This mud has quite the
appearance of fine clay dissolved in water; its colour was a light
grey.
From another basin, hardly two feet in diameter, a mighty column of
steam shot continually into the air with so much force and noise
that I started back half stunned, and could have fancied the vault
of heaven would burst. This basin is situated in a corner of the
valley, closely shut in on three sides by hills. In the
neighbourhood many hot springs gushed forth; but I saw no columns of
water, and my guide assured me that such a phenomenon was never
witnessed here.
There is more danger in passing these spots than even in traversing
the mountains. In spite of the greatest precautions, I frequently
sank in above the ankles, and would then draw back with a start, and
find my foot covered with hot mud. From the place where I had
broken through, steam and hot mud, or boiling water, rose into the
air.
Though my guide, who walked before me, carefully probed the ground
with his stick, he several times sank through half-way to the knee.
These men are, however, so much accustomed to contingencies of this
kind that they take little account of them. My guide would quietly
repair to the next spring and cleanse his clothes from mud.
