “Help!”

      I listened, I watched in the darkness for an answer, a cry, a mere breath of sound, but nothing came. Some minutes passed. A whole world of ideas had opened in my mind. I thought that my weakened voice could never penetrate to my companions.

      “It is they,” I repeated. “What other men can be thirty leagues under ground?”

      I again began to listen. Passing my ear over the wall from one place to another, I found the point where the voices seemed to be best heard. The word ‘forlorad‘ again returned; then the rolling of thunder which had roused me from my lethargy.

      “No,” I said, “no; it is not through such a mass that a voice can be heard. I am surrounded by granite walls, and the loudest explosion could never be heard here! This noise comes along the gallery. There must be here some remarkable exercise of acoustic laws!”

      I listened again, and this time, yes this time, I did distinctly hear my name pronounced across the wide interval.

      It was my uncle’s own voice! He was talking to the guide. And ‘forlorad‘ is a Danish word.

      Then I understood it all. To make myself heard, I must speak along this wall, which would conduct the sound of my voice just as wire conducts electricity.

      But there was no time to lose. If my companions moved but a few steps away, the acoustic phenomenon would cease. I therefore approached the wall, and pronounced these words as clearly as possible:

      “Uncle Liedenbrock!”

      I waited with the deepest anxiety. Sound does not travel with great velocity. Even increased density air has no effect upon its rate of travelling; it merely augments its intensity. Seconds, which seemed ages, passed away, and at last these words reached me:

      “Axel! Axel! is it you?”

      … .

      “Yes, yes,” I replied.

      … .

      “My boy, where are you?”

      … .

      “Lost, in the deepest darkness.”

      … .

      “Where is your lamp?”

      … .

      “It is out.”

      … .

      “And the stream?”

      … .

      “Disappeared.”

      … .

      “Axel, Axel, take courage!”

      … .

      “Wait! I am exhausted! I can’t answer. Speak to me!”

      … .

      “Courage,” resumed my uncle. “Don’t speak. Listen to me. We have looked for you up the gallery and down the gallery. Could not find you. I wept for you, my poor boy. At last, supposing you were still on the Hansbach, we fired our guns. Our voices are audible to each other, but our hands cannot touch. But don’t despair, Axel! It is a great thing that we can hear each other.”

      … .

      During this time I had been reflecting. A vague hope was returning to my heart. There was one thing I must know to begin with. I placed my lips close to the wall, saying:

      “My uncle!”

      … .

      “My boy!” came to me after a few seconds.

      … .

      “We must know how far we are apart.”

      … .

      “That is easy.”

      … .

      “You have your chronometer?”

      …

      “Yes.”

      … .

      “Well, take it. Pronounce СКАЧАТЬ