The Land of Thor

by J. Ross Browne

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.

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, Zöega 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 Phædra 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 Zöega 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 Zöega 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 Zöega 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.