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12 - The Ascent of Mount Sneffels - Journey to the Center of the Earth - Jules Verne · Classic Sci Fi Books - Daily

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Chapter twelve. The huge volcano, which was the first stage for our daring
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experiment, is above five thousand feet high. Sneffels is the termination of a
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long range of volcanic mountains of a different character to the system of the island
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itself. One of its peculiarities is its two huge pointed summits. From whence
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we started, it was impossible to make out the real outlines of the peak
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against the gray field of sky. All we could distinguish was a vast dome
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of white which fell downwards from the head of the giant. The commencement of
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the great undertaking filled me with awe. Now that we had actually started,
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I began to believe in the reality of the undertaking. Our party formed quite
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a procession. We walked in single file, preceded by hands the imperturbable Eider
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duck Hunter. He only led us by narrow path where two persons could by
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no possibility walk abreast. Conversation was wholly impossible. We had all the more
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opportunity to reflect and admire the awful grandeur of the scene around. Beyond the
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extraordinary basaltic wall of the Fiord of Stappi, we found ourselves making our way
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through fibrous turf, over which grew a scanty vegetation of grass, the residum
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of the ancient vegetation of the swampy peninsula. The vast mass of this combustible,
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the field of which, as yet as utterly unexplored, would suffice to
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warm Iceland for a whole century. This mighty turf pit, measured from the
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bottom of certain ravines, is often not less than seventy feet deep, and
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presents to the eye the view of successive layers of black, burned up rocky
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deastus, separated by thin streaks of porous sandstone. The grandeur of the spectacle
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was undoubted, as well as its arid and deserted air. As a true
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nephew of the great Professor Hardwig, and despite my preoccupation and doleful fears of
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what was to come, I observed with great interest the vast collection of mineralogical
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curiosities spread out before me in this vast museum of natural history. Looking back
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to my recent studies, I went over and thought the whole geological history of
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Iceland, this extraordinary and curious island, must have made its appearance from out
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of the great world of waters at a comparatively recent date. Like the Coral
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islands of the Pacific, it may, for aught, we know, be
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still rising by slow and imperceptible degrees. If this really be the case,
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its origin can be attributed to only one cause, that of the continued action
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of subterranean fires. This was a happy thought. If so, if this
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were true, away with theories of Sir Humphrey Davy, Away with the authority
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of the parchment of arn sacmicin the wonderful pretenses to discover on the part of
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my uncle, and to our journey all must end in smoke. Charmed with
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the idea, I began more carefully to look about me. A serious study
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of the soil was necessary to negative or confirm my hypothesis. I took in
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every item of what I saw, and I began to comprehend the succession of
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phenomena which had preceded its formation. Iceland, being absolutely without sedimentary soil,
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is composed of exclusively of volcanic tufa, that is to say, of an
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agglomeration of stones and of rocks of a porous texture. Long before the existence
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of volcanoes, it was composed of a solid body of massive trap rock lifted
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bodily and slowly out of the sea by the action of the centrifugal force at
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work in the earth. The internal fires, however, had not as yet
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burst their bounds and flooded the exterior cake of Mother Earth with hot and raging
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lava. My readers must excuse this brief and somewhat pedantic geological lecture, but
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it is necessary to the complete understanding of what follows. At a later period
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in the world's history, a huge and mighty fissure must, reasoning by analogy,
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have been dug diagonally from the southwest to the northeast of the island,
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through which by degrees flowed the volcanic crust. The great and wondrous phenomenon then
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went on without violence. The outpouring was enormous, and the seething fused matter
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ejected from the bowels of the earth spread slowly and peacefully in the form of
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vast level plains or what are called mamlons or mounds. It was at this
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epoch that the rocks called deldspars, cyanides, and porphyries appeared. But as
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a natural consequence of this overflow, the depth of the island increased. It
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can readily be believed what an enormous quantity of elastic fluids were piled up within
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its center, when at last it afforded no other openings. After the process
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of cooling the crust had taken place at length, a time came when,
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despite the enormous thickness and weight of the upper crust, the mechanical forces of
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the combustible gases below became so great that they actually upheaved the weighty back and
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made for themselves huge and gigantic shafts. Hence the volcanoes which suddenly arose through
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the upper crust, and next the craters which burst forth at the summit of
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these new creations. It will be seen that the first phenomena in connection with
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the formation of the island were simply eruptive. To these, however, shortly
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succeeded the volcanic phenomena. Through the newly formed openings escaped the marvelous mass of
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basaltic stones with which the plain we were now crossing was covered. We were
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trampling our way over heavy rocks of dark gray color, which, while cooling,
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had been molded into six sided prisms. In the back distance, we
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could see a number of flattened cones, which formerly were so many fire vomiting
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mouths. After the basaltic eruption was appeased and set at rest, the volcano,
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the force of which increased with that of the extinct craters, gave free
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passage to the fiery overflow of lava and to the mass of cinders and pumice
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rural stone, now scattered over the sides of the mountain like disheveled hair on
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the shoulders of a bauschante. Here in a nutshell, I had the whole
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history of the phenomena from which Iceland arose, all take their rise in the
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fierce action of interior fires. And to believe that the central mass did not
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remain in a state of liquid fire white hot, was simply and purely madness.
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This being satisfactorily proved. Qed what incense its folly to pretend to penetrate
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into the interior the mighty earth. His mental lecture delivered to myself while proceeding
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on a journey, did me good. I was quite reassured as to the
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fate of our enterprise, and therefore went, like a brave soldier mounting a
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bristling battery, to the assault of old sneffels. As we advanced, the
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road became every moment more difficult. The soil was broken and dangerous, The
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rocks broke and gave way under our feet, and we had to be scrupulously
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careful in order to avoid dangerous and constant falls. Hans advanced as calmly as
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if he had been walking over Salisbury Plain. Sometimes he would disappear behind huge
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blocks of stone, and we momentarily lost sight of him. There was a
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little period of anxiety, and then there was a shrill whistle, just to
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tell us where to look for him. Occasionally he would take it into his
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head to stop, to pick up long rock and silently pile them up into
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small heaps, in order that we might not lose our way on our return.
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He had no idea of the journey we were about to undertake. At
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all events. The precaution was a good one, though how utterly useless and
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unnecessary. But I must not anticipate three hours of terrible fatigue. Walking incessantly
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had only brought us to the foot of the great mountain. This will give
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some notion of what we had still to undergo. Suddenly, however, Hans
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cried a halt. That is, he made signs to that effect, and
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a summary kind of breakfast was laid out on the lava before us. My
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uncle, who now was simply Professor Hardwig, was so eager to advance that
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he bolted his food like a greedy clown. This halt for refreshment was also
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a halt for repose. The Professor was therefore compelled to wait the good pleasure
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of his imperturbable guide, who did not give the signal for departure for a
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good hour. The three Icelanders, who were as taciturn as their comrade,
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did not say a word, but went on eating and drinking, very quietly
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and soberly. From this our first real stage, we began to ascend the
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slopes of the Sneffel's Volcano, Its magnificent snowy nightcap, as we began to
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call it, by an optical delusion very common in mountains, appeared to me
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to be close at hand. And yet how many long, weary hours must
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elapse before he reached the summit? What unheard of fatigue must we endure?
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The stones on the mountain side, held together by no cement of soil,
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bound together by no roots or creeping herbs gave way continually under our feet and
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went rushing below into the plains like a series of small avalanches. In certain
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places, the sides of this stupendous mountain were at an angle so steep that
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it was impossible to climb upwards, and we were compelled to get around these
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obstacles as best we might. Those who understand alpine climbing will comprehend our difficulties.
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Often we were obliged to help each other along by means of our climbing
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poles. I must say this for my uncle, that he stuck as close
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to me as possible. He never lost sight of me, and on many
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occasions his arm supplied me with firm and solid support. He was strong,
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wiry, and apparently insensible to fatigue. Another great advantage with him was that
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he had the innate sentiment of equilibrium, for he never slipped or failed in
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his steps. The Icelanders, though heavily loaded, climbed with the agility of
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mountaineers. Looking up every now and then at the height of the great volcano
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of Sneffels, it appeared to me wholly impossible to reach to the summit on
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that side. At all events, if the angle of the inclination did not
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speedily change. Fortunately, after an hour of unheard of fatigues and of gymnastic
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exercises that would have been trying to an acrobat, we came to a vast
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field of ice which wholly surrounded the bottom of the cone of the volcano.
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The natives called it the table cloth, probably from some such reason as the
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dwellers in the Cape of Good Hope called their mountain table mountain, and their
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roads table bay. Here, to our mutual surprise, we found an actual
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flight of stone steps, which wonderfully assisted our ascent. This singular flight of
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steps was like everything else volcanic. It had been formed by one of those
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torrents of stones cast up by the eruptions of which the Icelandic name is Stina.
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If this singular torrent had not been checked in its descent by the peculiar
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shape of the flanks of the mountain, it would have swept into the sea
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and would have formed new islands. Such as it was, it served us
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admirably. The abrupt character of the slopes momentarily increased. But these remarkable stone
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steps a little less difficult than those of the Egyptian pyramids were the one simple
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natural means by which we were enabled to proceed. About seven in the morning
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of that day, after having clambered up two thousand of these rough steps,
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we found ourselves overlooking a kind of spur of projection of the mountain, a
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sort of buttress upon which the cone like crater properly so called leaned for support.
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The ocean lay beneath us at a depth of more than three thousand,
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two hundred feet, a grand and mighty spectacle. We had reached the region
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of eternal snows. The cold was keen, searching and intense. The wind
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blew with extraordinary violence. I was utterly exhausted. My worthy uncle, the
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Professor, saw clearly that my legs refused further service, and that in fact
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I was utterly exhausted. Despite his hot and feverish impatience, he decided with
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a sigh upon a halt, he called the eider duck hunter to his side.
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That Worthy, however, shook his head often for was his sole spoken
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reply. It appears, says my uncle, with a woe begone look,
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that we must go higher. He then turned Hans and asked him to give
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him some reason for this decisive response, mistour replied the guide. Jia,
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mistour. Yes, the mistour, cried one of the Icelandic guides in a
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terrified tone. It was the first time he had spoken. What does this
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mysterious words signify, I anxiously inquired look, said my uncle. I looked
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down upon the plain below, and I saw a vast, prodigious volume of
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pulverized pumice, stone, of sand, of dust rising to the heavens in
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the form of a mighty water spout. It resembled the fearful phenomenon of a
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similar character known to the travelers in the desert of the Great Sahara. The
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wind was driving it directly upwards that side of Sneffels of which we were perched.
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This opaque veil, standing up between us and the sun, project a
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deep shadow on the flanks of the mountain. If this sand spout broke over
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us, we must all be infallibly destroyed, crushed in its fearful embraces.
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This extraordinary phenomenon, very common when the wind shakes the glaciers and sweeps over
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the arid plains, is in the Icelandic tongue called mistour hastigt hastigt cried our
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guide. Now I certainly knew nothing of Danish, but I thoroughly understood that
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his gestures were meant to quicken us. The guide turned rapidly in a direction
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which would take us to the back of the crater, all the while ascending
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slightly. We followed rapidly, despite our excessive fatigue. A quarter of an
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hour later, Hans paused to enable us to look back. The mighty whirlwind
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of sand was spreading up the slope of the mountain to the very spot where
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we had proposed to halt. Huge stones were caught up, cast into the
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air, and thrown about as during an eruption. We were happily a little
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out of the direction of the wind and therefore out of reach of danger.
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But for the precaution and knowledge of our guide, our dislocated bodies are crushed
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and broken limbs would have been cast to the wind like dust from some unknown
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meteor. Hans, however, did not think it prudent to pass the night
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on the bare side of the cone. We therefore continued our journey in a
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zigzag direction. The fifteen hundred feet which remained to be accompanied took us at
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least five hours. The turnings and windings, the no thoroughfares, the marches
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and marches turned that insignificant distance into at least three leagues. I never felt
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such misery, fatigue, and exhaustion in my life. I was ready to
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faint from hunger and cold. The rarefied air, at the same time painfully
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acted upon my lungs. At last, when I thought myself at my last
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gasp, about eleven at night, it being in that region quite dark,
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we reached the summit of Mount Sneifels. It was in an awful mood of
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mind that, despite my fatigue, before I descended into the crater which was
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to shelter us for the night, I paused to behold the sun rise at
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midnight, on the very day of its lowest declination, and enjoyed the spectacle
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of its ghastly pale rays cast upon the aisle which lay sleeping at our feet.
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I no longer wondered at people traveling all the way from England to Norway
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to behold this magical and wondrous spectacle. End of Chapter twelve