A Journey to the Centre of the Earth

pleasure, and without satisfaction. Hans, the guide, just as if he had been eider-down hunting, swallowed every mouthful, as though it were a usual affair. He looked like a man equally prepared to enjoy superfluity or total want. Hans, in all probability, was no more used to starvation than ourselves, but his hardy Icelandic nature had prepared him for many sufferings. As long as he received his three rix-dollars every Saturday night, he was prepared for anything. The fact was, Hans never troubled himself about much except his money. He had undertaken to serve a certain man at so much per week, and no matter what evils befell his employer or himself, he never found fault or grumbled, so long as his wages were duly paid. Suddenly my uncle roused himself. He had seen a smile on the face of our guide. I could not make it out. "What is the matter?" said my uncle. "Schiedam," said the guide, producing a bottle of this precious fluid. We drank. My uncle and myself will own to our dying day that hence we derived strength to exist until the last bitter moment. That precious bottle of Hollands was in reality only half full; but, under the circumstances, it was nectar. It took some minutes for myself and my uncle to form a decided opinion on the subject. The worthy Professor swallowed about half a pint and did not seem able to drink any more. "Fortrafflig," said Hans, swallowing nearly all that was left. "Excellent—very good," said my uncle, with as much gusto as if he had just left the steps of the club at Hamburg. I had begun to feel as if there had been one gleam of hope. Now all thought of the future vanished! We had consumed our last ounce of food, and it was five o'clock in the morning!