“A very fair comparison, my lad. Now do you see anything upon that knee bone?”
“Yes; a mountain rising out of the sea.”
“Right. That is Snæfells.”
“That Snæfells?”
“It is. It is a mountain five thousand feet high, one of the most remarkable in the world, if its crater leads down to the centre of the earth.”
“But that is impossible,” I said shrugging my shoulders, and disgusted at such a ridiculous supposition.
“Impossible?” said the Professor severely; “and why, pray?”
“Because this crater is evidently filled with lava and burning rocks, and therefore—”
“But suppose it is an extinct volcano?”
“Extinct?”
“Yes; the number of active volcanoes on the surface of the globe is at the present time only about three hundred. But there is a very much larger number of extinct ones. Now, Snæfells is one of these. Since historic times there has been but one eruption of this mountain, that of 1219; from that time it has quieted down more and more, and now it is no longer reckoned among active volcanoes.”
To such positive statements I could make no reply. I therefore took refuge in other dark passages of the document.
“What is the meaning of this word Scartaris, and what have the kalends of July to do with it?”