Here and there I could see puffs and jets of steam curling up into the air, called in Icelandic reykir , issuing from thermal springs, and indicating by their motion the volcanic energy underneath. This seemed to justify my fears. But I fell from the height of my newborn hopes when my uncle said:

“You see all these volumes of steam, Axel; well, they demonstrate that we have nothing to fear from the fury of a volcanic eruption.”

“Am I to believe that?” I cried.