THE GEYSERS.
Upon turning the point of a hill where our trail was a little elevated
above the great valley, Zoega called my attention to a column of vapor
that seemed to rise out of the ground about ten miles distant. For all
I could judge, it was smoke from some settler's cabin situated in a
hollow of the slope.
"What's that, Zoega?" I asked.
"That's the Geysers, sir," he replied, as coolly as if it were the
commonest thing in the world to see the famous Geysers of Iceland.
"The Geysers! That little thing the Geysers?"
"Yes, sir."
"Dear me! who would ever have thought it?"
I may as well confess at once that I was sadly disappointed. It was a
pleasure, of course, to see what I had read of and pictured to my
mind, from early boyhood; but this contemptible little affair looked
very much like a humbug. A vague idea had taken possession of my mind
that I would see a whole district of country shooting up hot water and
sulphurous vapors--a kind of hell upon earth; but that thing ahead of
us--that little curl of smoke on the horizon looked so peaceful, so
inadequate a result of great subterranean fires, that I could not but
feel some resentment toward the travelers who had preceded me, and
whose glowing accounts of the Geysers had deceived me. At this point
of view it was not at all equal to the Geysers of California. I had a
distinct recollection of the great canyon between Russian River Valley
and Clear Lake, the magnificent hills on the route, the first glimpse
of the infernal scene far down in the bed of the canyon, the boiling,
hissing waters, and clouds of vapor whirling up among the rocks, the
towering crags on the opposite side, and the noble forests of oak and
pine that spread "a boundless contiguity of shade" over the wearied
traveler, and I must say a patriotic pride took possession of my soul.
We had beaten the world in the production of gold; our fruits were
finer and our vegetables larger than any ever produced in other
countries; our men taller and stronger, our women prettier and more
prolific, our lawsuits more extensive, our fights the best ever gotten
up, our towns the most rapidly built and rapidly burned--in short,
every thing was on a grand, wide, broad, tall, fast, overwhelming
scale, that bid defiance to competition, and now I was satisfied we
could even beat old Iceland in the matters of Geysers. I really felt
a contempt for that little streak of smoke. Perhaps something in the
expression of my eye may have betrayed my thoughts, for Zoega, as if
he felt a natural pride in the wonders of Iceland and wished them to
be properly appreciated, hastily added, "But you must not judge of the
Geysers by what you now see, sir! That is only the little Geyser. He
don't blow up much. The others are behind the first rise of ground."
"That may be, Zoega. I have no doubt they are very fine, but it is not
within the bounds of possibility that they should equal the Geysers of
California."
"Indeed, sir! I didn't know you had Geysers there."
"Didn't know it! Never heard of the Geysers of California?"
"Never, sir."
"Well, Zoega, that is remarkable. Our Geysers are the finest, the
bitterest, the smokiest, the noisiest, the most infernal in the world;
and as for mountains, our Shasta Bute would knock your Mount Hecla
into a cocked hat!"
"Is it possible!"
"Of course it is."
"And have you great lava-beds covering whole valleys as we have here?"
"Certainly--only they are made of gold. We call them Placers--Gold
Placers."
"A wonderful country, sir!"
"Would you like to go there, Zoega?"
"No, sir; I'd rather stay here."
[Illustration: SHEPHERD AND FAMILY.]
And so we talked, Zoega and I, as we jogged along pleasantly on our
way. Our ride, after we caught the first sight of the smoke,
continued for some two hours over a series of low hills, with little
green valleys lying between, till we came to an extensive bog that
skirts the base of the Langarfjal, a volcanic bluff forming the
background of the Geysers. It was now becoming interesting. Half an
hour more would settle the matter conclusively between California
and Iceland. Crossing the bog where it was not very wet, we soon came
to a group of huts at the turning-point of the hill, where we were
met by a shepherd and his family. All turned out, big and little, to
see the strangers. The man and his wife were fair specimens of
Icelandic peasantry--broad-faced, blue-eyed, and good-natured, with
yellowish hair, and a sort of mixed costume, between the civilized
and the barbarous. The children, of which there must have been over a
dozen, were of the usual cotton-head species found in all Northern
countries, and wore any thing apparently they could get, from the
cast-off rags of their parents to sheepskins and raw hide. Nothing
could surpass the friendly interest of the old shepherd. He asked
Zoega a thousand questions about the "gentleman," and begged that we
would dismount and do him the honor to take a cup of coffee, which
his wife would prepare for us in five minutes. Knowing by experience
that five minutes in Iceland means any time within five hours, I was
reluctantly obliged to decline the invitation. The poor fellow seemed
much disappointed, and evidently was sincere in his offers of
hospitality. To compromise the matter, we borrowed a spade from him,
and requested him to send some milk down to our camp as soon as the
cows were milked.
Although these worthy people lived not over half a mile from the
Geysers, they could not tell us when the last eruption had taken
place--a most important thing for us to know, as the success of the
trip depended almost entirely upon the length of time which had
elapsed since that event. The man said he never took notice of the
eruptions. He saw the water shooting up every few days, but paid no
particular attention to it. There might have been an eruption
yesterday, or this morning, for all he knew; it was impossible for him
to say positively. "In truth, good friend," said he to Zoega, "my head
is filled with sheep, and they give me trouble enough." It was
evidently filled with something, for he kept scratching it all the
time he was talking.
Many travelers have been compelled to wait a week for an eruption of
the Great Geyser, though the interval between the eruptions is not
usually more than three days. A good deal depends upon the previous
state of the weather, whether it has been wet or dry. Sometimes the
eruptions take place within twenty-four hours, but not often. The
Great Geyser is a very capricious old gentleman, take him as you will.
He goes up or keeps quiet just to suit himself, and will not put
himself the least out of the way to oblige anybody. Even the Prince
Napoleon, who visited this region a few years ago, spent two days
trying to coax the grumbling old fellow to favor him with a
performance, but all to no purpose. The prince was no more to a Great
Geyser than the commonest shepherd--not so much, in fact, for his
finest displays are said to be made when nobody but some poor shepherd
of the neighborhood is about. In former times the eruptions were much
more frequent than they are now, occurring at least every six hours,
and often at periods of only three or four. Gradually they have been
diminishing in force and frequency, and it is not improbable they will
cease altogether before the lapse of another century. According to the
measurements given by various travelers, among whom may be mentioned
Dr. Henderson, Sir George Mackenzie, Forbes, Metcalfe, and Lord
Dufferin, the height to which the water is ejected varies from eighty
to two hundred feet. It is stated that these Geysers did not exist
prior to the fifteenth century; and one eruption--that of 1772--is
estimated by Olsen and Paulsen to have reached the extraordinary
height of three hundred and sixty feet. All these measurements appear
to me to be exaggerated.
Ascending a slope of dry incrusted earth of a red and yellowish color,
we first came upon the Little Geyser, a small orifice in the ground,
from which a column of steam arose. A bubbling sound as of boiling
water issued from the depths below, but otherwise it presented no
remarkable phenomena. In a few minutes more we stood in the middle of
a sloping plateau of some half a mile in circuit, which declines into
an extensive valley on the right. Within the limits of this area there
are some forty springs and fissures which emit hot water and vapors.
None of them are of any considerable size, except the Great Geyser,
the Strokhr, and the Little Geyser. The earth seems to be a mere crust
of sulphurous deposits, and burnt clay, and rotten trap-rock, and is
destitute of vegetation except in a few spots, where patches of grass
and moss present a beautiful contrast to the surrounding barrenness.
In its quiescent state the scene was not so striking as I had
expected, though the whirling volumes of smoke that filled the air,
and the strange sounds that issued from the ground in every direction,
filled my mind with strong premonitions of what might take place at
any moment. I did not yet relinquish my views in reference to the
superiority of the California Geysers; still, I began to feel some
misgiving about it when I looked around and saw the vastness of the
scale upon which the fixtures were arranged here for hydraulic
entertainments. If we could beat Iceland in the beauty of our scenery,
it was quite apparent that the advantage lay here in the breadth and
extent of the surrounding desolation--the great lava-fields, the
snow-capped Jokuls, and the distant peaks of Mount Hecla.
We rode directly toward the Great Geyser, which we approached within
about fifty yards. Here was the camping-ground--a pleasant little
patch of green sod, where the various travelers who had preceded us
had pitched their tents. Zoega knew every spot. He had accompanied
most of the distinguished gentlemen who had honored the place with
their presence, and had something to say in his grave, simple way
about each of them. Here stood Lord Dufferin's tent. A lively young
gentleman he was; a very nice young man; told some queer stories about
the Icelanders; didn't see much of the country, but made a very nice
book about what he saw; had a great time at the governor's, and drank
every body drunk under the table, etc. Here, close by, the Prince
Napoleon pitched his tent--a large tent, very handsomely decorated;
room for all his officers; very fine gentleman the prince; had lots of
money; drank plenty of Champagne; a fat gentleman, not very tall; had
blackish hair, and talked French; didn't see the Great Geyser go up,
but saw the Strokhr, etc. Here was Mr. Metcalfe's tent; a queer
gentleman, Mr. Metcalfe; rather rough in his dress; wrote a funny book
about Iceland; told some hard things on the priests; they didn't like
it at all; didn't know what to make of Mr. Metcalfe, etc. Here was Mr.
Chambers's camp--a Scotch gentleman; very nice man, plain and
sensible; wrote a pamphlet, etc. And here was an old tent-mark, almost
rubbed out, where an American gentleman camped about ten years ago;
thought his name was Mr. Miles. This traveler also wrote a book, and
told some funny stories.
"Was it Pliny Miles?" I asked.
"Yes, sir, that was his name. I was with him all the time."
"Have you his book?"
"Yes, sir, I have his book at home. A very queer gentleman, Mr. Miles;
saw a great many things that I didn't see; says he came near getting
drowned in a river."
"And didn't he?"
"Well, sir, I don't know. I didn't see him when he was near being
drowned. You crossed the river, sir, yourself, and know whether it is
dangerous."
"Was it the Bruara?"
"No, sir; one of the other little rivers, about knee-deep."
Here was food for reflection. Zoega, with his matter-of-fact eyes,
evidently saw things in an entirely different light from that in which
they presented themselves to the enthusiastic tourists who accompanied
him. Perhaps he would some time or other be pointing out my tent to
some inquisitive visitor, and giving him a running criticism upon my
journal of experiences in Iceland. I deemed it judicious, therefore,
to explain to him that gentlemen who traveled all the way to Iceland
were bound to see something and meet with some thrilling adventures.
If they didn't tell of very remarkable things, nobody would care
about reading their books. This was the great art of travel; it was
not exactly lying, but putting on colors to give the picture effect.
"For my part, Zoega," said I, "having no great skill as an artist, and
being a very plain, unimaginative man, as you know, I shall confine
myself strictly to facts. Perhaps there will be novelty enough in
telling the truth to attract attention."
"The truth is always the best, sir," replied Zoega, gravely and
piously.
"Of course it is, Zoega. This country is sufficiently curious in
itself. It does not require the aid of fiction to give it effect.
Therefore, should you come across any thing in my narrative which may
have escaped your notice, depend upon it I thought it was true--or
ought to be."
"Yes, sir; I know you would never lie like some of these gentlemen."
"Never! never, Zoega! I scorn a lying traveler above all things on
earth."
But these digressions, however amusing they were at the time, can
scarcely be of much interest to the reader.
Even after the lapse of several years the marks around the
camping-ground were quite fresh. The sod is of very fine texture, and
the grass never grows very rank, so that wherever a trench is cut to
let off the rain, it remains, with very little alteration, for a great
length of time.
On the principle that a sovereign of the United States ought never to
rank himself below a prince of any other country, I selected a spot a
little above the camping-ground of his excellency the Prince Napoleon.
By the aid of my guide I soon had the tent pitched. It was a small
affair--only an upright pole, a few yards of canvas, and four wooden
pins. The whole concern did not weigh twenty pounds, and only covered
an area of ground about four feet by six. Zoega then took the horses
to a pasture up the valley. I amused myself making a few sketches of
the surrounding objects, and thinking how strange it was to be here
all alone at the Geysers of Iceland. How many of my friends knew where
I was? Not one, perhaps. And should all the Geysers blow up together
and boil me on the spot, what would people generally think of it? Or
suppose the ground were to give way and swallow me up, what difference
would it make in the price of consols or the temperature of the ocean?
When Zoega came back, he said, if I pleased, we would now go to work
and cut sods for the Strokhr. It was a favorable time "to see him
heave up." The way to make him do that was to make him sick. Sods
always made him sick. They didn't agree with his stomach. Every
gentleman who came here made it a point to stir him up. He was called
the Strokhr because he churned things that were thrown down his
throat; and Strokhr means _churn_. I was very anxious to see the
performance suggested by Zoega, and readily consented to assist him in
getting the sods.
The Strokhr lay about a hundred yards from our tent, nearly in a line
between the Great and Little Geysers. Externally it presents no very
remarkable feature, being nothing more than a hole in the bed of
rocks, about five feet in diameter, and slightly funnel-shaped at the
orifice. Standing upon the edge, one can see the water boiling up and
whirling over about twenty feet below. A hollow, growling noise is
heard, varied by an occasional hiss and rush, as if the contents were
struggling to get out. It emits hot vapors, and a slight smell of
sulphur; otherwise it maintains rather a peaceful aspect, considering
the infernal temper it gets into when disturbed.
Zoega and I worked hard cutting and carrying the sods for nearly half
an hour, by which time we had a large pile on the edge of the orifice.
Zoega said there was enough. I insisted on getting more. "Let us give
him a dose that he won't forget." "Oh, sir, nobody ever puts more than
that in; it is quite enough." "No; I mean to make him deadly sick.
Come on, Zoega." And at it we went again, cutting the sod, and
carrying it over and piling it up in a great heap by the hole. When we
had about a ton all ready, I said to Zoega, "Now, Zoega, fire away,
and I'll stand here and see how it works." Then Zoega pushed it all
over, and it went slapping and dashing down into the steaming shaft.
For a little while it whirled about, and surged, and boiled, and
tumbled over and over in the depths of the churn with a hollow,
swashing noise terribly ominous of what was to come. I peeped over the
edge to try if I could detect the first symptoms of the approaching
eruption. Zoega walked quietly away about twenty steps, saying he
preferred not to be too close. There was a sudden growl and a rumble,
a terrible plunging about and swashing of the sods below, and fierce,
whirling clouds of steam flew up, almost blinding me as they passed.
"Sir," said Zoega, gravely, "you had better stand away. It comes up
very suddenly when it once starts."
"Don't be afraid, Zoega; I'll keep a sharp look-out for it. You may
depend there's not a Geyser in Iceland can catch me when I make a
break."
"Very well, sir; but I'd advise you to be careful."
Notwithstanding this good counsel, I could not resist the fascination
of looking in. There was another tremendous commotion going on--a
roar, a whirling over of the sods, and clouds of steam flying up. This
time I ran back a few steps. But it was a false alarm. Nothing came of
it. The heaving mass seemed to be producing the desired effect,
however. The Strokhr was evidently getting very sick. I looked over
once more. All below was a rumbling, tumbling black mass, dashing over
and over against the sides of the churn. Soon a threatening roar not
to be mistaken startled me. "Look out, sir!" shouted Zoega; "look
out!" Unlike the Frenchman who looked out when he should have looked
in, I unconsciously looked in when I should have looked out. With a
suddenness that astonished me, up shot the seething mass almost in my
face. One galvanic jump--an involuntary shout of triumph--and I was
rolling heels over head on the crust of earth about ten feet off, the
hot water and clumps of sod tumbling down about me in every direction.
Another scramble brought me to my feet, of which I made such good use
that I was forty yards beyond Zoega before I knew distinctly what had
happened. The poor fellow came running toward me in great
consternation.
"Are you hurt, sir? I hope you're not hurt!" he cried, in accents of
great concern.
"Hurt!" I answered. "Didn't you see me rolling over on the ground
laughing at it? Why, Zoega, I never saw any thing so absurd as that in
my life; any decent Geyser would have given at least an hour's notice.
This miserable little wretch went off half cocked. I was just laughing
to think how sick we made him all of a sudden!"
"Oh, that was it, sir! I thought you were badly hurt."
"Not a bit of it. You never saw a man who had suffered serious bodily
injury run and jump with joy, and roll with laughter as I did."
"No, sir, never, now that I come to think of it."
Somehow it was always pleasant to talk with Zoega, his simplicity was
so refreshing.
The display was really magnificent. An immense dark column shot into
the air to the height of sixty or seventy feet, composed of
innumerable jets of water and whirling masses of sod. It resembled a
thousand fountains joined together, each with a separate source of
expulsion. The hissing hot water, blackened by the boiled clay and
turf, spurted up in countless revolving circlets, spreading out in
every direction and falling in torrents over the earth, which was
deluged for fifty feet around with the dark, steaming flood. This,
again sweeping into the mouth of the funnel, fell in thick streams
into the churn, carrying with it the sods that were scattered within
its vortex, and once more heaved and surged about in the huge caldron
below.
The eruption continued for about five minutes without any apparent
diminution of force. It then subsided into fitful and convulsive jets,
as if making a last effort, and finally disappeared with a deep growl
of disappointment. All was now quiet save the gurgling of the murky
water as it sought its way back. Zoega said it was not done yet--that
this was only a beginning. I took my sketch-book and resolved to seize
the next opportunity for a good view of the eruption, taking, in the
mean time, a general outline of the locality, including a glimpse of
the Langarfjal. Just as I had finished up to the orifice the same
angry roar which had first startled me was repeated, and up shot the
dark, boiling flood in grander style than ever. This time it was
absolutely fearful. There could be no doubt the dose of sods we had
tumbled into the stomach of the old gentleman was making him not only
dreadfully sick, but furiously angry.
At this moment, as if the elements sympathized in his distress, fierce
gusts of wind began to blow down from the Langarfjal. So sudden and
violent were they that it was difficult to maintain a foothold in our
exposed position; and the tall column of fountains, struck with the
full violence of the wind, presented a splendid spectacle of strength
and rage--surging, and swaying, and battling to maintain its erect
position, and showing in every motion the irresistible power with
which it was ejected. Steam, and water, and sods went whirling down
into the valley; the very air was darkened with the shriven and
scattered currents; and a black deluge fell to the leeward, hundreds
of yards beyond the orifice. The weird and barren aspect of the
surrounding scenery was never more impressive.
"What do you think of the Strokhr, sir?" asked Zoega, with some pride.
"Is it equal to the Geysers of California?"
[Illustration: THE STROKHR.]
I was rather taken aback at the honest bluntness of this question,
and must admit that I felt a little crest-fallen when I came to
compare the respective performances. Therefore I could only answer, in
rather a casual way,
"Well, Zoega, to tell you the truth, ours don't get quite so sick as
this, owing, no doubt, to the superior salubrity of our climate. You
might throw sods into them all day, and they wouldn't make such a fuss
about it as the Strokhr makes about a mere handful. Their digestion,
you see, is a great deal stronger."
"Oh, but wait, sir, till you see the Great Geyser; that's much better
than the Strokhr."
"Doubtless it is very fine, Zoega. Still I can't help but think our
California Geysers are in a superior condition of health. It is true
they smoke a good deal, but I don't think they impair their digestion
by such stimulating food as the Geysers of Iceland. Judging by the
eruptions of the Strokhr, I should say he feeds exclusively on fire
and water, which would ruin the best stomach in the world."
Zoega looked troubled. He evidently did not comprehend my figurative
style of speech. So the conversation dropped.
The column of water ejected from the Strokhr, unlike that of the Great
Geyser, is tall and slender, and of almost inky blackness. In the case
of the Great Geyser no artificial means interrupt its operations; in
that of the Strokhr the pressure of foreign substances produces
results not natural to it.
After the two eruptions which I have attempted to describe, the waters
of the Strokhr again subsided into sobs and convulsive throes. Some
half an hour now elapsed before any thing more took place. Then there
was another series of growls, and a terrible swashing about down in
the churn, as if all the demons under earth were trying to drown one
another, and up shot the murky flood for the third time. Thus it
continued at intervals more and more remote, till a late hour in the
night, making desperate efforts to disgorge the sods that were swept
back after every ejection, and to rid itself of the foul water that
remained. Those attempts gradually grow fainter and fainter, subsiding
at last into mere grumblings. I looked into the orifice the next
morning, and was surprised to find the water yet discolored. It was
evident, from the uneasy manner in which it surged about, that the
dose still produced unpleasant effects.
Having finished my sketch, I returned to the tent, in front of which
Zoega had meantime spread a cloth, with some bread and cheese on it,
and such other scraps of provisions as we had. A little boy from the
neighboring sheep-ranch brought us down some milk and cream, and I
thought if we only had a cup of tea on to warm us up after the chilly
wind our supper would be luxurious.
"Just in time, sir," said Zoega; "I'll make the tea in a minute."
"Where's your fire."
"Oh, we don't need fire here--the hot water is always ready. There's
the big boiler up yonder!"
I looked where Zoega pointed, and saw, about a hundred yards off, a
boiling caldron. This was our grand tea-kettle. Upon a nearer
inspection, I found that it consisted of two great holes in the rocks,
close together, the larger of which was about thirty feet in
circumference, and of great depth. The water was as clear as crystal.
It was easy to trace the white stratum of rocks, of which the sides
were formed, down to the neck of the great shaft through which the
water was ejected. Flakes of steam floated off from the surface of the
crystal pool, which was generally placid. Only at occasional intervals
did it show any symptoms of internal commotion. By dipping my finger
down a little way I found that it was boiling hot. Five minutes
immersion would be sufficient to skin and boil an entire man.
Nature has bountifully put these boilers here for the use of
travelers. Not a stick or twig of wood grows within a circuit of many
miles, and without fuel of course it would be impossible to cook
food. Here a leg of mutton submerged in a pot can be beautifully
boiled; plum-puddings cooked; eggs, fish, or any thing you please,
done to a nicety. All this I knew before, but I had no idea that the
water was pure enough for drinking purposes. Such, however, is the
fact. No better water ever came out of the earth--in a boiled
condition. To make a pot of tea, you simply put your tea in your pot,
hold on to the handle, dip the whole concern down into the water, keep
it there a while to draw, and your tea is made.
I found it excellent, and did not, as I apprehended, discover any
unpleasant flavor in the water. It may be slightly impregnated with
sulphur, though that gives it rather a wholesome smack. To me,
however, it tasted very much like any other hot water.
[Illustration: SIDE-SADDLE.]
When I returned to the tent, and sat down to my frugal repast, and ate
my bread and cheese, and quaffed the fragrant tea, Zoega sitting near
by respectfully assisting me, something of the old California feeling
came over me, and I enjoyed life once more after years of travel
through the deserts of civilization in Europe. What a glorious thing
it is to be a natural barbarian! This was luxury! this was joy! this
was Paradise upon earth! Ah me! where is the country that can equal
California? Brightest of the bright lands of sunshine; richest,
rarest, loveliest of earth's beauties! like Phaedra to the mistress of
his soul, I love you by day and by night, behave in the company of
others as if I were absent; want you; dream of you; think of you; wish
for you; delight in you--in short, I am wholly yours, body and soul!
If ever I leave you again on a wild-goose chase through Europe, may
the Elector of Hesse-Cassel appoint me his prime minister, or the Duke
of Baden his principal butler!
Very little indication of the time was apparent in the sky. The sun
still shone brightly, although it was nearly ten o'clock. I did not
feel much inclined to sleep, with so many objects of interest around.
Apart from that, there was something in this everlasting light that
disturbed my nervous system. It becomes really terrible in the course
of a few days. The whole order of nature seems reversed. Night has
disappeared altogether. Nothing but day remains--dreary, monotonous,
perpetual day. You crave the relief of darkness; your spirits, at
first exuberant, go down, and still down, till they are below zero;
the novelty wears away, and the very light becomes gloomy.
People must sleep, nevertheless. With me it was a duty I owed to an
overtaxed body. Our tent was rather small for two, and Zoega asked
permission to sleep with an acquaintance who lived in a cabin about
two miles distant. This I readily granted. It was something of a
novelty to be left in charge of two such distinguished characters as
the Great Geyser and the Strokhr. Possibly they might favor me with
some extraordinary freaks of humor, such as no other traveler had yet
enjoyed. So, bidding Zoega a kindly farewell for the present, I closed
the front of the tent, and tried to persuade myself that it was night.
With the light streaming in through the crevices of the tent, it was
no easy matter to imagine that this was an appropriate time to "steep
the senses in forgetfulness." I was badly provided with covering, and
the weather, though not absolutely cold, was damp and chilly. In my
hurry to get off, I had forgotten even the small outfit with which I
originally thought of making the journey. All I now had in the way of
bedding was a thin shawl, and an old overall belonging to Captain
Andersen, of the steamer. I put one on the ground and the other over
my body, and with a bag of hard bread under my head by way of a
pillow, strove to banish the notion that it was at all uncomfortable.
There was something in this method of sleeping to remind me of my
California experience. To be sure there was a lack of blankets, and
fire, and pleasant company, and balmy air, and many other luxuries;
but the general principle was the same, except that it was impossible
to sleep. The idea of being utterly alone, in such an outlandish part
of the world, may have had something to do with the singular activity
of my nervous system. It seemed to me that somebody was thrusting
cambric needles into my skin in a sudden and violent manner, and at
the most unexpected places; and strange sounds were continually
buzzing in my ears. I began to reflect seriously upon the condition of
affairs down underneath my bed. Doubtless it was a very fiery and
restless region, or all these smokes and simmering pools would not
disfigure the face of the country. How thick was the shell of the
earth at this particular spot? It sounded very thin all over--a mere
crust, through which one might break at any moment. Here was boiling
water fizzing and gurgling all around, and the air was impregnated
with strong odors of sulphur. Suppose the whole thing should burst up
of a sudden? It was by no means impossible. What would become of my
sketches of Iceland in the event of such a catastrophe as that? What
sort of a notice would my editorial friends give of the curious manner
in which I had disappeared? And what would Zoega think in the
morning, when he came down from the farm-house, and saw that his tent
and provision-boxes were gone down in a great hole, and that an
American gentleman, in whom he had the greatest confidence, had not
only carried them with him, but failed to pay his liabilities before
starting? Here, too, was the sun only slightly dipped below the
horizon at midnight, and the moon shining overhead at the same time.
Every thing was twisted inside out and turned upside down. It was
truly a strange country.
Having tossed and tumbled about for an indefinite length of time, I
must have fallen into an uneasy doze. During the day I had been
thinking of the rebellion at home, and now gloomy visions disturbed my
mind. I thought I saw moving crowds dressed in black, and heard
wailing sounds. Funerals passed before me, and women and children wept
for the dead. The scene changed, and I saw hosts of men on the
battle-field, rushing upon each other and falling in deadly strife. A
dreary horror came over me. It was like some dreadful play, in which
the stake was human life. Blood was upon the faces of the dying and
the dead. In the effort to disentangle the right from the wrong--to
seek out a cause for the calamity which had fallen upon us--a racking
anguish tortured me, and I vainly strove to regain my scattered
senses. Then, in the midst of this confused dream, I heard the booming
of cannon--at first far down in the earth, but gradually growing
nearer, till, with a start, I awoke. Still the guns boomed! Surely the
sounds were real. I could not be deceived. Starting to my feet, I
listened. Splashing and surging waters, and dull, heavy reports,
sounded in the air. I dashed aside the lining of the tent and looked
out. Never shall I forget that sight--the Great Geyser in full
eruption! A tremendous volume of water stood in bold relief against
the sky, like a tall weeping willow in winter swaying before the wind,
and shaking the white frost from its drooping branches. Whirling
vapors and white wreaths floated off toward the valley. All was clear
overhead. A spectral light, which was neither of day nor of night,
shone upon the dark, lava-covered earth. The rush and plashing of the
fountain and the booming of the subterranean guns fell with a
startling distinctness upon the solitude. Streams of glittering white
water swept the surface of the great basin on all sides, and dashed
hissing and steaming into the encircling fissures. A feathery spray
sparkled through the air. The earth trembled, and sudden gusts of wind
whirled down with a moaning sound from the wild gorges of the
Langarfjal.
It did not appear to me that the height of the fountain was so great
as it is generally represented. So far as I could judge, the greatest
altitude at any time from the commencement of the eruption was not
over sixty feet. Its volume, however, greatly exceeded my
expectations, and the beauty of its form surpassed all description. I
had never before seen, and never again expect to see, any thing equal
to it. This magnificent display lasted, altogether, about ten minutes.
The eruption was somewhat spasmodic in its operation, increasing or
diminishing in force at each moment, till, with a sudden dash, all the
water that remained was ejected, and then, after a few gurgling
throes, all was silent.
I no longer attempted to sleep. My mind was bewildered with the
wonders of the scene I had just witnessed. All I could do was to make
a cup of tea at the big boiler on the slope above my tent, and walk
about, after drinking it, to keep my feet warm. Soon the sun's rays
appeared upon the distant mountains. A strange time of the night for
the sun to be getting up--only half past one--when people in most
other parts of the world are snug in bed, and don't expect to see a
streak of sunshine for at least four or five hours. How different from
any thing I had ever before seen was the sunrise in Iceland! No
crowing of the cock; no singing of the birds; no merry plow-boys
whistling up the horses in the barn-yard; no cherry-cheeked
milk-maids singing love-ditties as they tripped the green with their
pails upon their heads. All was grim, silent, and death-like. And yet
surely, for all that, the delicate tints of the snow-capped mountains,
the peaks of which were now steeped in the rays of the rising sun, the
broad valley slumbering in the shade, the clear, sparkling atmosphere,
and the exquisite coloring of the Langarfjal--the mighty crag that
towers over the Geysers--were beauties enough to redeem the solitude
and imbue the deserts with a celestial glory.
There are various theories concerning the cause of these eruptions of
water in Iceland. That of Lyell, the geologist, seems the most
reasonable. The earth, as it is well known, increases in heat at a
certain ratio corresponding with the depth from the surface. There are
cavities in many parts of it, arising from subterranean disturbances,
into which the water percolates from the upper strata. In Iceland the
probability is that these cavities are both numerous and extensive,
owing to volcanic causes, and form large receivers for the water of
the surrounding neighborhood. Wherever there is a natural outlet, as
at the Geysers, this water, which is boiled by the heat of the earth,
is forced to the surface by compression of steam, and remains at the
mouth of the pipe, or shaft, until an accumulation of compressed steam
drives it up in the form of a fountain. The periodical occurrence of
these eruptions in some of the hot-springs and not in others may arise
from a difference in the depth of the receiver, or more probably from
the existence of several outlets for the escape of steam in some, and
only one in others. A good illustration of this theory is presented in
the boiling of an ordinary tea-kettle. When the compression of steam
is great, the cover is lifted up and the water shoots from the spout,
by which means the pressure is relieved and the water subsides. The
same thing is repeated until the space within the kettle becomes
sufficiently large to admit of a more rapid condensation of the steam.
The action of the Strokhr, which, as I have shown, differs from that
of the Great Geyser, may be accounted for on the same general
principle. The foreign substances thrown in on top of the boiling
water stops the escape of steam, which, under ordinary circumstances,
is sufficiently great not to require the periodical relief of an
eruption. An accumulation of compressed steam takes place in the
reservoir below, and this continues until the obstruction is ejected.
[Illustration: GREAT GEYSER AND RECEIVER.]
[Illustration: STROKHR AND RECEIVER.]
This, I believe, is substantially Lyell's theory; though, having no
books by me at present, I quote entirely from memory, and it is
possible I may be mistaken in some of the details. The preceding
diagrams will enable the reader to understand more clearly the whole
process by which these eruptions are produced.
Six long hours remained till ordinary breakfast-time. What was to be
done? It was getting terribly lonesome. I felt like one who had been
to a theatre and seen all the performances. Zoega had promised to be
back by eight o'clock; but eight o'clock in Iceland, on the 21st of
June, is a late hour of the day. A treatise on trigonometry might be
written between sunrise and that unapproachable hour. The only thing I
could do was to make some more tea and eat a preliminary breakfast.
When that was done nothing remained but to go to work in front of my
little tent and finish up my rough sketches. This is a very absorbing
business, as every body knows who has tried it, and I was deeply into
it when Zoega made his appearance.
"Well, sir," said he, "what success? Did he erupt?"
"Of course he erupted, Zoega. You didn't suppose a Great Geyser would
keep a gentleman all the way from California waiting here an entire
night without showing him what he could do?"
"No, sir; but he sometimes disappoints travelers. How do you like it?
Does he compare with your California Geysers?"
"Well, Zoega, he throws up more hot water, to be sure, because our
Geysers don't erupt at all; but here is the grand difference. We
Californians are a moral people; we don't live so near to (I pointed
down below) as you do in Iceland."
"I don't understand you, sir," said Zoega, with a puzzled expression.
I called him over and whispered in his ear, "Zoega, I hope you're a
good man. Do you say your prayers regularly?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you are all right. Let us be going. I don't like this
neighborhood."
"Whenever you wish, sir. The horses are all ready."
And Zoega proceeded to strike the tent and pack the animals, muttering
to himself and shaking his head gravely, as if he thought the
Californians were a very peculiar race of men, to say the least of
them.
Another cup of tea and a few biscuits served to brace us up for the
journey, and we mounted our horses and turned their heads homeward.
Brusa was so delighted at the idea of being _en route_ once more that
he signalized our departure by giving chase to a flock of sheep, which
he dispersed in a most miraculous manner, and then, of course,
received the customary punishment.