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Updated: June 14, 2025
"I don't understand you, sir," said Zoega, with a puzzled expression. I called him over and whispered in his ear, "Zoega, I hope you're a good man. Do you say your prayers regularly?" "Yes, sir." "Then you are all right. Let us be going. I don't like this neighborhood." "Whenever you wish, sir. The horses are all ready."
A grave, dignified man is Geir Zoega, large of frame and strong of limb; a light-haired, blue-eyed, fresh, honest-faced native, warm of heart and trusty of hand; a jewel of a guide, who knows every rook, bog, and mud-puddle between Reykjavik and the Geysers; a gentleman by nature, born in all probability of an iceberg and a volcano; a believer in ghosts and ghouls, and a devout member of the Church.
"Look out, sir!" shouted Zoega; "look out!" Unlike the Frenchman who looked out when he should have looked in, I unconsciously looked in when I should have looked out. With a suddenness that astonished me, up shot the seething mass almost in my face.
It was all a wild roaring flood plunging madly down among the rocks. While I was thinking what was to be done, Zoega, with a crack of his whip, drove the animals into the water and made a bold dash after them. It then occurred to me that there was a good deal of prudence in the advice given by an Icelandic traveler: "Never go into a river till your guide has tried it."
Zoega untied the horses from each other's tails soon after passing the road to Hafuarfiord, as there was no farther danger of their separating, and then, with many flourishes of his whip and strange cries, well understood by our animals, led the way.
"Now, Zoega," said I, "how do you make it out that this came from the Skjaldbraid Jokul?" "Well, sir, I don't know, but I think it came from the inside of the world." "Why, Zoega, the world is only a shell a mere egg-shell in Iceland I should fancy filled with fiery gases." "Is that possible, sir?" cried Zoega, in undisguised astonishment. "Yes, quite possible a mere egg-shell!"
Meantime Zoega was enjoying himself by the fire in the kitchen, surrounded by the female members of the family, who no doubt were eagerly listening to the latest news from Reykjavik. Whenever their voices became audible I strongly suspected that the ladies were asking whether the steamer had brought any crinoline from Copenhagen. The pastor's family appeared to be composed entirely of females.
And what would Zoega think in the morning, when he came down from the farm-house, and saw that his tent and provision-boxes were gone down in a great hole, and that an American gentleman, in whom he had the greatest confidence, had not only carried them with him, but failed to pay his liabilities before starting?
There was not much vegetation of any kind save patches of grass and brushwood. A species of white moss covered the rocks in places, presenting the appearance of hoar-frost at a short distance. Upon turning the point of a hill where our trail was a little elevated above the great valley, Zoega called my attention to a column of vapor that seemed to rise out of the ground about ten miles distant.
Pleased with these kind words, I stepped up to the good pastor and cordially shook him by the hand, at the same time desiring Zoega to say that I thanked him very much, and hoped he would make it convenient to call and see me some time or other in California, which, I regret to add, caused him to look both alarmed and embarrassed.
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