But the Arctic Can Be Unwelcoming Too

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.

Stapi is a village of about thirty lava huts on the south side of the volcano’s base. It stretches along the inner edge of a small fjord enclosed by strangely formed basalt walls.

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.

Basalt is a brownish rock formed by volcanic activity. It takes on regular shapes, often arranged in surprising ways. Here, nature had worked like a geometer, using a square, compass, and plumb line. Everywhere else, her art consists only of throwing huge masses together in disorder. You see imperfect cones, irregular pyramids, and a fantastic jumble of lines. But here, as if to show what regularity could achieve, she created a starkly simple style of architecture. Though it came before the earliest architects, neither the splendors of Babylon nor the wonders of Greece ever surpassed it.

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.

I had heard of the Giant's Causeway in Ireland and Fingal's Cave on Staffa, one of the Hebrides. But I had never seen a basalt formation.

At Stapi I beheld this phenomenon in all its beauty.

At Stapi, I saw 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.

The wall enclosing the fiord was made of vertical columns thirty feet high, like the rest of the peninsula’s coast. These straight, well-proportioned columns supported a layer of horizontal slabs. The slabs jutted out, forming a half arch over the sea. At intervals beneath this natural shelter, vaulted openings curved beautifully into the rock. Waves rushed into them with foam and spray. A few basalt columns, torn loose by violent storms, lay on the ground like the remains of an ancient temple. The ruins seemed forever fresh, and centuries passed without leaving a trace of age on 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.

This was the last stage of our journey on the earth. Hans had shown great intelligence, and it gave me some comfort to think 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.

When I reached the door of the rector's house, which looked like the others, I saw a man shoeing a horse. He held a hammer and wore a leather apron.

"Sællvertu," said the hunter.

"Hello," said the hunter.

"God dag," said the blacksmith in good Danish.

"God dag," said the blacksmith in good Danish.

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

"Kyrkoherde," said Hans, turning to my uncle.

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

"The rector," the Professor repeated. "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.

Meanwhile, our guide was explaining the situation to the 'kyrkoherde'. The man paused in his work and made a sound that horses and farriers no doubt understand. Immediately, a tall, ugly hag appeared from the hut. She must have been at least six feet tall. I was very afraid she would give me the Icelandic kiss, but I had no reason to worry. She did not play the hostess very gracefully, either.

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.

The visitors' room seemed to me the worst in the whole cabin. It was stuffy, dirty, and foul-smelling. But we had to make do. The rector did not believe in old-fashioned hospitality. Far from it. Before the day was over, I saw that he was a blacksmith, a fisherman, a hunter, and a carpenter. But he was not at all a minister of the Gospel. Of course, it was a weekday. Perhaps on Sundays he made up for it.

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). 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.

I don't mean to say anything against these poor priests, who are miserable enough as it is. The Danish Government pays them a ridiculously small sum. They also receive a quarter of the parish tithe, which comes to less than sixty marks a year (about £4). So they have to work to earn a living. But after spending enough time fishing, hunting, and shoeing horses, they soon take on the ways and manners of fishermen, hunters, farriers, and other rather rough and uncultured people. And that evening, I discovered that moderation in drinking was not one of my host's virtues.

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.

My uncle soon discovered what kind of man he was dealing with. Instead of a good and learned man, he found a rude, coarse peasant. So he decided to start the great expedition at once and leave the unwelcoming parsonage. He did not care about getting tired and decided to spend a few days on 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.

So we prepared for our departure the day after we arrived at Stapi. Hans hired three Icelanders to carry the loads instead of horses. But they were to turn back as soon as we reached the crater, leaving us to manage on our own. 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.

My uncle now took the opportunity to tell Hans that he planned to explore the volcano’s interior as far as possible.

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 Snæfell.

Hans simply nodded. It was all the same to him, whether here or elsewhere, deep underground or anywhere on the surface. Until now, the events of the journey had entertained me and made me forget the dangers ahead. But my fears were beginning to get the better of me again. What could I do? I should have stood up to the Professor in Hamburg, not at the foot of Snæfell.

One thought, above all others, harassed and alarmed me; it was one calculated to shake firmer nerves than mine.

One thought troubled and frightened me more than any other. It would have shaken even someone with stronger nerves than mine.

Now, thought I, here we are, about to climb Snæfell. 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 Snæfell 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?

Now, I thought, here we are, about to climb Snæfell. Fine. We will explore the crater. Fine again. Others have done that without dying. But that is not all. If there is a way deep into the island, and if that foolish Saknussemm told the truth, we will lose our way in the volcano’s deep underground passages. There is no proof that Snæfell is extinct. Who can assure us that an eruption is not brewing right now? Just because the monster has slept since 1229, does that mean it will never wake again? And if it wakes up soon, where will 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.

The question was worth debating, and I did debate it. I could not sleep because I kept dreaming about eruptions. The role of volcanic rock and ashes being thrown out of a volcano seemed like a rough one to play.

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.

So, when I could hold out no longer, I decided to bring the matter to my uncle. I would do so as carefully and cautiously as possible, presenting it as an almost impossible possibility.

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 went to him and told him my fears. Then I stepped back to give him room for the outburst I knew would follow. But I was wrong.

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

"I was thinking of that," he replied simply.

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.

What could those words mean? Was he really going to listen to reason? Was he thinking of giving up his plans? That was too good to be true.

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

After a few moments of silence, during which I didn't dare question him, he continued:

"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."

"I was thinking about that. Ever since we arrived at Stapi, I have been considering the important question you just raised. We must be careful."

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

“No, absolutely not!” I replied emphatically.

"For six hundred years Snæfell 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."

"For six hundred years, Snæfell has been silent, but he may speak again. Eruptions are always preceded by certain well-known signs. So I have questioned the local people and studied the outward signs. I can assure you, Axel, that there will be no eruption."

At this positive affirmation I stood amazed and speechless.

At this definite statement, I stood amazed and speechless.

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

"You don't doubt what I say?" 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.

I obeyed like a machine. As we left the priest’s house, the Professor took a straight road away from the sea. It passed through an opening in the basalt wall. Soon we were in the open country, if one can call a vast expanse of volcanic mounds by that name. The land seemed crushed beneath a rain of enormous rocks thrown out by volcanoes: trap, basalt, granite, and all kinds of igneous rock.

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:

Here and there, I could see puffs and jets of steam rising from hot springs. These are called 'reykir' in Icelandic, and their movement showed the volcanic energy below. This seemed to justify my fears. But my newfound hopes were dashed 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."

"You see all that steam, Axel? It shows that we have nothing to fear from a violent volcanic eruption."

"Am I to believe that?" I cried.

"Am I supposed 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."

"Understand this clearly," the Professor added. "As an eruption approaches, these jets become twice as active. But they disappear altogether during the eruption. The gases are no longer under pressure, so they escape through the crater instead of through their usual cracks in the ground. Suppose the vapors remain in their usual condition and show no increase in force. Suppose, too, that the wind and rain continue instead of giving way to still, heavy air. Then you can say that no eruption is coming."

"But—"

"But..."

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

'No more. That is enough. When science has spoken, let the babblers be silent.'

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 returned to the parsonage feeling very discouraged. My uncle had defeated me with the weapons of science. Still, I had one hope left. Once we reached the bottom of the crater, there might be no passage leading deeper. Then, despite all the Saknussemms in Iceland, we could go no farther.

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.

I spent the whole night in one constant nightmare. In it, I was deep inside a volcano. I saw myself thrown up from the deepest depths of the earth into space between the planets, in the form of volcanic 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.

The next day, June 23, Hans was waiting for us with his companions, who carried provisions, tools, and instruments. Two iron-tipped sticks, two rifles, and two ammunition belts were for my uncle and me. Being cautious, Hans had added a leather bottle full of water to our luggage. Together with the water in our flasks, it would give us enough for eight days.

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

It was nine in the morning. The priest and his tall Megæra were waiting for us at the door. We assumed they were there to wish us a kind farewell. But instead, they presented us with a hefty bill. They charged us for everything, even the air we had breathed in the priest’s house, foul as it was. This worthy couple were fleecing us just as a Swiss innkeeper might have done. They charged the highest price for their less than perfect hospitality.

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.

My uncle paid without a word. A man setting out for the center of the earth need not worry about a few rix dollars.