PONIES AND GEYSERS.
As there were no vessels in the harbor of Reykjavik, save one that was
taking in a cargo of ponies for Norway, besides the native fishing
boats, and Breeze saw no chance of returning to America at present, he
gladly accepted Lord Seabright’s invitation to accompany him to the
geysers.
Nimbus was to go, of course, to cook for the little expedition, and he
looked forward with considerable anxiety to mounting and riding one of
the shaggy little ponies that he had treated with such contempt upon the
occasion of his former visit to the capital. He had never ridden on
horseback in his life; but it was certain he must do so now if he
expected to reach the geysers, for his own short legs would never carry
him that distance, and there was not a wagon, cart, or carriage to be
had in all Iceland. So horseback it must be, or not go at all; and
during the several days of preparation for the trip, Nimbus occasionally
went on shore, and gazed in silence and sadness at the little shaggy
monsters that were being collected by the guide, evidently trying to
determine upon which one of them it would be safest to trust himself.
The guide was a grave, fresh-faced young Icelander named Haik Gierssen,
who had conducted tourists to the geysers ever since he had been old
enough to do so, and whose father, Gier Zöega, had been a guide before
him. He had undertaken to buy the ponies for the expedition, and in
consequence was the most eagerly sought man in the town. Everybody had
ponies to sell; and though the trip would probably occupy less than a
week, it was necessary to carry tents, provisions, blankets, and extra
clothing, even for that short time, and they must all be carried on
ponyback. Thus, for the party of four, including the guide, twelve
ponies were required, two apiece to be alternately ridden and rested
over the rough roads, and four to carry the camp outfit. It is necessary
to travel thus in Iceland, because there are no hotels on the whole
island but the one at Reykjavik. The country-people are very hospitable,
and will gladly share with a stranger the best they have; but they are
also very poor, and most of their huts are so small and filthy that one
is not apt to accept their kind offers of food and shelter more than
once.
At last all was in readiness, and the morning set for the departure
arrived. It was dreary, wet, and chilly; but in spite of all that, an
enthusiastic and curious crowd of towns-people had assembled to see them
start. They were principally attracted by the sight of Nimbus, who had
become quite a celebrity among them, and whom they regarded as by far
the most important personage of the party. Breeze had found it hard to
persuade his black dory mate to leave behind the white cap, jacket, and
apron, which were his robes of office. Nimbus had finally yielded, and
in their place now wore a fisherman’s sou’wester, with ear-tabs to it,
tied firmly on his head, a monkey-jacket the sleeves of which were
several inches too short for his long arms, white duck trousers, and a
pair of the carpet slippers, run down at the heel, without which no sea
cook is happy.
The moment he found himself on the pony’s back, from which his short
legs stuck out almost at right angles, Nimbus leaned down over the
animal’s neck, twined both hands into its shaggy mane, and resigned
himself to his fate. He could not be induced to hold the bridle, and
would not have known what to do with it if he had. All the pack-ponies
and spare animals were fastened, each to the tail of the one in front,
to keep them from straying. As Nimbus was evidently incapable of
steering his, it was made fast to the tail of the last pack-pony, and
thus the unhappy cook brought up the rear of the procession.
At last, with much cracking of his leathern whip and shoutings of
“Hur-r-r! hur-r-r!” and “Ga, ga!” (go on), the guide succeeded in
getting the long line of ponies started. As Nimbus clung for dear life
to his, the comical workings of his face aroused the spectators to yells
of applause and shouts of laughter. It was more like a circus than
anything they had ever before seen. So amid the cheers of the multitude,
the barking of dogs, the cracking of whips, and the squealing of the
ponies, the party clattered through the rough streets of the fishy,
evil-smelling town into the rougher roads of the black, desolate-looking
country beyond, and were fairly off for the geysers.
These are about sixty miles inland, and nearly due east from Reykjavik.
They are the largest and most famous objects of their kind in the world,
even surpassing in size and the wildness of their surroundings those of
our own Yellowstone Park, or the valley of the Russian River in
California.
The road for the first day’s journey led over rugged lava plains, up and
down the foot-hills of the snow-capped Jökulls, and most of the time
through a country so barren as to contain no trace of human occupation.
It often skirted dark lagoons and quaking bogs dotted with queer
head-like tussocks of grass. In one of these poor Nimbus came to grief.
For greater ease in travelling, the ponies had been unfastened from each
other when they had got some miles out from Reykjavik, and were urged to
proceed at full gallop over the rough roads. This drew forth groans of
anguish from Nimbus, who felt that he would not be able to retain his
seat from one moment to another. He tugged at the pony’s mane, dug his
heels into its ribs, and finally so worked upon its feelings that it
laid back its ears, and turned directly towards one of the black
bottomless bogs, of which there were several in that vicinity. In vain
did the unhappy rider shout “Whoa!” and in vain did the others pursue
the flying beast. It would not stop until it began to feel the soft
ground of the bog under its feet, and then it drew up so suddenly that
its rider was flung far over its head, and landed at full length in the
treacherous mud.
Dismounting and tossing his bridle to Breeze to hold, the guide,
skipping from tussock to tussock, quickly made his way to where Nimbus
was wallowing, in imminent danger of being suffocated. He got a rope
under the negro’s arms, and the others, catching hold of it, literally
dragged him ashore. Here he sputtered and choked and rolled his eyes,
and dripped mud from every point, and presented such a woe-begone and
ridiculous aspect that even the grave Icelander laughed at the sight. As
for Breeze, his excess of merriment caused the tears to roll down his
cheeks, and he had hardly strength enough to help scrape the worst of
the mud from the comical figure.
[Illustration: “YOU OUGHT TO HAVE WORN A DIVING SUIT, NIMBUS,” SAID
BREEZE.]
“You ought to have worn a diving suit, Nimbus,” he exclaimed between his
outbursts of laughter.
“Oh, g’way now, young cap’n. You oughter be ’shamed makin’ fun er ole
Nim when he in a heap er trouble. I tell you, sah, dis cruisin’ on dry
lan’ ’s dangersome work, an’ ef ebber ole Nim git back to salt-water he
stick to um.”
As a precaution against further mishaps of this nature, they lashed him
fast to his pony after the manner of a pack, and once more the
procession was got under way.
That afternoon they passed through a wonderful gorge known as the
Almannajau, with sides of shining black lava rising as sheer and regular
as though it had been hewn out by giants. Beyond it lay the valley of
Thingvalla, showing scattered patches of fresh green grass upon which
sheep were grazing. In it stood a small church, and the house, or rather
cluster of huts, in which dwelt the pastor of Thingvalla and his
numerous family.
They camped for the night beside the church, though the hospitable
pastor begged them to consider his dwelling as theirs for as long as
they chose to use it, and urged them at least to sleep in his Bädstove,
or guest-chamber. One breath of the foul, suffocating air of the
interior of the house was enough for Lord Seabright, and to the great
relief of his young companion, he courteously declined in very good
Latin the proffered hospitality.
As fuel was one of the scarcest articles in that vicinity, they accepted
a pot of coffee from the pastor’s wife, and made their dinner from it
and what cold provisions they had brought along. They tried to eat some
of the bowl of skeyer, or cheese curds, which the good man pressed upon
them; but it was so rank that they were unable to swallow a single
mouthful. It was thereupon turned over to Gierssen, who found no
difficulty in eating the whole bowlful. In return for these favors, Lord
Seabright presented the pastor with several tins of meat, with which he
was greatly pleased, and for which he expressed thanks in the choicest
Latin.
The next morning, after poor Nimbus, stiff, aching in every joint, and
groaning at the hard fate that had dragged him thus far away from the
sea, had been lashed firmly to his pony, an early start was made. For a
few miles the riding was comparatively smooth, and then the road plunged
into the most awful country ever traversed by men and horses. It became
an indistinct trail only marked by occasional piles of stones, and the
savage region through which it led was torn and rent to pieces as though
it had been the battle-ground of demons. It was inconceivably blasted,
scorched, and strewn with chaotic masses of lava. It was traversed in
every direction by deep chasms, between which the trail, often but a few
feet wide, wound its perilous way, and into which a single misstep would
have hurled horse and rider, to be lost beyond recovery. Numerous
rushing torrents were forded, and in one foaming river, the Bruara, a
bottomless fissure cleft in the middle of its channel was crossed on a
bridge of planks that were actually laid below the surface of the water
and were not seen until they were reached.
The frightful nature of this journey at first drew from poor Nimbus
groans, prayers, and entreaties to be left where he was and not taken
any farther into what he termed “de home ob ole Satan hissef.” Finally
he closed his eyes, and passively allowed himself to be borne onward to
what he believed was certain destruction.
It was a tedious day’s ride; but after passing the Bruara the country
became somewhat better, and showed occasional little green valleys, in
one of which the travellers rested for an hour and ate their luncheon.
Here and there lonely huts were passed, and some flocks and herds were
seen, as well as an occasional human being in the distance. Finally they
reached the world-famed valley of the geysers, where, within a space of
half a mile, some forty or fifty springs of all sizes and shapes boiled,
bubbled, and sent up clouds of steam and sulphurous vapors.
Of them all, the two best worth seeing are the Great Geyser and the
Strokhr, or churn. The latter can be made to go off, but the former only
displays his superb fountains of boiling water when it pleases him to do
so. Often tourists have waited near him for days, and then been
compelled to leave without having seen an eruption.
A camping-place was selected on a plot of grass but a short distance
from the basin of the Great Geyser, the tents were pitched, and Nimbus,
with his spirits somewhat restored by reaching the journey’s end, began
to cook dinner. He had no need to make a fire, and there was nothing to
make it with if he had wanted one. He simply followed Haik Gierssen’s
directions, and made coffee, tea, and a delicious soup in a boiling
caldron of beautifully clear water that hissed and steamed on a rocky
ledge a few yards back of the tents. Nimbus would not believe it was hot
enough to cook meat, until he had made a test by thrusting a finger into
it. Then the howl of pain with which he snatched back his hand convinced
the others that he was fully satisfied with his experiment.
While he was preparing dinner the others busied themselves in cutting
sods with which to make the Strokhr “sick,” as Haik Gierssen said.
Breeze did not understand what he meant; but he was one of those rare
boys who would rather wait a little for information that he was sure
would come to him, than to try and force it by useless questions; so he
held his tongue, and busily cut sods with the others.
The Strokhr is a funnel-shaped hole in the rock, about six feet across
at the top, in which, some twenty feet below the surface, water boils
and tumbles uneasily. In its depths are heard groans and rumblings,
while occasional jets of hissing steam and upward rushes of water
indicate its great uneasiness and desire to burst from its rocky prison.
After a huge pile of sods had been cut and stacked on its edge, Haik
Gierssen said there was enough to make him very sick, and pushed them
all into the steaming opening.
A terrible commotion followed, and peering over the edge, they could see
the sods swirling and dashing about in the angry waters, while the
rumblings and roarings were louder than ever. Suddenly, almost without
warning, a vast column of ink-black water, flecked with foam and dotted
with sods, was belched forth and shot up nearly a hundred feet into the
air. It was a magnificent sight, and looked like a hundred fountains
joined in one, and surrounded by clouds of steam and hissing spray.
The spectators sprang back, and running for dear life, were barely
beyond reach of the boiling torrents as they fell back, drenching the
ground for fifty feet about the mouth of this terrible churn. Again and
again did the vast column of water shoot upward, as though the Strokhr
had been made deadly sick by the sod pills administered to it and was
determined to get rid of them. It was a fearful yet fascinating
exhibition of the hidden forces of nature, and Lord Seabright said that
if he saw nothing more of the geysers he should feel fully repaid for
all the hardships of the trip by this one display.
To Breeze it was so marvellous that he could find no words to express
his awe and delight at the wonderful phenomenon.
The effect of the eruption upon poor Nimbus was such, that after one
glance at it he threw himself, face downward, flat upon the ground,
where he lay kicking and screaming with fright long after it had
subsided.
The eruptions were continued at intervals through the night, and the
sleep of the tired travellers was sadly broken by the heavings and
groanings of the monster whom they had made so sick. Towards morning, in
the midst of these, a heavy booming sound, apparently far down in the
depths of the earth, was added to the other weird noises of this uncanny
place, and a shout from the guide warned them that something important
was about to happen. As they sprang from their tent there was a
tremendous report, as of a park of artillery, and before them, sparkling
in the red light of the newly risen sun, towered the vast watery mass of
the Great Geyser. It was snowy white, in striking contrast to the
blackness of the Strokhr, and sprang upward in a series of great domes.
For ten minutes they stood fascinated by the superb exhibition, then,
with a few gurgling gasps, the waters sank back into their underground
boilers, and the show was over.
There was nothing more to wait for. They had been so unusually fortunate
as to see both the Great Geyser and the Strokhr within a few hours, and
so long as they lived the marvellous fountains would remain with them as
vivid mind-pictures. Now, to hasten back to the Saga, and leave this
dreary land of fire and snow, ice, and boiling waters behind them as
soon as possible was the one desire both of Lord Seabright and Breeze.
The companionship and strange experiences of this trip had drawn the
English lord and the Yankee fisher-lad together with a feeling that, had
their stations in life been more equal, would have been a warm
friendship; and on their way back to Reykjavik the one invited the other
to be his guest for a while longer.
“Come to England with us, McCloud,” said Lord Seabright. “There you can
sell your ambergris, get the best market price for it, and go home by
steamer whenever you choose. If you stay here you may have to wait in
the beastly place a year before finding a chance to go to America.”
Of course this kind offer was gratefully accepted by Breeze, who only
asked that he might be set ashore at Queenstown, in Ireland.