The only exception to this extraordinary landscape,was the Peak of Scartaris,which seemed lost in the great void of the heavens.
The bottom of the crater was composed of three separate shafts,through which,during periods of eruption,when Sneffels was in action,the great central furnace sent forth its burning lava and poisonous vapors.Each of these chimneys or shafts gaped open-mouthed in our path.I kept as far away from them as possible,not even venturing to take the faintest peep downwards.
As for the Professor,after a rapid examination of their disposition and characteristics,he became breathless and panting.He ran from one to the other like a delighted schoolboy,gesticulating wildly,and uttering incomprehensible and disjointed phrases in all sorts of languages.
Hans,the guide,and his humbler companions seated themselves on some piles of lava and looked silently on.They clearly took my uncle for a lunatic;and-waited the result.
Suddenly the Professor uttered a wild,unearthly cry.At first Iimagined he had lost his footing,and was falling headlong into one of the yawning gulfs.Nothing of the kind.I saw him,his arms spread out to their widest extent,his legs stretched apart,standing upright before an enormous pedestal,high enough and black enough to bear a gigantic statue of Pluto.His attitude and mien were that of a man utterly stupefied.But his stupefaction was speedily changed to the wildest joy.
"Harry!Harry!come here!"he cried;"make haste-wonderful-wonderful!"
Unable to understand what he meant,I turned to obey his commands.
Neither Hans nor the other Icelanders moved a step.
"Look!"said the Professor,in something of the manner of the French general,pointing out the pyramids to his army.
And fully partaking his stupefaction,if not his joy,I read on the eastern side of the huge block of stone,the same characters,half eaten away by the corrosive action of time,the name,to me a thousand times accursed-(See illustration.)
"Arne Saknussemm!"cried my uncle,"now,unbeliever,do you begin to have faith?"It was totally impossible for me to answer a single word.I went back to my pile of lava,in a state of silent awe.The evidence was unanswerable,overwhelming!
In a few moments,however,my thoughts were far away,back in my German home,with Gretchen and the old cook.What would I have given for one of my cousin's smiles,for one of the ancient domestic's omelettes,and for my own feather bed!
How long I remained in this state I know not.All I can say is,that when at last I raised my head from between my hands,there remained at the bottom of the crater only myself,my uncle and Hans.The Icelandic porters had been dismissed and were now descending the exterior slopes of Mount Sneffels,on their way to Stapi.How heartily did I wish myself with them!
Hans slept tranquilly at the foot of a rock in a kind of rill of lava,where he had made himself a rough and ready bed.MY uncle was walking about the bottom of the crater like a wild beast in a cage.
I had no desire,neither had I the strength,to move from my recumbent position.Taking example by the guide,I gave way to a kind of painful somnolency,during which I seemed both to hear and feel continued heavings and shudderings in the mountain.
In this way we passed our first night in the interior of a crater.
Next morning,a grey,cloudy,heavy sky hung like a funereal pall over the summit of the volcanic cone.I did not notice it so much from the obscurity that reigned around us,as from the rage with which my uncle was devoured.
