Altona, which is but a suburb of Hamburg, is the terminus of the Kiel
railway, which was to carry us to the Belts. In twenty minutes we
were in Holstein.

At half-past six the carriage stopped at the station; my uncle's
numerous packages, his voluminous IMPEDIMENTA, were unloaded,
removed, labelled, weighed, put into the luggage vans, and at seven
we were seated face to face in our compartment. The whistle sounded,
the engine started, we were off.

Was I resigned? No, not yet. Yet the cool morning air and the scenes
on the road, rapidly changed by the swiftness of the train, drew me
away somewhat from my sad reflections.

As for the Professor's reflections, they went far in advance of the
swiftest express. We were alone in the carriage, but we sat in
silence. My uncle examined all his pockets and his travelling bag
with the minutest care. I saw that he had not forgotten the smallest
matter of detail.

Amongst other documents, a sheet of paper, carefully folded, bore the
heading of the Danish consulate with the signature of W.
Christiensen, consul at Hamburg and the Professor's friend. With this
we possessed the proper introductions to the Governor of Iceland.

I also observed the famous document most carefully laid up in a
secret pocket in his portfolio. I bestowed a malediction upon it, and
then proceeded to examine the country.