There was something in my manner that forced Uncle Gaspard to stop his work and listen. The noise was now louder and more sinister. "Race for your life. The mine's flooded!" he shouted. "Professor! Professor!" I screamed. We rushed down the gallery. The old man joined us. The water was rising rapidly. "You go first," said the old man when we reached the ladder. We were not in a position to show politeness. Uncle Gaspard went first, I followed, then came the professor. Before we had reached the top of the ladder a rush of water fell, extinguishing our lamps. "Hold on," cried Uncle Gaspard. We clung to the rungs. But some men who were below us were thrown off. The fall of water had turned into a veritable avalanche. We were on the first landing. Water was here also. We had no lights, for our lamps had been put out. "I'm afraid we are lost," said the professor quietly; "say your prayers, my boy." At this moment seven or eight miners with lamps came running in our direction, trying to reach the ladder. The water was now rushing through the mine in a regular torrent, dragging in its mad course pieces of wood, whirling them round like feathers. "We must make for an airshaft, boys," said the professor. "That is the only place where we might find refuge. Give me a lamp." Usually no one took any notice of the old man when he spoke, unless it was to make fun of him, but the strongest man there had lost his nerve and it was the voice of the old man, whom they had mocked so often, that they were now ready to obey. A lamp was handed to him. He seized it and dragged me along with him, taking the lead. He, more than any man, knew every nook and corner of the mine. The water was up to my waist. The professor led us to the nearest airshaft. Two miners refused to enter, saying that we were throwing ourselves into a blind alley. They continued along the gallery and we never saw them again. Then came a deafening noise. A rush of water, a splintering of wood, explosions of compressed air, a dreadful roaring which terrified us. "It's the deluge," shrieked one. "The end of the world!" "Oh, God, have mercy on us." Hearing the men shrieking their cries of despair, the professor said calmly, but in a voice to which all listened. "Courage, boys, now as we are going to stay here for a while we must get to work. We can't stay long, huddled together like this. Let us scoop out a hollow in the shale so as to have a place to rest upon." His words calmed the men. With hands and lamphooks they began to dig into the soil. The task was difficult, for the airshaft in which we had taken refuge was on a considerable slope and very slippery. And we knew that it meant death if we made a false step. A resting place was made, and we were able to stop and take note of each other. We were seven: the professor, Uncle Gaspard, three miners, Pages, Comperou and Bergounhoux, and a car pusher named Carrory, and myself.