That evening, I took a short walk along the shore near Reykjavik. When I returned, I went straight to bed and slept soundly on a rough plank bed.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of my uncle speaking loudly in the next room. I quickly got up and went to see what was happening.
My uncle was speaking Danish to a very tall man with an enormous, powerful build. The man looked as strong as a giant. His head was large, his eyes were bright and alert, and his simple, almost innocent face gave him a surprisingly gentle appearance.
His long red hair fell over his broad shoulders. Even in England, people would have called it extremely red.
Although he looked strong and athletic, he moved very little. He stood calmly, with almost no unnecessary gestures. He was clearly one of those northern people who considered waving their arms around a waste of energy.
Everything about him suggested a quiet, patient nature.
He wasn’t lazy. He simply seemed completely at peace with himself. He expected nothing from anyone and seemed to believe that life should be taken as it came.
I understood his character almost immediately.
My uncle talked excitedly, waving his arms and pouring out one passionate sentence after another. The man simply stood there with his arms folded, listening without moving an inch.
When he disagreed, he merely shook his head from side to side.
When he agreed, he gave the smallest possible nod.
He used so little movement that it was almost comical.
At first glance, I would never have guessed that this quiet man was a great hunter.
He certainly didn’t look like someone who could frighten an animal.
So I wondered what kind of hunting he could possibly do.
I soon found out.
He was an eider-duck hunter.
And the down of the eider duck was one of Iceland’s most valuable natural resources.
At the beginning of summer, the female eider duck builds her nest among the rocks beside the fjords. These narrow sea inlets are found all over the Icelandic coast.
As soon as she finishes the nest, she lines it with the soft down she pulls from her own breast.
Then the hunter comes and takes the nest and its down away.
The poor bird starts all over again.
As long as there is more down to collect, the process continues.
Eventually, when the female has no more down left to give, the male takes over.
His down is not as soft and has no real commercial value, so the hunter leaves his nest alone.
The male finishes it, the female lays her eggs, and the young birds are born.
The following year, the hunters return to collect another harvest.
Fortunately, eider ducks don’t build their nests on dangerous cliffs. They prefer low, gently sloping rocks close to the sea.
So an Icelandic hunter can collect the down without much trouble.
In a way, he is like a farmer who doesn’t have to plow, plant, or cultivate anything.
He simply gathers the harvest.
The quiet, serious man standing before us was named Hans Bjelke.
M. Fridriksson had recommended him to us, and he had come to meet us.
He was going to be our guide.
I couldn’t imagine finding a man more different from my impulsive uncle.
Yet the two of them seemed to understand each other perfectly.
Neither cared much about money.
Hans was willing to accept whatever my uncle offered, while my uncle was perfectly willing to pay whatever Hans asked.
So they reached an agreement very quickly.
Hans would take us to the village of Stapi, on the southern slope of the Sneffels Peninsula, right at the foot of the volcano.
He told us the distance was about twenty-two miles.
My uncle thought we could make the journey in two days.
Then he discovered that these were Danish miles, each one nearly five miles long.
And considering the terrible roads we would have to travel, he realized that eight or ten days would be more realistic.
We prepared four horses.
Two would carry the baggage, and the other two would carry my uncle and me.
Hans, however, refused to ride.
He said that nothing could persuade him to climb onto the back of an animal.
He knew every part of the coast and promised to lead us by the shortest possible route.
His agreement with my uncle would not end when we reached Stapi.
He would remain with us throughout my uncle’s scientific expedition.
His pay was three rix-dollars a week, which came to fourteen shillings and twopence minus a farthing in English money.
Hans had only one condition.
He had to be paid every Saturday evening.
If he wasn’t paid, his contract would immediately end.
The date of our departure was fixed.
My uncle wanted to give Hans some money in advance, but the guide refused with a single word.
“Efter.”
That meant:
“After.”
And with that, our guide left without saying another word.
“A splendid fellow!” my uncle exclaimed. “He has no idea how important a role he is about to play in the history of the world.”
“You mean he’s going with us?” I cried.
“Of course,” my uncle replied. “All the way to the center of the earth.”
“To the center of the earth?”
“Yes. Why not?”
We still had forty-eight hours before our final departure.
Unfortunately, those two days were anything but restful.
We spent almost every moment preparing for the expedition.
Everything had to be packed carefully and efficiently.
The scientific instruments went together.
The weapons went together.
The tools had their own section.
The food was packed separately.
In the end, we had four main groups of equipment.
The scientific instruments were all of the highest quality.
First, we had an Eigel centigrade thermometer capable of measuring temperatures up to 150 degrees.
I wasn’t sure whether that was enough or far too much.
If the temperature really reached that level, we would probably be cooked alive.
But if we wanted to measure the temperature of hot springs or molten metal, perhaps even 150 degrees would not be enough.
We also had a manometer operated by compressed air.
It was designed to measure atmospheric pressure at sea level.
A normal barometer might not have been suitable for our journey because the pressure would probably increase as we descended deeper into the earth.
Then there was an excellent chronometer made by Boissonnas of Geneva.
It was set according to Hamburg time, just as English clocks were calculated from Greenwich and French clocks from Paris.
We had two compasses.
One was for finding our direction.
The other was designed to measure the dip of the magnetic needle.
There was also a night glass for seeing at a distance.
And then came two Ruhmkorff coils.
These were especially important because they would allow us to produce a bright, reliable light using electricity.
Finally, we had a modern voltaic battery to supply the electricity.
Our weapons consisted of two rifles and two six-shot revolvers.
I couldn’t understand why we needed so many weapons.
As far as I knew, there were no dangerous wild animals or hostile tribes waiting for us in Iceland.
My uncle didn’t care.
He loved his weapons almost as much as his scientific instruments.
He was particularly proud of his supply of gun cotton, an explosive material that could be stored in any climate and was more powerful than ordinary gunpowder.
Then came the tools.
We had two pickaxes, two crowbars, a silk ladder, three iron-shod Alpine poles, a hatchet, a hammer, twelve wedges, several pointed iron tools, and plenty of strong rope.
It was quite a pile of equipment.
And the ladder alone was three hundred feet long.
Then we had to deal with the most important question of all:
Food.
The food basket wasn’t especially large, but it was enough.
My uncle had brought concentrated meat and biscuits that, according to his calculations, would last us six months.
The only liquid he packed was Schiedam gin.
Not a drop of water.
I was horrified.
We did have plenty of water bottles, but my uncle was convinced that we would find water as soon as we began our descent.
I tried to point out that we might find water that was too hot, too dirty, or even no water at all.
He ignored every one of my objections.
For the benefit of anyone who might one day attempt a similar journey, I should also mention the rest of our equipment.
We carried a complete medical and surgical kit for treating wounds, broken bones, and other injuries.
There were bandages, scissors, lancets, and all kinds of frightening-looking instruments.
We also had bottles of ammonia, alcohol, ether, Goulard water, aromatic vinegar, and almost every medicine imaginable.
Finally, we carried everything needed to operate the Ruhmkorff lighting equipment.
My uncle had also packed a generous supply of tobacco, several flasks of excellent gunpowder, and boxes of tinder.
Around his waist he wore a large belt stuffed with banknotes and gold.
Six pairs of waterproof boots were packed inside the tool chest.
My uncle looked over our mountain of equipment with complete satisfaction.
“My boy,” he said happily, “with clothes like these, good boots, and all this equipment, we should be able to travel a very long way.”
It took us the entire day to organize everything.
That evening, we had dinner with Baron Trampe.
The Mayor of Reykjavik was there, along with Doctor Hyaltalin, the most famous doctor in Iceland.
M. Fridriksson was absent.
Later, I learned that he and the governor disagreed about certain matters concerning the administration of Iceland.
Because I didn’t understand a word of the conversation at dinner, I was unable to follow what was being discussed.
It was more like an official reception than an ordinary dinner.
There was, however, one thing I understood perfectly.
My uncle never stopped talking.
The next day, our preparations were finally complete.
Our host gave Professor Hardwigg an excellent map of Iceland.
For a mineralogist like my uncle, it was an extremely valuable gift.
We spent our last evening talking with M. Fridriksson.
I had grown very fond of him, especially because I had a terrible feeling that I would never see him—or anyone else—again.
After we said goodbye, I went to bed.
But sleep would not come.
Apart from a few brief moments of dozing, I spent the entire night awake.
At five in the morning, I was finally enjoying the only solid half hour of sleep I had managed all night.
Then the loud neighing of horses outside my window woke me.
I jumped out of bed, dressed quickly, and hurried downstairs.
Hans was already outside, finishing the packing.
He worked quietly and efficiently, without wasting a single movement.
I admired him greatly.
My uncle, meanwhile, used a great deal of energy giving him instructions.
Hans completely ignored him.
At six o’clock, everything was ready.
M. Fridriksson shook our hands warmly.
My uncle thanked him sincerely in Icelandic for his generous hospitality.
I did my best with the few Latin phrases I knew and offered him the most elaborate farewell I could manage.
Then our final goodbyes were over.
We went outside and mounted our horses.
As we were about to leave, M. Fridriksson stepped forward.
He called after me with a line from Virgil, words that seemed strangely perfect for travelers setting off toward an unknown destination:
“Et quacunque viam dederit fortuna sequamur.”
“And whichever road fortune gives us, let us follow it.”