Half an hour passed in this way. Half-suffocated, some of the miners lay
down flat on the ground. Many of them hid their faces as though
unwilling to see death face to face--death which seemed so horrible in
this black hole so far from the earth's surface. The pickaxes and
shovels which were at work on the wall which barred their progress moved
but slowly. Finally, the last batch who were working stopped, having no
longer the strength to continue. In vain were their chests expanded to
take deeper breaths--they were stifled, their throats were contracted,
blood rushed to their heads; the air was failing them. The horrible
consciousness of certain death was weighing upon them. But in any case
the unfortunate men would not have had the strength to escape from this
grim cul-de-sac. Their torches, flung to the earth, burnt no longer, but
filled with smoke the gloom in which they were plunged.
The chief miner had an attack of vertigo. At his side a young miner
began to bleed copiously at the mouth; another was struggling on the
ground in an epileptic fit. Some began cursing and quarrelling or
accusing old Ivan and the chief miner. One man uttered a cry, for
another stretched at his side, had, in his frenzy, seized him by the
throat. The chief miner thought he saw red streaks in the black darkness
and felt as though something damp and slimy glided over his face. He
collected all his remaining strength, rose with difficulty and took up
his pickaxe again. His legs tottered. Several times he buried the pick
in the black mass of earth which scattered and crumbled beneath his
blows; his tool sank under the projecting rock and fragments of damp
earth fell with a dull sound. He felt his arms grow numb and threaten to
drop the tool.
"Can any of you help me?" he murmured, but he perceived with terror that
he was voiceless, for although he thought he had spoken aloud, no one
had heard him. It was like a struggle in a nightmare when the dreamer
sees some terrible sight, e.g., an assassin creeping towards his bed,
and tries to cry but in vain, for he is dumb. He makes a fresh effort as
fruitless as the last and sees the assassin's knife come nearer. A
fiendish face bends over him. He collects his last strength; it seems to
him that his cry must wake the whole house and be heard in the street,
yet the sleeping cat curled up on his bed does not hear the feeble groan
which escapes from his labouring chest, "Come and help me!"
Well, it was the end. There was nothing more to hope for. Mechanically
his hand again thrust the pick under the projecting rock. He felt a
shock of surprise; the pick passed right through it; a shudder thrilled
him; he clenched his teeth, made a superhuman effort, buried his pick
still more deeply, throwing as much weight into it as he could, and then
fell prostrate, his face towards the ground. His pickaxe had escaped
from his hand and fallen through to the other side.
Through the opening thus formed there rushed a gust of refreshing air
which at once increased in strength. The smoking torches which had been
flung on the ground were spontaneously re-kindled. Their flame licked
the walls. The miners began to breathe heavily; those who had half
swooned revived a little and began to move. Many raised their heads,
drinking in the air with such avidity that they became sick. The chief
miner crept with difficulty through the opening and began to breathe
with deep gasps the vivifying air.
"It is there ... there!" repeated old Ivan dreamily.
"Yes, old man, it _is_ there, you are right," the miners answered,
suddenly recovering their courage.
All the men who had been half-insane a moment before were now convinced
that they were saved. In any case, it was a respite; they would not die
yet. Death had been left behind in the race once more; they would be
able to wrestle with it, and they must profit by this respite to get out
of this place. If they had to die after all, well, they would die, but
elsewhere, not in this cramped black hole. They set to work again, and
this time so zealously that in a short time they succeeded in clearing
away the mass of earth which obstructed the opening into the
neighbouring gallery. To judge from the quantity of air which came from
below they guessed it must be much larger than the narrow passage in
which they were working. They hastened to work at this outlet which
promised deliverance. The pickaxes struck the rocks violently, and the
shovels dug deeply. They disputed with each other the right to work, and
he who could clear away the most won; they nearly came to blows in order
to dig near the opening in order to reach the new passage. The opening
grew larger every moment. Old Ivan glanced at it and his face grew
radiant with joy, because he saw beyond it the white Apparition waiting.
"Here I am, Lord, here I am!" he murmured, and if his comrades had not
prevented him, he would have tried to pass through the opening at the
risk of blocking it up.
After another half-hour of work they could pass through the opening,
although they had to stoop very low. The chief miner went first followed
by all the rest. Once he was in the new gallery, old Ivan lifted his
torch as high as before.
"I have never seen this gallery!" exclaimed the chief miner. He turned
towards Ivan, but at the sight of him the words died in his throat, and
he could only stammer, "What is the matter?"
Great tears were running down the old man's wrinkled cheeks; he was
contemplating with an expression of profound grief the dark entrance of
a side gallery.
"Well, old man! What is the matter?" the miners asked, surrounding him.
He continued to gaze in the same direction. "Does this place remind you
of something?" asked the chief miner. They all listened eagerly for his
answer.
"It is here that my mother was buried in a landslip. Yes, here on this
side."
"Comrades!" the chief miner exclaimed joyfully. "There is no doubt about
it! We are in the Znamensky mine!"
So true is it that one man's grief is another man's happiness.
Old Ivan himself was forgotten. They saw that he had guided them all to
the old mine, which had been long abandoned, but which he remembered
from his childhood. As the mine had been dug in the rock itself, the
shaft was undamaged, but they had to find the entrance to it.
The old man remained motionless where he was, his eyes fixed on the
place where his mother had perished. The chief miner, who had recovered
his collectedness of mind, approached him.
"Well, old man, has Jesus gone without you?"
"No ... He is there.... He waits for me. Here I am, Lord, here I am."
He resumed his march, and the miners followed him cheerfully.