Bridge River, Brúará, near Geysir.
The Tube of Geysir Filling, Photographed from within the rim of the Basin.
During the eruption I caught a glimpse of a dark object in the steam which fell with a thud upon the grass. After the display and the basin had filled I sought that spot and found a mass of geyserite twelve inches square and two inches thick. It was still hot. It is perforated with steam tubes in every direction. I stowed it in the packing case and it is now in the Science Museum at Springfield, Mass.
At nine thirty that evening we were again treated to the same phenomenon by Geysir and again at six the following morning. Three magnificent ejections at a cost of only ten dollars worth of soap. It was worth much more. The final display was the finest of the three and lasted ten minutes. We were dressing when the cry of “Geysir!” again reached the Inn. What did it matter that the toilet was not finished! Travellers from Denmark, Sweden, Norway, America, Germany and distant parts of Iceland were there to see Geysir spout and not to be fastidious about coiffure and raiment. We all assembled hastily at the brink, each unconscious of the others’ presence until the display was over. Then! What a startled and confused company! Several were clad only in sleeping costumes, some had put on one stocking and were holding a shoe and a stocking in the hand, some dragged a skirt by the band and still others trailed their pantaloons by the suspenders. One man held his shirt by the sleeve and had one leg in his trousers while the other was innocent of all clothing. There were Icelandic matrons and maidens barefooted, some with a skirt wrapped around them and others with a sheet. Rows of discarded garments marked the way from the Inn to the mound and during the retreat, which was a blushing and precipitous one, each caught from the grass the clothes that had fallen during the advance. Ludicrous describes it well, but every one was happy and during the breakfast which followed the confusion was forgotten.
Standing upon the rim of the great basin and gazing at the azure surface the peacefulness of the scene belies the turbulence of the hour before. In the distance Láng Jökull glistens in the brilliant sunshine. Yonder, across the Hvitá, cloud-capped and snowy-mantled Hekla rises grand and lonely above its lava-wasted plain. Around us the numerous springs and fumaroles emit their endless columns of vapor and Strokr moans and groans. The little geyser which we packed with turf two nights ago has been spouting without interruption for two hours. What a contrast! Arctic ice and Plutonic fire battling for supremacy as they have done for ages in this land of strange confusion,—and still the conflict wages. Loth are we to turn from this manifestation of power and imposing grandeur of Geysir, even in his hours of rest, but Gullfoss lies beyond the Túngufljót, the Thjorsá and the Ölfusá must be forded, Hekla challenges from the midst of his desolation, the peaceful pastoral plains of the south are calling, the weird and frightful solfataras of Krisuvik entice,—and we must saddle and away.
CHAPTER IX
GULLFOSS
A mighty rift within the rock