“Oh, but wait, sir, till you see the Great Geyser; that’s much better than the Strokhr.”
“Doubtless it is very fine, Zöega. 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.”
Zöega 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 Zöega 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 Zöega; “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 Zöega 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.