On Rising From Table, Each One Strolled Away In Whatever
Direction His Particular Taste Suggested.
The painter to
sketch; the geologist to break stones; the philosopher
to moralize, I presume, - at least, he lighted a cigar, - and
the rest to superintend the erection of the tents which
had just arrived.
In an hour afterwards, sleep - though not altogether
silence - for loud and strong rose the choral service
intoned to Morpheus from every side - reigned supreme over
the encampment, whose canvas habitations, huddled together
on the desolated plateau, looked almost Crimean. This
last notion, I suppose, must have mingled with my dreams,
for not long afterwards I found myself in full swing
towards a Russian battery, that banged and bellowed, and
cannonaded about my ears in a fashion frightful to hear.
Apparently I was serving in the French attack, for clear
and shrill above the tempest rose the cry, "Alerte!
alerte! aux armes, Monseigneur! aux armes!" The ground
shook, volumes of smoke rose before my eyes, and completely
hid the defences of Sebastopol; which fact, on reflection,
I perceived to be the less extraordinary, as I was standing
in my shirt at the door of a tent in Iceland. The
premonitory symptoms of an eruption, which I had taken
for a Russian cannonading, had awakened the French
sleepers, - a universal cry was pervading the
encampment, - and the entire settlement had turned
out - chiefly in bare legs - to witness the event which
the reverberating earth and steaming water seemed to
prognosticate. Old Geysir, however, proved less courteous
than we had begun to hope, for after labouring uneasily
in his basin for a few minutes, he roused himself on his
hind-legs - fell - made one more effort, - and then giving
it up as a bad job, sank back into his accustomed inaction,
and left the disappointed assembly to disperse to their
respective dormitories.
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