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A JOURNEY TO THE CENTRE OF THE EARTH - 9

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTRE OF THE EARTH

By Jules Verne

CHAPTER 9

OUR START--WE MEET WITH ADVENTURES BY THE WAY

The weather was overcast but settled, when we commenced our adventurous

and perilous journey. We had neither to fear fatiguing heat nor

drenching rain. It was, in fact, real tourist weather.

As there was nothing I liked better than horse exercise, the pleasure of

riding through an unknown country caused the early part of our

enterprise to be particularly agreeable to me.

I began to enjoy the exhilarating delight of traveling, a life of

desire, gratification and liberty. The truth is, that my spirits rose so

rapidly, that I began to be indifferent to what had once appeared to be

a terrible journey.

"After all," I said to myself, "what do I risk? Simply to take a journey

through a curious country, to climb a remarkable mountain, and if the

worst comes to the worst, to descend into the crater of an extinct

volcano."

There could be no doubt that this was all this terrible Saknussemm had

done. As to the existence of a gallery, or of subterraneous passages

leading into the interior of the earth, the idea was simply absurd, the

hallucination of a distempered imagination. All, then, that may be

required of me I will do cheerfully, and will create no difficulty.

It was just before we left Reykjavik that I came to this decision.

Hans, our extraordinary guide, went first, walking with a steady, rapid,

unvarying step. Our two horses with the luggage followed of their own

accord, without requiring whip or spur. My uncle and I came behind,

cutting a very tolerable figure upon our small but vigorous animals.

Iceland is one of the largest islands in Europe. It contains thirty

thousand square miles of surface, and has about seventy thousand

inhabitants. Geographers have divided it into four parts, and we had to

cross the southwest quarter which in the vernacular is called Sudvestr

Fjordungr.

Hans, on taking his departure from Reykjavik, had followed the line of

the sea. We took our way through poor and sparse meadows, which made a

desperate effort every year to show a little green. They very rarely

succeed in a good show of yellow.

The rugged summits of the rocky hills were dimly visible on the edge of

the horizon, through the misty fogs; every now and then some heavy

flakes of snow showed conspicuous in the morning light, while certain

lofty and pointed rocks were first lost in the grey low clouds, their

summits clearly visible above, like jagged reefs rising from a troublous

sea.

Every now and then a spur of rock came down through the arid ground,

leaving us scarcely room to pass. Our horses, however, appeared not only

well acquainted with the country, but by a kind of instinct, knew which

was the best road. My uncle had not even the satisfaction of urging

forward his steed by whip, spur, or voice. It was utterly useless to

show any signs of impatience. I could not help smiling to see him look

so big on his little horse; his long legs now and then touching the

ground made him look like a six-footed centaur.

"Good beast, good beast," he would cry. "I assure you, that I begin to

think no animal is more intelligent than an Icelandic horse. Snow,

tempest, impracticable roads, rocks, icebergs--nothing stops him. He is

brave; he is sober; he is safe; he never makes a false step; never

glides or slips from his path. I dare to say that if any river, any

fjord has to be crossed--and I have no doubt there will be many--you

will see him enter the water without hesitation like an amphibious

animal, and reach the opposite side in safety. We must not, however,

attempt to hurry him; we must allow him to have his own way, and I

will undertake to say that between us we shall do our ten leagues a

day."

"We may do so," was my reply, "but what about our worthy guide?"

"I have not the slightest anxiety about him: that sort of people go

ahead without knowing even what they are about. Look at Hans. He moves

so little that it is impossible for him to become fatigued. Besides, if

he were to complain of weariness, he could have the loan of my horse. I

should have a violent attack of the cramp if I were not to have some

sort of exercise. My arms are right--but my legs are getting a little

stiff."

All this while we were advancing at a rapid pace. The country we had

reached was already nearly a desert. Here and there could be seen an

isolated farm, some solitary bur, or Icelandic house, built of wood,

earth, fragments of lava--looking like beggars on the highway of life.

These wretched and miserable huts excited in us such pity that we felt

half disposed to leave alms at every door. In this country there are no

roads, paths are nearly unknown, and vegetation, poor as it was, slowly

as it reached perfection, soon obliterated all traces of the few

travelers who passed from place to place.

Nevertheless, this division of the province, situated only a few miles

from the capital, is considered one of the best cultivated and most

thickly peopled in all Iceland. What, then, must be the state of the

less known and more distant parts of the island? After traveling fully

half a Danish mile, we had met neither a farmer at the door of his hut,

nor even a wandering shepherd with his wild and savage flock.

A few stray cows and sheep were only seen occasionally. What, then, must

we expect when we come to the upheaved regions--to the districts broken

and roughened from volcanic eruptions and subterraneous commotions?

We were to learn this all in good time. I saw, however, on consulting

the map, that we avoided a good deal of this rough country, by following

the winding and desolate shores of the sea. In reality, the great

volcanic movement of the island, and all its attendant phenomena, are

concentrated in the interior of the island; there, horizontal layers or

strata of rocks, piled one upon the other, eruptions of basaltic origin,

and streams of lava, have given this country a kind of supernatural

reputation.

Little did I expect, however, the spectacle which awaited us when we

reached the peninsula of Sneffels, where agglomerations of nature's

ruins form a kind of terrible chaos.

Some two hours or more after we had left the city of Reykjavik, we

reached the little town called Aoalkirkja, or the principal church. It

consists simply of a few houses--not what in England or Germany we

should call a hamlet.

Hans stopped here one half hour. He shared our frugal breakfast,

answered Yes, and No to my uncle's questions as to the nature of the

road, and at last when asked where we were to pass the night was as

laconic as usual.

"Gardar!" was his one-worded reply.

I took occasion to consult the map, to see where Gardar was to be found.

After looking keenly I found a small town of that name on the borders of

the Hvalfjord, about four miles from Reykjavik. I pointed this out to my

uncle, who made a very energetic grimace.

"Only four miles out of twenty-two? Why it is only a little walk."

He was about to make some energetic observation to the guide, but Hans,

without taking the slightest notice of him, went in front of the horses,

and walked ahead with the same imperturbable phlegm he had always

exhibited.

Three hours later, still traveling over those apparently interminable

and sandy prairies, we were compelled to go round the Kollafjord, an

easier and shorter cut than crossing the gulfs. Shortly after we entered

a place of communal jurisdiction called Ejulberg, and the clock of which

would then have struck twelve, if any Icelandic church had been rich

enough to possess so valuable and useful an article. These sacred

edifices are, however, very much like these people, who do without

watches--and never miss them.

Here the horses were allowed to take some rest and refreshment, then

following a narrow strip of shore between high rocks and the sea, they

took us without further halt to the Aoalkirkja of Brantar, and after

another mile to Saurboer Annexia, a chapel of ease, situated on the

southern bank of the Hvalfjord.

It was four o'clock in the evening and we had traveled four Danish

miles, about equal to twenty English.

The fjord was in this place about half a mile in width. The sweeping and

broken waves came rolling in upon the pointed rocks; the gulf was

surrounded by rocky walls--a mighty cliff, three thousand feet in

height, remarkable for its brown strata, separated here and there by

beds of tufa of a reddish hue. Now, whatever may have been the

intelligence of our horses, I had not the slightest reliance upon them,

as a means of crossing a stormy arm of the sea. To ride over salt water

upon the back of a little horse seemed to me absurd.

"If they are really intelligent," I said to myself, "they will certainly

not make the attempt. In any case, I shall trust rather to my own

intelligence than theirs."

But my uncle was in no humor to wait. He dug his heels into the sides of

his steed, and made for the shore. His horse went to the very edge of

the water, sniffed at the approaching wave and retreated.

My uncle, who was, sooth to say, quite as obstinate as the beast he

bestrode, insisted on his making the desired advance. This attempt was

followed by a new refusal on the part of the horse which quietly shook

his head. This demonstration of rebellion was followed by a volley of

words and a stout application of whipcord; also followed by kicks on the

part of the horse, which threw its head and heels upwards and tried to

throw his rider. At length the sturdy little pony, spreading out his

legs, in a stiff and ludicrous attitude, got from under the Professor's

legs, and left him standing, with both feet on a separate stone, like

the Colossus of Rhodes.

"Wretched animal!" cried my uncle, suddenly transformed into a foot

passenger--and as angry and ashamed as a dismounted cavalry officer on

the field of battle.

"Farja," said the guide, tapping him familiarly on the shoulder.

"What, a ferry boat!"

"Der," answered Hans, pointing to where lay the boat in

question--"there."

"Well," I cried, quite delighted with the information; "so it is."

"Why did you not say so before," cried my uncle; "why not start at

once?"

"Tidvatten," said the guide.

"What does he say?" I asked, considerably puzzled by the delay and the

dialogue.

"He says tide," replied my uncle, translating the Danish word for my

information.

"Of course I understand--we must wait till the tide serves."

"For bida?" asked my uncle.

"Ja," replied Hans.

My uncle frowned, stamped his feet and then followed the horses to where

the boat lay.

I thoroughly understood and appreciated the necessity for waiting,

before crossing the fjord, for that moment when the sea at its highest

point is in a state of slack water. As neither the ebb nor flow can then

be felt, the ferry boat was in no danger of being carried out to sea, or

dashed upon the rocky coast.

The favorable moment did not come until six o'clock in the evening. Then

my uncle, myself, and guide, two boatmen and the four horses got into a

very awkward flat-bottom boat. Accustomed as I had been to the steam

ferry boats of the Elbe, I found the long oars of the boatmen but sorry

means of locomotion. We were more than an hour in crossing the fjord;

but at length the passage was concluded without accident.

Half an hour later we reached Gardar.