But Arctics Can Be Inhospitable Too

: A Journey To The Interior Of The Earth

Stapi is a village consisting of about thirty huts, built of lava, at

the south side of the base of the volcano. It extends along the inner

edge of a small fiord, inclosed between basaltic walls of the

strangest construction.



Basalt is a brownish rock of igneous origin. It assumes regular

forms, the arrangement of which is often very surprising. Here nature

had done her work geometrically, with square and compass and plummet.

Everywhere else her art consists alone in throwing down huge masses

together in disorder. You see cones imperfectly formed, irregular

pyramids, with a fantastic disarrangement of lines; but here, as if

to exhibit an example of regularity, though in advance of the very

earliest architects, she has created a severely simple order of

architecture, never surpassed either by the splendours of Babylon or

the wonders of Greece.



I had heard of the Giant's Causeway in Ireland, and Fingal's Cave in

Staffa, one of the Hebrides; but I had never yet seen a basaltic

formation.



At Stapi I beheld this phenomenon in all its beauty.



The wall that confined the fiord, like all the coast of the

peninsula, was composed of a series of vertical columns thirty feet

high. These straight shafts, of fair proportions, supported an

architrave of horizontal slabs, the overhanging portion of which

formed a semi-arch over the sea. At. intervals, under this natural

shelter, there spread out vaulted entrances in beautiful curves, into

which the waves came dashing with foam and spray. A few shafts of

basalt, torn from their hold by the fury of tempests, lay along the

soil like remains of an ancient temple, in ruins for ever fresh, and

over which centuries passed without leaving a trace of age upon them.



This was our last stage upon the earth. Hans had exhibited great

intelligence, and it gave me some little comfort to think then that

he was not going to leave us.



On arriving at the door of the rector's house, which was not

different from the others, I saw a man shoeing a horse, hammer in

hand, and with a leathern apron on.



"SAELIVERTU," said the hunter.



"GOD DAG," said the blacksmith in good Danish.



"KYRKOHERDE," said Hans, turning round to my uncle.



"The rector," repeated the Professor. "It seems, Axel, that this good

man is the rector."



Our guide in the meanwhile was making the 'kyrkoherde' aware of the

position of things; when the latter, suspending his labours for a

moment, uttered a sound no doubt understood between horses and

farriers, and immediately a tall and ugly hag appeared from the hut.

She must have been six feet at the least. I was in great alarm lest

she should treat me to the Icelandic kiss; but there was no occasion

to fear, nor did she do the honours at all too gracefully.



The visitors' room seemed to me the worst in the whole cabin. It was

close, dirty, and evil smelling. But we had to be content. The rector

did not to go in for antique hospitality. Very far from it. Before

the day was over I saw that we had to do with a blacksmith, a

fisherman, a hunter, a joiner, but not at all with a minister of the

Gospel. To be sure, it was a week-day; perhaps on a Sunday he made

amends.



I don't mean to say anything against these poor priests, who after

all are very wretched. They receive from the Danish Government a

ridiculously small pittance, and they get from the parish the fourth

part of the tithe, which does not come to sixty marks a year (about

4 pounds). Hence the necessity to work for their livelihood; but after

fishing, hunting, and shoeing horses for any length of time, one soon

gets into the ways and manners of fishermen, hunters, and farriers,

and other rather rude and uncultivated people; and that evening I

found out that temperance was not among the virtues that

distinguished my host.



My uncle soon discovered what sort of a man he had to do with;

instead of a good and learned man he found a rude and coarse peasant.

He therefore resolved to commence the grand expedition at once, and

to leave this inhospitable parsonage. He cared nothing about fatigue,

and resolved to spend some days upon the mountain.



The preparations for our departure were therefore made the very day

after our arrival at Stapi. Hans hired the services of three

Icelanders to do the duty of the horses in the transport of the

burdens; but as soon as we had arrived at the crater these natives

were to turn back and leave us to our own devices. This was to be

clearly understood.



My uncle now took the opportunity to explain to Hans that it was his

intention to explore the interior of the volcano to its farthest

limits.



Hans merely nodded. There or elsewhere, down in the bowels of the

earth, or anywhere on the surface, all was alike to him. For my own

part the incidents of the journey had hitherto kept me amused, and

made me forgetful of coming evils; but now my fears again were

beginning to get the better of me. But what could I do? The place to

resist the Professor would have been Hamburg, not the foot of Snaefell.



One thought, above all others, harassed and alarmed me; it was one

calculated to shake firmer nerves than mine.



Now, thought I, here we are, about to climb Snaefell. Very good. We

will explore the crater. Very good, too, others have done as much

without dying for it. But that is not all. If there is a way to

penetrate into the very bowels of the island, if that ill-advised

Saknussemm has told a true tale, we shall lose our way amidst the

deep subterranean passages of this volcano. Now, there is no proof

that Snaefell is extinct. Who can assure us that an eruption is not

brewing at this very moment? Does it follow that because the monster

has slept since 1229 he must therefore never awake again? And if he

wakes up presently, where shall we be?



It was worth while debating this question, and I did debate it. I

could not sleep for dreaming about eruptions. Now, the part of

ejected scoriae and ashes seemed to my mind a very rough one to act.



So, at last, when I could hold out no longer, I resolved to lay the

case before my uncle, as prudently and as cautiously as possible,

just under the form of an almost impossible hypothesis.



I went to him. I communicated my fears to him, and drew back a step

to give him room for the explosion which I knew must follow. But I

was mistaken.



"I was thinking of that," he replied with great simplicity.



What could those words mean?--Was he actually going to listen to

reason? Was he contemplating the abandonment of his plans? This was

too good to be true.



After a few moments' silence, during which I dared not question him,

he resumed:



"I was thinking of that. Ever since we arrived at Stapi I have been

occupied with the important question you have just opened, for we

must not be guilty of imprudence."



"No, indeed!" I replied with forcible emphasis.



"For six hundred years Snaefell has been dumb; but he may speak again.

Now, eruptions are always preceded by certain well-known phenomena. I

have therefore examined the natives, I have studied external

appearances, and I can assure you, Axel, that there will be no

eruption."



At this positive affirmation I stood amazed and speechless.



"You don't doubt my word?" said my uncle. "Well, follow me."



I obeyed like an automaton. Coming out from the priest's house, the

Professor took a straight road, which, through an opening in the

basaltic wall, led away from the sea. We were soon in the open

country, if one may give that name to a vast extent of mounds of

volcanic products. This tract seemed crushed under a rain of enormous

ejected rocks of trap, basalt, granite, and all kinds of igneous

rocks.



Here and there I could see puffs and jets of steam curling up into

the air, called in Icelandic 'reykir,' issuing from thermal springs,

and indicating by their motion the volcanic energy underneath. This

seemed to justify my fears: But I fell from the height of my new-born

hopes when my uncle said:



"You see all these volumes of steam, Axel; well, they demonstrate

that we have nothing to fear from the fury of a volcanic eruption."



"Am I to believe that?" I cried.



"Understand this clearly," added the Professor. "At the approach of

an eruption these jets would redouble their activity, but disappear

altogether during the period of the eruption. For the elastic fluids,

being no longer under pressure, go off by way of the crater instead

of escaping by their usual passages through the fissures in the soil.

Therefore, if these vapours remain in their usual condition, if they

display no augmentation of force, and if you add to this the

observation that the wind and rain are not ceasing and being replaced

by a still and heavy atmosphere, then you may affirm that no eruption

is preparing."



"But--"



'No more; that is sufficient. When science has uttered her voice, let

babblers hold their peace.'



I returned to the parsonage, very crestfallen. My uncle had beaten me

with the weapons of science. Still I had one hope left, and this was,

that when we had reached the bottom of the crater it would be

impossible, for want of a passage, to go deeper, in spite of all the

Saknussemm's in Iceland.



I spent that whole night in one constant nightmare; in the heart of a

volcano, and from the deepest depths of the earth I saw myself tossed

up amongst the interplanetary spaces under the form of an eruptive

rock.



The next day, June 23, Hans was awaiting us with his companions

carrying provisions, tools, and instruments; two iron pointed sticks,

two rifles, and two shot belts were for my uncle and myself. Hans, as

a cautious man, had added to our luggage a leathern bottle full of

water, which, with that in our flasks, would ensure us a supply of

water for eight days.



It was nine in the morning. The priest and his tall Megaera were

awaiting us at the door. We supposed they were standing there to bid

us a kind farewell. But the farewell was put in the unexpected form

of a heavy bill, in which everything was charged, even to the very

air we breathed in the pastoral house, infected as it was. This

worthy couple were fleecing us just as a Swiss innkeeper might have

done, and estimated their imperfect hospitality at the highest price.



My uncle paid without a remark: a man who is starting for the centre

of the earth need not be particular about a few rix dollars.



This point being settled, Hans gave the signal, and we soon left

Stapi behind us.