To be alone at midnight in such a scene is certainly no joke.
Many of my friends may remember my telling them, before my departure, that I expected I should need the most courage on my Icelandic journey during the nights at the Geyser.
These hollow sounds were repeated, at very short intervals, thirteen times; and each time the basin overflowed and ejected a considerable quantity of water.

The sounds did not seem to proceed from subterranean ragings, but from the violent agitation of the waters.

In a minute and a half all was over; the water no longer overflowed, the caldron and basin remained filled, and I returned to my tent disappointed in every way.
This phenomenon was repeated every two hours and a half, or, at the latest, every three hours and a half.

I saw and heard nothing else all night, the next day, or the second night.

I waited in vain for an eruption.
When I had accustomed myself to these temporary effusions of my neighbour, I either indulged in a gentle slumber in the intermediate time, or I visited the other springs and explored.