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Snæfell is 5,000 feet high. Its double cone forms the limit of a
trachytic belt which stands out distinctly in the mountain system of the
island. From our starting point we could see the two peaks boldly projected
against the dark grey sky; I could see an enormous cap of snow coming low down
upon the giant’s brow.
We walked in single file, headed by the hunter, who ascended by narrow
tracks, where two could not have gone abreast. There was therefore no room for
conversation.
After we had passed the basaltic wall of the fiord of Stapi we passed
over a vegetable fibrous peat bog, left from the ancient vegetation of this
peninsula. The vast quantity of this unworked fuel would be sufficient to warm
the whole population of Iceland for a century; this vast turbary measured in
certain ravines had in many places a depth of seventy feet, and presented
layers of carbonized remains of vegetation alternating with thinner layers of
tufaceous pumice.
As a true nephew of the Professor Liedenbrock, and in spite of my dismal
prospects, I could not help observing with interest the mineralogical
curiosities which lay about me as in a vast museum, and I constructed for
myself a complete geological account of Iceland.
This most curious island has evidently been projected from the bottom of
the sea at a comparatively recent date. Possibly, it may still be subject to
gradual elevation. If this is the case, its origin may well be attributed to
subterranean fires. Therefore, in this case, the theory of Sir Humphry Davy,
Saknussemm’s document, and my uncle’s theories would all go off in
smoke. This hypothesis led me to examine with more attention the appearance of
the surface, and I soon arrived at a conclusion as to the nature of the forces
which presided at its birth.
Iceland, which is entirely devoid of alluvial soil, is wholly composed
of volcanic tufa, that is to say, an agglomeration of porous rocks and stones. Before
the volcanoes broke out it consisted of trap rocks slowly upraised to the level
of the sea by the action of central forces. The internal fires had not yet forced
their way through.
But at a later period a wide chasm formed diagonally from south-west to
north-east, through which was gradually forced out the trachyte which was to
form a mountain chain. No violence accompanied this change; the matter thrown
out was in vast quantities, and the liquid material oozing out from the abysses
of the earth slowly spread in extensive plains or in hillocky masses. To this
period belong the felspar, syenites, and porphyries.
But with the help of this outflow the thickness of the crust of the
island increased materially, and therefore also its powers of resistance. It
may easily be conceived what vast quantities of elastic gases, what masses of
molten matter accumulated beneath its solid surface whilst no exit was
practicable after the cooling of the trachytic crust. Therefore a time would
come when the elastic and explosive forces of the imprisoned gases would
upheave this ponderous cover and drive out for themselves openings through tall
chimneys. Hence then the volcano would distend and lift up the crust, and then
burst through a crater suddenly formed at the summit or thinnest part of the
volcano.
To the eruption succeeded other volcanic phenomena. Through the outlets
now made first escaped the ejected basalt of which the plain we had just left
presented such marvellous specimens. We were moving over grey rocks of dense
and massive formation, which in cooling had formed into hexagonal prisms. Everywhere
around us we saw truncated cones, formerly so many fiery mouths.
After the exhaustion of the basalt, the volcano, the power of which grew
by the extinction of the lesser craters, supplied an egress to lava, ashes, and
scoriae, of which I could see lengthened screes streaming down the sides of the
mountain like flowing hair.
Such was the succession of phenomena which produced Iceland, all arising
from the action of internal fire; and to suppose that the mass within did not
still exist in a state of liquid incandescence was absurd; and nothing could
surpass the absurdity of fancying that it was possible to reach the
earth’s centre.
So I felt a little comforted as we advanced to the assault of Snæfell.
The way was growing more and more arduous, the ascent steeper and
steeper; the loose fragments of rock trembled beneath us, and the utmost care
was needed to avoid dangerous falls.
Hans went on as quietly as if he were on level ground; sometimes he
disappeared altogether behind the huge blocks, then a shrill whistle would
direct us on our way to him. Sometimes he would halt, pick up a few bits of
stone, build them up into a recognisable form, and thus made landmarks to guide
us in our way back. A very wise precaution in itself, but, as things turned
out, quite useless.
Three hours’ fatiguing march had only brought us to the base of
the mountain. There Hans bid us come to a halt, and a hasty breakfast was
served out. My uncle swallowed two mouthfuls at a time to get on faster. But,
whether he liked it or not, this was a rest as well as a breakfast hour and he
had to wait till it pleased our guide to move on, which came to pass in an
hour. The three Icelanders, just as taciturn as their comrade the hunted, never
spoke, and ate their breakfasts in silence.
We were now beginning to scale the steep sides of Snæfell. Its snowy
summit, by an optical illusion not unfrequent in mountains, seemed close to us,
and yet how many weary hours it took to reach it! The stones, adhering by no
soil or fibrous roots of vegetation, rolled away from under our feet, and
rushed down the precipice below with the swiftness of an avalanche.
At some places the flanks of the mountain formed an angle with the
horizon of at least 36 degrees; it was impossible to climb them, and these
stony cliffs had to be tacked round, not without great difficulty. Then we helped
each other with our sticks.
I must admit that my uncle kept as close to me as he could; he never
lost sight of me, and in many straits his arm furnished me with a powerful
support. He himself seemed to possess an instinct for equilibrium, for he never
stumbled. The Icelanders, though burdened with our loads, climbed with the
agility of mountaineers.
To judge by the distant appearance of the summit of Snæfell, it would
have seemed too steep to ascend on our side. Fortunately, after an hour of
fatigue and athletic exercises, in the midst of the vast surface of snow
presented by the hollow between the two peaks, a kind of staircase appeared
unexpectedly which greatly facilitated our ascent. It was formed by one of
those torrents of stones flung up by the eruptions, called ‘sting’
by the Icelanders. If this torrent had not been arrested in its fall by the
formation of the sides of the mountain, it would have gone on to the sea and
formed more islands.
Such as it was, it did us good service. The steepness increased, but
these stone steps allowed us to rise with facility, and even with such rapidity
that, having rested for a moment while my companions continued their ascent, I
perceived them already reduced by distance to microscopic dimensions.
At seven we had ascended the two thousand steps of this grand staircase,
and we had attained a bulge in the mountain, a kind of bed on which rested the
cone proper of the crater.
Three thousand two hundred feet below us stretched the sea. We had
passed the limit of perpetual snow, which, on account of the moisture of the
climate, is at a greater elevation in Iceland than the high latitude would give
reason to suppose. The cold was excessively keen. The wind was blowing
violently. I was exhausted. The Professor saw that my limbs were refusing to
perform their office, and in spite of his impatience he decided on stopping. He
therefore spoke to the hunter, who shook his head, saying:
“Ofvanför.”
“It seems we must go higher,” said my uncle.
Then he asked Hans for his reason.
“Mistour,“ replied the guide.
“Ja Mistour,“ said one of the Icelanders in a tone
of alarm.
“What does that word mean?” I asked uneasily.
“Look!” said my uncle.
I looked down upon the plain. An immense column of pulverized pumice,
sand and dust was rising with a whirling circular motion like a waterspout; the
wind was lashing it on to that side of Snæfell where we were holding on; this
dense veil, hung across the sun, threw a deep shadow over the mountain. If that
huge revolving pillar sloped down, it would involve us in its whirling eddies. This
phenomenon, which is not unfrequent when the wind blows from the glaciers, is
called in Icelandic ‘mistour.’
“Hastigt! hastigt!“ cried our guide.
Without knowing Danish I understood at once that we must follow Hans at the
top of our speed. He began to circle round the cone of the crater, but in a
diagonal direction so as to facilitate our progress. Presently the dust storm
fell upon the mountain, which quivered under the shock; the loose stones,
caught with the irresistible blasts of wind, flew about in a perfect hail as in
an eruption. Happily we were on the opposite side, and sheltered from all harm.
But for the precaution of our guide, our mangled bodies, torn and pounded into
fragments, would have been carried afar like the ruins hurled along by some
unknown meteor.
Yet Hans did not think it prudent to spend the night upon the sides of
the cone. We continued our zigzag climb. The fifteen hundred remaining feet
took us five hours to clear; the circuitous route, the diagonal and the counter
marches, must have measured at least three leagues. I could stand it no longer.
I was yielding to the effects of hunger and cold. The rarefied air scarcely
gave play to the action of my lungs.
At last, at eleven in the sunlight night, the summit of Snæfell was
reached, and before going in for shelter into the crater I had time to observe
the midnight sun, at his lowest point, gilding with his pale rays the island
that slept at my feet.
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