CATALOGUE-RAISONNÉ OF MODERN TRAVELS IN ICELAND--PREPARATIONS FOR
TRAVEL.
§ 1. CATALOGUE.
And first a few words concerning Icelandic literature.
Iceland has been loudly proclaimed to be the “home of the Eddas,”[270]
which is emphatically not the case. The Elder or poetical Edda is
distinctly Continental; it abounds in uninsular ideas and similes: the
sun-stag, the high-antler’d deer, the wolf,[271] the strong-venom’d
snake, the mew-field’s bison or path of ship over the sea, the lily and
the pine forest, are poetical imagery, wholly unfamiliar to the
untravelled Icelander.
The authentic historical literature of Scandinavia opens about the
middle of the ninth century; that of Iceland with its Norwegian
discovery, when the copiously and irregularly inflected tongue, the
“delight of philologists and the traveller’s despair,” was apparently in
its highest form. The learned Bishop of Skálholt (Hist. Eccl. Isl.)
assigns four distinct ages to the classical productions of his native
island:
I. Infancy: from the first colonisation (A.D. 874), when every man
appears to have been a Skáld[272] or bard, ending with the introduction
of Christianity in A.D. 1000. The Sturlunga (i. 107) asserts that all
the Sagas of that date were committed to writing before the death of
Bishop Brandr (A.D. 1201).
II. Youth: when colleges and schools were introduced, ending with A.D.
1110.
III. Manhood and zenith of splendour: from that time till A.D. 1350.
IV. Decline and fall between the mid-fourteenth century and the
Reformation.
Thus the Augustan age endured for the unusually long period of some two
and a half centuries.
The island, though scantily peopled, enjoyed immense advantages for
study. It had taken the first great step in civilisation, SLAVERY, and
while carl and thrall tilled the field, Jarl, clerk, and franklin found
ample leisure for literature. The long rigorous winters, when neither
farming, fishing, fighting, nor seafaring was possible, proved highly
favourable for reading, writing, and reciting; and hence the phenomenon
that the history of mediæval Iceland is more complete than that of any
European country. The extensive piratical wanderings of the race gave,
moreover, a cosmopolitan complexion to its compositions. Some modern
writers wonder to see such display of literary activity, especially
during the last fifty or sixty years of the Commonwealth, when society
was convulsed by sanguinary feuds, and when every man slept weaponed. As
we often find in history, it was this very turbulence which gave the
spur; after the union with Norway, the island became peaceful, and her
poets and historians found their occupation going or gone. The noble
Icelandic prose, which in terse, picturesque, and crystal-clear
expression, vied with Latin, and which equalled Greek in distinctness
and combination of words, was no longer written; and between the
fifteenth and the mid-sixteenth centuries men of letters contented
themselves with transcribing and annotating their classics.
The poetry of the Augustan age was, at first, simple and sufficient as
the prose--it reminds us of Firdausi’s Shah-nameh. But presently, as is
ever the case with a decaying literature, came the Skáld, whose highest
merit was that of calling nothing by the right name, of saying common
things in an uncommon or rather in an unintelligible way. Space forbids
even an outline of his system, the vast variety of quaint conceits, the
abuse of metaphor, of “Kenningar” (circumlocution), of simile, and of
allegory, and the prodigious complication of metres, which formed his
stock-in-trade; suffice it to say that he used 150 synonyms for an
island, fifty for a wave,[273] and a greater number for gold. Thus Rask
remarks that with a half-a-hundred terms for a ship there is no word for
“benevolence.” The Skáld’s vocabulary added to the copiousness of
Arabic, the polysynthesis of Sanskrit; his inversions and transpositions
of speech are so complicated, that modern commentators after quoting the
lines, mostly number the words or subjoin the construction.
It is interesting to observe the family likeness between the two
distant cousins, Persian and Icelandic. Hafiz, for instance, from Alif
to Ya, is one long example of Skáldic poetry; he sings the praises of
wine when he means, or is understood to mean, heavenly love, and his
verse, like that of Ultima Thule, requires for every line a
dictionary--not of words, but of the _double entendres_ which lurk under
words. Grimm, when pronouncing Icelandic to be the “true source of all
the Teutonic languages,” cannot but remark its Oriental turn. It is in
fact after the Slav, the purest type of the Indo-European, which has
been so modestly called the “Indo-Germanic” family.
The Reformation stirred up the popular mind, and the result, as usual,
was a revival of literary energy. But the produce--theology with poetry
religious and ethical; history, or rather continuations of the old
annals; criticism, exegesis, and grammatical studies--showed decline in
matter as well as in manner. The originality, the strong individuality
of the old pagan, was succeeded by the mechanical industry of the
copier, who had other models to work from. This modern period still
continues. The love of letters, inspired by soil and climate, even now
characterises the Icelander despite his poverty and isolation. During
the last century abundant good work has been done in editing and
publishing the classical literature, and some excursions have been made
into the regions of science, mechanics, and political economy.
The list given by Uno Von Troil contains the names of 120 works; and the
Reports of the Icelandic Literary Society between 1852 and 1871 show,
besides its yearly transactions (Skírnir), the titles of fifty-one
publications, some old but mostly modern. Bishop Pètursson (Hist. Eccl.
330) gives a list of six folio pages, containing the titles of Libri
Biblici, Catechetici, de Evangeliis, Precum, Conciones, et alii piis
usibus Libri. It is interesting, again, to compare this hyperborean
literature with that of the little Istrian peninsula. The latter,
despite such drawbacks as poverty and political excitement, and the
torments of plagues, droughts, famines, invasions, and intestine strife,
can point to a roll numbering about 3000 names:[274] England herself is
hardly richer in local literature.
Amongst the subjects which Icelandic has treated, we may number
proverbs, the “marrow of the language.” The first collection
(Orðskviðasafn) was made by Guðmundur Jónsson, and printed in octavo by
the Literary Society (Report of 1872). The Cleasby-Vigfusson Dictionary
also contains a considerable number which deserve separate publication,
for the benefit of those who appreciate this highly ethnological form of
literature. Even the Færoe Islands possess their _répertoire_
(Description, etc., by the Rev. J. Lundt: London, Longmans, 1810), and
some of them are _naïve_ in the extreme. For instance, “Calumny never
dies,” and “Seldom are pigeons hatched from a raven’s egg.” Some five
years ago Mr Jón A. Hjaltalín translated into English a collection of
Icelandic proverbs, adding to it those of the late Dr Scheving. His plan
was: (1.) to give the text; (2.) a literal translation; and (3.) a
common translation, _e.g._:
Berr er hverr á baki nema bróður eigi;
Bare is every on back unless brother have;
Bare is back where brother is not.
Thus the Advocates’ Library has the largest and the most complete
collection of Icelandic proverbs ever made, whilst, _mirabile dictu_, it
is in MS., being unable to find a publisher.
Finally, the days are past since Sir Joseph Banks could collect the
three hundred rare and valuable MSS. which were deposited in the British
Museum. At present not a single article of literary worth is to be
bought on the island.[275]
We will now proceed to Icelandic travellers, and more especially to the
English travellers of the present century.[276]
1. Mr (afterwards Sir) William Jackson Hooker, F.R.S., L.S., and F.
Wern. Soc. Edin., produced his “Journal of a Tour in Iceland in the
Summer of 1809,” 2 vols. 8vo, London, Longmans and Murray, 1811. 2d
edition, 1813. The author had lost his notes with the ship which carried
him, and wrote much from memory, hence the extreme cacography of the
Icelandic words. Henderson (ii. 136, note) finds the work “intolerably
free-thinking”--times have changed. The botanical notes are valuable,
and the volumes will, despite all their disadvantages, take rank as
“classics.”
2. Sir George Steuart Mackenzie, Bart., President of the Physical Class
of the Royal Society, etc., published his “Travels in the Island of
Iceland during the Summer of the year 1810,” Constable, Edinburgh, 4to;
and the book reached a second edition in 1812. He took charge of the
geological and mineralogical departments, whilst Dr (the late Sir Henry)
Holland and Dr Bright (of Bright’s disease) studied the history and
literature, the zoology and botany. The illustrations and statistical
tables are highly valuable; and although the Geysir theory is now
utterly obsolete, literary Icelanders still consider the volume an
authority upon scientific matters.
3. “Iceland, or the Journal of a Residence in that Island during the
years 1814 and 1815.” By Ebenezer Henderson, Ph.D., M.R.S. Gottenburgh,
Hon. M. Lit. Soc. of Fuhnen, and Corr. M. Scan. Lit. Soc. of Copenhagen.
1st edition, 2 vols. 8vo, Oliphant, Edinburgh, 1818. 2d edition, 1819. A
notice of his book will conclude this Section.
4. “Statistisk Udsigt over den danske Stat i Begyndelsen af Aaret, 1825,
af Frederik Thaarup, Etatsraad,” 8vo, Kjöbenhavn, 1825, with Atlas.
Valuable for tables of figures.
5. F. Paully. “Topographie von Dänmark einschliesslich Islands,” etc.,
Altona, 1828.
6. Björnus Gunnlaugi, filius. “De Mensurâ et Delineatione Islandiæ
interioris,” etc. In Monasterio Videyensi, 1834.
7. John Barrow, jun. “A Visit to Iceland” (in 1834), published in 1835:
the volumes are highly useful, as affording an excellent comparison of
the past with the present.
8. The Hon. Arthur Dillon published “A Winter (1834) in Iceland and
Lapland.” 2 vols. Colburn, London, 1840. The season happened to be
especially rigorous, of course preventing long travels into the
interior: the studies of agriculture and fisheries have especial
interest. Mr Dillon has visited Iceland more than once.
9. “Lettres sur l’Islande,” par N. Marmier, 8vo, Paris, 1837.[277]
10. “Voyage en Islande et au Groenlande, exécuté pendant les années 1855
et 1856 sur la Corvette ‘La Recherche,’ commandée par M. Tréhouart,
Lieutenant de Vaisseau dans le but de découvrir les traces de la
Lilloise. Publié par ordre du Roi, sous la direction de M. Paul Gaimard,
Président de la Commission Scientifique d’Islande et de Groënland.” 8
vols. 8vo.
Tome 1. Histoire de Voyage, par M. P. Gaimard, 8vo, Paris, 1838.
“2. Histoire de Voyage, par M. Eugène Robert[278], 8vo, Paris,
1850.
“3. Journal de Voyage, par M. Eugène Mequet, 8vo, Paris, 1852.
“4. Zoologie et Médicine, par M. Eugène Robert, 8vo, Paris, 1851.
Tome 5. Minéralogie et Géologie, par M. Eugène Robert, 8vo, Paris,
1840.
“6. Physique, par M. Victor Lottin, 8vo, Paris, 1838.
“7. Histoire d’Islande, par M. Xavier Marmier, 8vo, Paris, 1840.
“8. Littérature Islandaise, par M. Xavier Marmier, 8vo, Paris,
1843.
This expedition was determined upon in the year 1835, and was followed
by another in 1836. The government of Louis Philippe, claiming to be in
the van of civilisation, resolved to give the voyage a scientific
aspect, and to publish it regardless of expense--the cost is about £21.
It is admirably got up, with every _luxe_ of printing; there is Gallic
discipline in the strict editorial control; and each contributor is
allowed full advantage of space and illustrations--what a contrast to
the shabby article which ultra-economical England would have produced!
But, though semi-official, it is an immense mass of undigested
information, greatly varying in value; and the President, who had
accompanied Captain Freycinet in the circumnavigating frigate “Uranie,”
is not generally over-appreciated in Iceland. His illustrations are so
exaggerated as to be simply ridiculous, and unfortunately they have been
transferred to the pages of succeeding authors. Thus Dufferin borrows
the two Needles off Snæfell and the Icelandic girl, and Paijkull takes
Hekla, whilst the cave of Surtshellir and the domestic interior are
reproduced by Forbes, who gives additional horrors to the Bruará.
11. “Historia Ecclesiastica Islandiæ ab anno 1740 ad annum 1840,”
auctore P. Pètursson. Havniæ: Bianco Luno, 1841. A continuation of the
learned Hannes Finsson’s well-known book, written in Danish and Latin by
the present Bishop of Iceland.
12. Lieutenant-Colonel North Ludlow Beamish, “Discovery of America by
the Northmen in the Tenth Century, with Notices of the Early Settlements
of the Irish in the Western Hemisphere” (1841).
13. Vol. 28 of the Edinburgh Cabinet Library. Edinburgh, 1840. A
compilation.
14. “Physisch-geographische Skizze von Island mit besondere Rücksicht
auf Vulcanische Erscheinungen.” Von W. Sartorius von Waltershausen.
Göttingen Studien, 1847. Erste Abtheilung Seiten 321-460, Göttingen,
1847. The author visited the island in 1846; his scientific reputation
attracts readers, but he writes with a prodigious exaggeration on
general subjects, and especially on scenery.
Amongst books of Icelandic travel, again, we cannot include the “Letters
of Columbus,” edited by Mr R. H. Major, Hakluyt Society, 1847, and
recording the remarkable visit of the explorer in A.D. 1477 to the
country which in mediæval times discovered the New World. The fact had
already been established by Finn Magnússon in his “Nordisk Tidsskrift
for Old-Kyndighed.” This was followed by the even more interesting
“Voyages of the Venetian brothers Nicolò and Antonio Zeno to the
Northern Seas in the Fourteenth Century” (written out by Antonio Zeno,
and first edited in 1558 by their descendant Nicolò Zeno, junior. Mr
Major has identified “Frislanda” with Færöisland of the Danes;
“Estlanda” on the map, and “Estlanda,” “Eslanda,” and “Islande” in the
text, with the Shetlands; “Porlanda” with the Orkneys; “Engronelanda”
with Greenland; “Estotilanda” and “Drogeo” with parts of North America;
and the mysterious “Zichmni” with Henry Sinclair, Earl of Orkney and
Caithness. He has also “rehabilitated” Ivar Bardsen and the lost
Gunnbjarnarsker, the Skerries of Gunnbjörn, son of Ulf Kraka, who
reached them in A.D. 877.
15. Professor Robert Wilhelm Bunsen of Heidelberg (nat. 1811) visited
Iceland with M. Descloiseaux in 1846, spent eleven days at the Geysir,
and published two papers: (1.) Memoir on the intimate connection
existing between the pseudo-volcanic phenomena of Iceland (works of the
Cavendish Society, “Chemical Reports and Memoirs, edited by Thomas
Graham, V.P.R.S., London, Harrison, 1848); and (2.) On the processes
which have taken place during the formation of the volcanic rocks of
Iceland (from Poggendorff’s “Annalen,” part i., Nov. 1851, “Scientific
Memoirs, selected from the Transactions of Foreign Academies of
Science, and from Foreign Journals,” London, Taylor & Francis). The
great chemist’s article on Palagonite in the “Annalen der Chimie und
Pharmacie” (vol. lxi.) won for him the Copley medal of the Royal Society
of London; and his studies on Iceland are the basis of modern scientific
knowledge. It is to be regretted that his two admirable papers are
buried in bad translation amongst the voluminous transactions of obscure
societies, and their reproduction in a popular form would be a boon to
travellers not only in the island, but also throughout the volcanic
world. Mr B. Quaritch kindly allowed the author to make manuscript
copies of these two articles: they have afforded material to the able
lecture “On some of the Eruptive Phenomena of Iceland,” by Dr John
Tyndall, F.R.S. (Royal Institution of Great Britain, June 3, 1853).
16. P. A. Schleisner. “Island undersögt fra et lægevidenskabeligt
Synspunkt,” Copenhagen, 1849. The author, an employé of the Danish
Government, resided some time on the island, and made useful
physiological observations--one of them has before been alluded to.
17. Madame Ida Pfeiffer (“Reise nach dem skand Norden,” 1845), after
travelling in Syria and “the East,” visited Iceland in 1844, hoping
“there to find Nature in a garb such as she wears nowhere else.” She
laughs at the “dreadful dizzy abysses;” but the “dignified coldness” of
the popular manners and the selfishness, only too apparent to an
undistinguished foreigner, made her write what Mr Pliny Miles
ungallantly calls a snarling, ill-tempered journal. The American
traveller, also, is too severe when he says, “Where she does not
knowingly tell direct falsehoods, the guesses she makes about those
regions that she does not visit--while stating that she does[279]--show
her to be bad at guess-work.” Her translated volume, “A Visit to
Iceland,” etc. (London, Ingram, 1854) has been analysed in the
“Cyclopædia of Modern Travel” (Bayard Taylor, 1856).
18. “Bidrag til Islands geognostiske Fremstilling efter Optegnelser fra
Sommeren, 1850´´ (Contribution to the Geognosy of Iceland, from
Observations made in the Summer of 1850), by Theodor Kjerulf. Published
in the “Nyt Magazin for Naturvidenskaberne,” vol. vii., part 1,
Christiania, 1853 (New Magazine of the Natural Sciences, which records
the transactions of the Physiographical Society of Christiania), an
excellent equivalent of our “Annals of Natural History.” The author
differs from Von Waltershausen and Bunsen upon the genesis of Iceland
(Dr W. Lauder Lindsay).
19. “Norðurfari, or Rambles in Iceland,” by Pliny Miles, 12mo, New York,
1854. The author was the first American tourist who visited the island
(1852), and he attempts little more than an entertaining narrative of
his adventures. There is a fair amount of “spread eagle,” and the tone
is “England for ever, and America one day longer.” An officer nearly
cuts a shark in two with a sword. The whales can be heard from one to
two miles off, and spout every one or five minutes, throwing up water
from thirty to fifty feet--they must blow like himself!
20. “Tracings of Iceland and the Färoe Islands,” by Robert Chambers,
London, 1856. The author visited the island in 1855, voyaging on board
the Danish cruiser “Thór,” the first steamer--before his time the
dangers of the northern seas were faced by sailing craft. The little
book was translated into Danish, but the islanders affect to despise it.
21. “Voyage dans les Mers du Nord à bord de la corvette ‘La Reine
Hortense,’” par M. Charles Edmund. Paris: Levy, 1857. The author
describes Prince Napoleon’s tour in a volume which has all the
characteristic merits and faults of the average French traveller. In the
following pages it will be called the “Napoleon book.”
22. Messrs Wolley and Newton confined themselves, with an especial
object in view, to one particular parish in the southwestern corner of
Iceland. An “Abstract of (the late) Mr J. Wolley’s Researches in
Iceland, 1847, 1851, and 1852, respecting the Gare Fowl, or Great Auk;”
by Alfred Newton, M.A., F.L.S., appeared in the “Ibis” of October 1861.
The author’s name is sufficient warrant for the value of this excellent
paper. In Baring-Gould (Appendix, p. 400), Mr Newton quotes numerous
works upon the avi-fauna of Iceland.
23. “Letters from High Latitudes,” by Lord Dufferin, London, 1858. The
amiable author visited the island at the same time as Prince Napoleon,
and proposed to cross the unknown tract between Hekla and the
north-eastern coast; unfortunately the yacht “Foam” was carried away by
the attractions of Jan Mayen and Spitzbergen. The adoption of a
quasi-dramatic form has caused the book to be pronounced “most
entertaining and perhaps a little extravagant;” it is written in the
best of humours and in the most genial style, but it has failed to
please the islanders who do not understand _plaisanterie_.
24. J. Dayman. “Deep Sea Soundings between Iceland and Newfoundland,”
etc. (1858).
25. “A Hand-book for Travellers in Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and
Iceland,” with maps and plans. London: John Murray, 1858, and
republished in 1871. The island is dismissed in barely three pages,
which contain a vast variety of errors; for instance, the population is
preserved at 60,000; we are taught to write “Almannia Gja;” and we are
told that Henderson wrote before 1825--_connu_! The recondite blunders
may almost compare with the four pages on Istria in the “Handbook for
South Germany.” Happily for the traveller, Baedecker’s excellent series
is speedily consigning the cumbrous and tedious “Murrays” to
well-merited oblivion.
26. J. Hogg. “On the History of Iceland” (1859).
27. D. Streye. “Beskrivelse over den ø Islandia,” etc. Kjöbenhavn, 1859.
28. G. Thomsen. “The Northmen in Iceland,” etc. (1859).
29. “Iceland: its Volcanoes, Geysers, and Glaciers.” By Charles S.
Forbes, Commander Royal Navy (Murray, London, 1860). The volume was
kindly lent to the author by Captain Bedford Pim, M.P.; and its merit
has been acknowledged by the general regret that there is not “more of
it.”
30. C. Irminger. “Strömninger og Isdrift ved Island.” Kjöbenhavn, 1861.
31. “Reise nach Island im Sommer 1860.” Mit wissenschaftlichen. Abhängen
von William Preyer und Dr Ferdinand Zirkel. 8vo, Leipzig, 1862. The
statistical part is exceedingly valuable. The work also contains the
most complete notice of the birds that has been published after the
“Prodromus der isländischen Ornithologie,” by Friedrich Faber, better
known as “Fugl Faber;” but it is judged that “the writer has not shown
sufficient discrimination in its compilation.”
32. “A Tour in Iceland in the Summer of 1861.” By Edward Thurstan
Holland, A.M. Chap. i., vol. i., 2d series: “Peaks, Passes, and
Glaciers; being Excursions by Members of the Alpine Club.” Edited by
Edward Shirley Kennedy, M.A., F.R.G.S. London, 1862. The author
attempted in 1861 to ascend the southern side of the Öræfa Jökull, but
the mists prevented his enjoying the good fortune of Swend Paulsson and
of Henderson.
33. “The Oxonian in Iceland; or Notes of Travel in that Island in the
Summer of 1860.” By Rev. Frederick Metcalfe, A.M. 12mo, Hotten, London,
1861. This traveller crossed a bit of new country north-east of the
Sprengisandur, and thus deviated from the common line. He has preserved
the traditional exaggeration which characterises Icelandic travellers,
and the dangers which he faces on Mount Hekla must have been simply a
dream. His map, purporting to be reduced from Olsen’s, is peculiarly
bad.
34. W. Lauder Lindsay, M.D., F.L.S. “On the Flora of Iceland,” New
Philosophical Journal; and “On the Eruption, in May 1860, of the
Kötlu-gjá Volcano, Iceland.” Neill & Co., Edinburgh, 1861--valuable
papers which should accompany the traveller. They were kindly lent to
the author by Mr William Longman.
35. G. G. Winkler. “Island seine Bewohner,” etc. Bravansch, 1861.
36. M. Barbatier de Mas. “Instructions nautiques sur les Côtes
d’Islande.” Paris, 1862.
37. A. J. Symington. “Pen and Pencil Sketches of Färoe and Iceland.”
Longmans, London, 1862. Unpretending.
38. “Iceland: its Scenes and Sagas,” by Sabine Baring-Gould, M.A.
London: Smith & Elder, 1863. This handsome volume of 447 pages is
written with an object, to illustrate the Sagas and to represent their
_Mise en Scène_. The author sees the Icelander as he is; the topography
is that of a geographical traveller; and the book contains an immense
amount of useful information. Taking the realistic view, this excellent
work is not a favourite in Iceland; my only complaint is that it lacks
an index.
39. C. Irminger. “Notice sur les Pêches, etc., de l’Islande.” Paris,
1863.
40. Carl Vogt. “Nordenfahrt von Dr Berna” (1863).
41. “Notes on a Trip to Iceland in 1862.” By Alexander Bryson.
Edinburgh: Grant, 1864. The object of the livret (56 pages) was to gauge
and to determine the heat of the Geysir tube, by means of deversing
thermometers; and the author has sensibly questioned the “central-heat”
theory.
42. M. Thoyon. “Renseignements sur quelques Mouillages sur la Côte
d’Islande.” Paris, 1865.
43. “Travels by ‘Umbra’” (Clifford). Edmonstone & Douglas, Edinburgh,
1865. The author, by ascending the Jökull of Eyrikr, that northern
Cacus, reached eternal winter’s drear domain. He justly derides the
horrors and terrors of Búlandshöfði.
44. “The North-Western Peninsula of Iceland,” by C. W. Shepheard.
London: Longmans, 1867. This was the author’s second excursion, and he
ascended the Dránga Jökull in the north, where the mountains are lower
and accessible.[280]
45. W. C. Paijkull. “Bidrag till Kännedomen om Islands Bergsbyggnad.”
Stockholm, 1867. Translated by the Rev. M. R. Barnard, M.A. London:
Chapman & Hall, 1868. The author, now dead, was a Swede, and professed
geology at the University of Upsala; he travelled in 1865, and
unfortunately neglected to supply his volume with an index and a decent
map. Its merits are much debated, and, as a rule, its tone is greatly
disliked by the islanders. An excellent authority, Dr Hjaltalín of
Reykjavik, who has published several important studies of his native
land,[281] considers it of scant value; on the other hand, Mr Jón A.
Hjaltalín recommends it for its moderation to English travellers.
46. H. Mohn of the Institut Météorologique de Norvège. “Temperature de
la Mer entre l’Islande et l’Ecosse.” Christiania, 1870.
47. “A Report on the Resources of Iceland and Greenland.” Compiled by
Benjamin Mills Peirce, U.S. State Department, Washington Government
Printing Office. The author was charged by Mr Secretary Seward to
inspect the sulphur mines, 1868. He personally visited the island and
produced a useful paper, collating the accounts and the figures
published by his predecessors; but, like such compilations generally, it
abounds in errors, and it makes scanty attempt to discriminate the
various value of the information which it gleans.
48. “Six Weeks in the Saddle: a Painter’s Journal in Iceland.” By S. G.
Waller. London: Macmillan, 1874. An unpretending volume which has held
its ground at Mudie’s, and which carefully avoids disputed points and
exaggerated statements. The illustrations are very poor compared with
the charming studies of scenery and animals made by the author, and it
wants index and map, without which the home-reader will hardly follow
the line over the now rarely visited southern shore.
49. The _Alpine Journal_, No. 45 (Longmans, London, 1874), contains
“Interesting Notes on Mountain Climbing in Iceland,” by Dr James Bryce,
who also during the same year published his “Impressions of Iceland” in
the _Cornhill Magazine_. He justly remarks that the difficulty is not so
much to climb the peaks as to traverse the inhospitable desert
separating them from the inhabited parts.
Mr S. Baring-Gould (Intr., pp. xxxiv., xxxv.) gives a catalogue of the
fifteen books and manuscripts usually found amongst the priests and
farmers; and in Appendix D. a list of Icelandic published Sagas
(thirty-five), local histories (sixty-six), annals of bishops (twelve),
annals of Norway, etc. (sixty-nine), and romances translated into
Icelandic (nineteen), a total of 201; besides law-books, Bible stories,
and tracts on poetry, geography, astronomy, etc. The various editions of
the Bible and of the Testament, as well as the newspaper press, will be
noticed in future pages.
Miscellaneous general information concerning Iceland is found in the
following works: The _Foreign Quarterly Review_ (vol. ix., Jan.-May
1832) contains an excellent paper on the “Literature and Literary
Societies of Iceland.” The “Mémoires de la Société Royale des
Antiquaires du Nord” are a mine of information to the student. Mrs
Somerville’s “Physical Geography.” The “Progress of the Nation,” by G.
R. Porter, Esq., F.R.S. (“Institute of Natural Science,” Paris
correspondence. London, 1851). “Meddelelser fra det statistiske Bureau,”
vols. i.-vi. Kjöbenhavn, 1852-1861. In the fourth volume of the
“Description of the Coast of Iceland” (“Fierde Hefte af Beskrivelsen
over den islandske Kyst”) by P. de Löwenörn, is a paper which was
strongly recommended for translation to the author of these pages by
Captain Tvede of Djúpivogr. The various numbers of the “Mittheilungen
aus Justus Perthes,” etc. Herschel’s “Physical Geography,” 2d edition,
Edinburgh, 1862. Lippencott’s “Complete Pronouncing Gazetteer, or
Geographical Dictionary of the World,” 8vo, Philadelphia, 1866.
Chambers’ and other Cyclopædias. Bayard Taylor’s “Cyclopædia of Modern
Travel,” New York, 1856. “Cyclopædia Britannica,” vol. xii., 1856.
Knight’s “English Encyclopædia” (pp. 1333-1345) of 1873, has printed an
admirably condensed paper on Icelandic language and literature, by Mr
Jón A. Hjaltalín.[282]
As the “marking book” of the last century was M. Mallet’s “Antiquities,”
so there are three which distinguish the present age. The late Mr
Benjamin Thorpe’s “Edda of Sæmund the Learned”[283] (London: Trübner,
1866) is a text-book of Scandinavian mythology delighting Icelanders by
the literal rendering of their classical poem; it must be familiar to
the student before he can attack the difficulties of Skjáldic song. The
second is the “Story of Burnt Njal,” etc., by George Webbe Dasent,
D.C.L. (2 vols., Edmonstone & Douglas, Edinburgh, 1861). The
introduction is the work of a scholar; the translation rivals Lane’s
“Arabian Nights,” in fidelity, picturesqueness, and, withal, sound old
English style, and the maps and plans well illustrate the topography. It
has sent one, it will send many an English tourist to gaze upon the
Lithe-end; and it will serve as an example how such books should be
treated. But the _magnum opus_ of the day, the greatest boon to students
yet known, is the “Icelandic-English Dictionary” (3 vols. fol.,
Macmillan & Co., 1869, 1870, and 1874).[284] Based upon the MS. notes of
the late Richard Cleasby, under whose name, as is his due, it is
referred to in these pages, the work was enlarged and completed by the
first of Icelandic philologers, Mr Guðbrand Vigfússon, M.A., formerly
one of the stipendiaries of the Arna-Magnæan Library at Copenhagen. The
herculean task has been completed after the patient toil of nine years
(1864-1873), and all credit is due to the delegates of the Clarendon
Press, who “generously fostered this Icelandic Dictionary and made it a
child of their famous university.” The introduction, by Mr Dasent,
awards high praise to the work, but nothing that he can say is too high.
Iceland is not in want of maps; almost every traveller has contributed
his own, and hence the atlases have borrowed a variety of blunders. The
most interesting of the older sort are those of Hendries (Jodocuf, A.D.
1563-1611), which shows a curious acquaintance with certain _fodinæ
sulphureæ_; and of Pontanus (A.D. 1631) Auctore Giorgio Carolo Flandre.
The latter displays Hekla, the towering cone of our childish fancies,
vomiting a huge bouquet of smoke, while it ignores all other volcanoes.
The islands are especially incorrect: the “Westmanna seu Pistilia (for
Papyli?) Eijar,” fronted on the main by “Corvi Albi,”[285] are out of
form and measure; the archipelago called I. Gouberman (Gunnbjörn
Skerries?) off the north-western coast, does not exist; and Grimsey has
dimensions which are strange to it. As in all of them; the north is
placed too high; the Arctic circle traverses nearly the centre of the
island, the furthest septentrional point being N. lat. 68° 15´. The
eastern shore is also laid down too far west (E. long. Ferro, 10°):
hence, as Barrow shows, Arrowsmith’s map of 1808 was sixty-seven miles
wrong in the longitude. Henderson supplies Krísuvík with a non-existing
inlet upon which foreigners have counted for embarking their sulphur,
and reduces the vast Mýrdals Jökull to the Kötlu-gjá fissure.
Shortly before the time when Henderson travelled, several Danish
officers, detained in Iceland by the war with Great Britain, began an
exact trigonometrical survey, not only of the coast, but of the
interior; and their bench-marks still crown many a conspicuous point.
Their names, well remembered by all Danes upon the island, were the
“Herr Officeerer,” Major Scheel, Lieutenant Westlesen, and Landmaler
(surveyor) Aschlund. After 1820, the work was carried on by Captain
Born, Lieutenant (afterwards Captain) W. A. Graah,[286] R.N., an
adventurous sailor, and a scientific officer, who died about a dozen
years ago. Between 1820 and 1826 the following five sheets were
published:
1. Snæfellsjökull to Cap Nord, in 1820, by Frisch, Westlesen, Smith,
Scheel, Born, and Aschlund.
2. North Coast, in 1821, by Majors Ridder and Scheel, and Captains
Frisch and Born.
3 and 4. South Coast, in 1823, by Scheel, Born, Graah, and Aschlund.
5. East Coast, in 1824, by Olsen, Born, Graah, and Aschlund.
The general chart of 1826, uniting these “trigonometrical, geographical,
and hydrographical surveys,” is, according to Mr Alexander Findlay,
F.R.G.S., carefully executed, and became the basis of all subsequent
issues.
Unfortunately, it is the local fashion to ignore these scientific
preliminary labours,[287] in favour of Professor Björn Gunnlaugsson’s
large map, which was executed after a comparatively running survey,
during the twenty years from 1823 to 1843, and which, after being drawn
up by the late Major Olsen, was printed at Copenhagen in 1844. The title
is Updráttr Íslands á fjórum blöðum (in four sheets) gjörðr að fyrirsögn
(executed under the direction of) Olafs Nikolas Olsen, gefinn út af enu
(published by the) Islenzka Bókmentafèlgi. The scale is 1/480000, about
six or eight miles to the inch. The four-sheet edition has three
different tintings--one physico-geographical, the second administrative,
and the third hydrographical, giving soundings, etc. In London it costs
£2, 2s.; at Reykjavik, $9 (=£1). There is a portable edition, a single
sheet (1/960000), of two kinds, physico-geographical and administrative,
costing six or seven shillings. The third or smallest size, prefixed,
with sundry alterations, to these pages, costs one shilling at
Reykjavik.
Of miscellaneous cartography we have the following: Dr Heinrich
Berghaus’s “Physikalisher Atlas,” Verlag von Justus Perthes, Gotha,
1852; Colton’s “Atlas of the World,” New York, 1855; Hr Kiepert’s
“Allgemeiner Hand-Atlas der Ganzgen Erde,” Weimar, in Verlage des
Geographischen Atlas, 1873; and the excellent “National Atlas” of Keith
Johnston (sen.).
The latest charts are English, French, and Danish--the latter being also
used by the Norwegians, who have none of their own.
(_a._) The English Admiralty chart, “Iceland Island,” was based upon the
Danish survey (1845; corrected, 1872).
The nomenclature of our hydrographic works greatly wants reform; even
the exact Raper adheres to “Reikiavig” and to “Sneefeldsyökell.”
(_b._) The Danish charts principally used are:
1. Kaart over Pollen i Skutilsfjord, Isefjords Dybet, opmaalt fra
Skrueskonnerten Fylla, Junii, 1865-67.
2. Islands Vestkyst, Stykkishólmr med Grunder og Kolgrafa-Fjörðr,
1869.
3. Kaart over Island, med omgivende Dybder, 1871.
(_c._) The French, as we might expect from their commercial activity,
had published before 1868 about a score more of charts and harbour plans
than all other nations. The principal are:
1. Carte réduite des Côtes Septentrionales d’Islande depuis le Cap
Nord jusqu’ à l’île Malmey, 1822.
2. Carte réduite des Côtes Occidentales d’Islande, depuis
Sneefields-Jokel jusqu’ au Cap Nord, 1822 (Cartes danoises de
Löwenörn).
3. Carte réduite des Côtes Occidentales d’Islande, depuis
Fugle-Skiærene jusqu’ à Huam Fiord, 1822 (Cartes danoises de
Löwenörn).
4. Carte réduite des Côtes Septentrionales d’Islande, depuis l’île
Malmey jusqu’ au Cap Langanaes, 1823 (Cartes danoises Löwenörn).
5. Carte réduite des Côtes Meridionales d’Islande, depuis le Cap
Ingolfs-Höfde jusqu’ au Cap Riekienaes, 1832 (Cartes danoises de
Löwenörn).
6. Carte réduite des Côtes Orientales d’Islande, depuis Vopna-Fiord
jusqu’ au Cap Ingolfs-Höfde, 1832 (Cartes danoises de Löwenörn).
7. Carte réduite d’Islande et des îles Feröes, 1836. D’après les
Cartes danoises de Löwenörn et de Born.
8. Plan de la baie de Reikiavik, 1842 (MM. West; De la Roche,
ingénieur-hydrographe; R. de Saint-Vulfran, et autres officiers de
la Marine, 1840).
9. Plan du Mouillage d’Onondar Fiord; Plan du Mouillage de
Patrix-Fiord (Islande), 1845; corr. 1862 (MM. Brosset et Soyer,
officiers de la Marine).
10. Plan de l’entrée du Hyal-Fiord, 1855 (MM. Caraguel, Borius, et
Rapatel).
11. Plan du Mouillage d’Eské-Fiord. Croquis des Mouillages du Spath
et de Svartas-Kiær, 1855 (MM. Duval, H. Lavigne, et Delville).
12. Carte de Dyre-Fiord, 1856 (MM. de Rochebrunne, Mathieu, et
Ternier).
13. Plan des Mouillages de Dyre-Fiords, 1856 (MM. Mathieu et
Ternier, 1855).
14. Plan du havre de Gröne-Fiord, 1855; corr. 1858 (Veron et autres
officiers de la Marine, 1857).
15. Plan de Faskrud-Fiord, 1858 (MM. Barlatier, De Mas et Pottier,
1856).
16. Plan des passes de Rode-Fiord, 1858 (MM. Veron, Pottier, etc.,
1857).
17. Carte des atterages de Reikiavik (Faxe Bugt) 1859. Houzé de
l’Aulnoit d’après les travaux exécutés de 1853 à 1857.
18. Plan-croquis du havre de Nord-Fiord, 1860 (MM. Veron, Launay,
etc., 1858).
19. Plan du havre de Kolgraver-Fiord, 1860 (Veron et autres
officiers de la Marine, 1858).
20. Plan de la partie de la Côte Sud du Brede-Bugt (Côte
Occidentale d’Islande) 1861.
21. Croquis du Mouillage de Hogdal dans Dyre-Fiord, 1861 (MM. West,
lieutenant du vaisseau, et De Sédières, aspirant).
22. Carte de l’entrée du Golfe de Berú-Fiord et de la baie de
Hammard-Fiord. Carte du Breidals Bugt, 1862.
23. Plan du mouillage d’Akureyré (Oë-Fiord), 1864 (Butter,
lieutenant de vaisseau).
24. Plan de Skutils-Fiord et du port de Pollen, 1867 (MM. Guérard
et Petit de Baroncourt).
25. Croquis du mouillage de Bildal dans Arnar-Fiord, 1867 (MM.
Guérard et Petit de Baroncourt).
This section can hardly end more appropriately than with a notice of Dr
Ebenezer Henderson’s two volumes which, though published in 1818, and
although we no longer land in Iceland as in Africa (i. 9), are still
useful in 1874. The author died in 1829, but he is remembered by the
islanders; and his name, cut in Hebrew letters upon the “soft yellow
tufa” (Palagonite), the nafna-klettar (Wady el Mukattab) of Hýtardal,
nearly sixty years ago, is, and long will be, shown to travellers.
Lacking scientific training, and, probably, one of the _seri studiorum_,
for his learning, especially his Hebrew, reads like an excrescence upon
the simple journal, this writer has solid merits, and he enjoyed unusual
advantages. His style is respectable; he has an exceptional eye for
country, rare in the traveller as catching the likeness is in the
portrait-painter; his powers of observation are remarkable, as shown by
the observations upon the Skriðjöklar; he received every attention and
much information from the clergy, in those days even more powerful than
now; his employment as a colporteur of the “Sacred Oracles,” which, by
the by, were so faultily translated that they did not deserve to
supersede Bishop Guðbrand’s version, threw him much amongst the people;
and his extensive travels during three years enabled him to publish the
best, because the most general, book on Iceland known to the English
tongue.
On the other hand, his pious expressions are so obsolete, that in these
days we look upon them as almost irreverent. He has all the
narrow-mindedness of the early nineteenth century--the Georgian era and
the golden age of the evangelical middle classes. His credulity is
astounding; he has a bulimia of faith; he eagerly records every
ridiculous tale he hears--if you disbelieve him, you are a sceptic with
a sub-flavour of atheism. He quotes without surprise the igneous vapours
attaching themselves to the persons of the inhabitants; the under
garments of a farmer being consumed when the outer suit was uninjured;
and the lightning which burned in the pores of a woman’s body, singeing
the clothes she wore (i. 311, 316), a tale frequently copied by others.
He borrows his natural history from Horrebow, and from Ólafsson and
Pállsson, who wrote in A.D. 1755. The weakest fox manages to secure all
the food (ii. 98). The silly bear deluded by the mitten, a fable so well
known to children’s books, is his. Upon the authority of a parson and an
old woman, he supplies the _Mus sylvaticus_ not only with a cow-chip
canoe, but also with a mushroom carpet-bag (ii. 185): it excels the
_animantia plaustra_ of Polignac’s Anti-Lucretius. His terrific
descriptions of the road and the ford, dangers mostly fanciful, and his
exaggerated horrors, must not be set down to want of manliness. An
earnest and pious man, he yearns in every page to pull off his hat, to
fall upon his knees, and to thank protecting and preserving Providence
for some imaginary hair-breadth escape. The French travellers made
observations for temperature and other matters in the floods which he
describes as the most dangerous; and his eight-miles-an-hour current (i.
181) is simply a delusion.
The book has one great element of success, and the string of initials
appended to the author’s name prove that it has been successful. To use
a popular phrase, all his “geese are swans”--a view highly flattering
and very agreeable to the good geese, but a process hardly likely to
leave a truthful impress upon the unprejudiced reader’s brain. He
complains that there _are_ free-thinking priests, but every clerk he
meets is a model of orthodox piety. He vaunts the hospitality of the
land, and only casually lets fall the remark that, although he was
employed on a highly popular mission, a single peasant refused to take
money from him. Critics are agreed upon his estimate of “J. Milton’s
Paradísar Missir,” by Jón Thorlakson.[288] “The translation not only
rises superior to any other translation of Milton, but rivals, and in
many instances in which the Eddaic phraseology is introduced almost
seems to surpass, the original.... Thorlakson has not only supported
its prevailing character, but has nicely imitated his (author’s)
peculiar terms and more refined modifications.” ... And “although
Thorlakson has found it impossible to give the effect of certain sounds,
yet this defect is more than compensated by the multiplicity of happy
combinations where none exist in the original” (vol. i., 98). All good
judges declare that the Icelander has recast Milton in Scandinavian
mould, and has produced a beautiful Icelandic poem upon
the English groundwork. The narrow bounds of the narrative measure
(Fornyrðalag[289]) could never contain the now sweet now sonorous
Miltonic verse; and the last sentence quoted from Mr Henderson, as well
as his own specimens of the work, clearly show his ignorance of what a
translation should be.
Mr William Longman, Vice-President of the Alpine Club, has done good
service to the Icelandic traveller by digesting Mr Henderson’s
Itineraries (Suggestions for the Exploration of Iceland, London:
Longmans, 1861), and by adding many useful items of information. But
the reader, however capable, must not expect to carry out the programme.
In page 30 the author seems to think ten days sufficient to attempt the
ascent or exploration of Kötlu-gjá, Kálfafell, Skeiðarárjökull, Öræfa,
and Breiðamerkr Jökull. Each of these “congealed Pandemonia,” with the
inevitable delays in travelling from one to the other, would probably
consume a fortnight. Iceland is no place for _dilettanti grimpeurs_; it
has neither comfortable inns nor Bureaux des Guides--these Alps are not
to be passed over _summâ diligentiâ_; and M. Jules Verne’s balloon has
not yet found its way there.
§ 2. PREPARATIONS FOE TRAVEL.
Icelandic travel is of two kinds--the simple tour and the exploration.
Most men content themselves with landing at Reykjavik, and with making
the Cockney trip to Thingvellir, the Geysir and Hekla, perhaps visiting
the Laxá, Langarnes Bessastaðir, Hafnarfjörð, Krísuvík, and Reykir.
Others add to this a run to the local Staffa, Stappa, a more or less
complete ascent of Snæfellsjökull, and a visit to Reykholt,
Surts-hellir, Baula, and Eldborg. If more adventurously disposed, they
cross the Arnarvatnsheiði and the Stórisandur to Akureyri, the northern
“capital;” they push from Hekla across the Sprengisandur and the centre
of the island; or they land at Vopnafjörð, and traverse the north-east
corner viâ the Mý-vatn to Húsavik.
For these and other beaten paths very scanty preparations are necessary.
Tourists usually exceed in their _impedimenta_. One party brought out
butter where “smjör” is a drug; a second imported the Peter Halkett
air-boat and wooden paddles, for crossing rivers three feet deep;[290] a
third carried a medicine-chest, where air and water are perfection; a
fourth indulged himself with a fine patent reading-lamp, where diamond
type is legible at the “noon of night”--a new edition of warming-pans to
Calcutta, skates to Brazilian Bahia, and soldiers’ pokers for stirring
wooden fires in Ashanti-land. The “Oxonian in Iceland” his advice was
taken by another tourist party, who invested £20 in presents for the
clergy and clergywomen, books, razors and pen-knives, scissors and
needles, ribbons and silk kerchiefs: on return to Reykjavik these
inutilities fetched a dollar per pound. The only gifts required are
silver specie; if you make a present, you are a _richard_, and your
bill, as all the world over, will be doubled. To the usual
travelling-dress add fishermen’s kit,[291] not the dandy Mackintosh,
which sops at once in the pelting and penetrating rain. The boots should
meet the waterproof: Mr Metcalfe objects that with such gear you cannot
walk, and that if your pony fall in one of the “giddy rapid rivers,” you
will be pounded to death by stones and water--but possibly you were not
“born to be drowned.” Perhaps the best wear for the nether man would be
long waterproof stockings, not the wretched stuff of West-End shops, nor
Iceland oilskins, which are never impermeable, but Leith articles made
for wear, drawn over common boots and overalls, fastened round the
waist, and ready to be cast off in hot and sunny weather, or when
preparing for a walk over lava. Horses and horse-gear, as well as tents
and mattresses, will be described in another place. A common canteen,
with iron plates and cups, lamp and methylated spirits, suffices for the
cooking department. Cigars, tobacco and snuff, must be carried by those
who are not likely to relish the island supply; also tea and cognac, if
coffee and Danish “brandy-wine” are not good enough. Sundry tins of
potted meat and soup and a few pounds of biscuit are the only other
necessaries, to which the traveller may add superfluities _ad
infinitum_. The fishing-rods and nets, the battery, instruments and
materials for writing and sketching, must depend upon the tourist. It is
as well for him to bear in mind that he will suffer from stinging gnats
and midges near the water as much as from thirst, the effect of abnormal
evaporation, upon the hills, and from dust and sand upon the paths
called roads.
Exploration in Iceland is a very different affair. In these days when a
country, apparently accessible, has not been opened, we may safely
determine _à priori_ that its difficulties and dangers have deterred
travellers. Here the only parts worth the risk, the expense, and the
hardships, are the masses of snowy highland thrown into one under the
names of Vatnajökull and Klofajökull, and the great desert, Ódáða Hraun,
subtending their northern face. To investigate these “awfully romantic”
haunts is a work of expenditure; and tourists arriving in Iceland know
nothing of what is wanted. A party of less than four, one being a Swiss
or Færoese mountaineer, would not be able to separate when necessary;
and each must have ten horses,[292] as food, forage, and fuel have all
to be carried. In the snow and the lava they will find nothing, and the
tent will be the only home. Provisions would be represented by barrels
of biscuits, bread, beef, and pork, with compressed vegetables, the
maximum weight of each keg being 40 lbs. For drink, whisky or other
spirits, the forbidden oil of whisky to be preferred if procurable.
Patent fuel and pressed hay can travel in Iceland crates. At least one
of the party should be able to shoe horses, so as not to rely upon the
guide, who may perhaps prick two hoofs in one day. A change, or better
still two changes, of irons for each nag, and four times the number of
nails, must be the minimum: the lava tears off everything in the shape
of shoes, and three hours without them lame the animal. The party might
set out about early June in a schooner hired at Copenhagen, and land
their impediments at Djúpivogr. After buying ponies and engaging native
servants, they would ascend the Fossárdalr, strike the lakelets called
Axarvatn and Líkarvatn, ford the Jökullsá near its head, and penetrate
into the great snow-fields. Or they might make the Lagarfljót at
Hallormstaðir, ferry over the river, establish a depot at
Valthjófstaðir, or Egilstaðir, the highest farm up the valley, and march
south.
For the snowy range, the explorer needs all the “implements of Alpine
warfare,” with the addition of a pair of inflatable boats, each carrying
two--the reason will appear in the Journal. Ice-axe and spikes can be
bought from Moseley, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden; and ropes from
Buckingham, Broad Street, Bloomsbury: all these articles are also sold
by J. S. Carter, 295 Oxford Street, “under the patronage of the Alpine
Club.” Mr Whymper prefers the Manilla rope, though somewhat heavier than
Italian hemp; the former being 103, and the latter 93, oz. per 100 feet.
They should not break with a lighter weight than 2 tons, or 196 lbs.
falling 8 feet, or 168 lbs. falling 10. At least four 100-feet
lengths[293] should be taken; and the tyro, who had better stay at home,
should learn from “Scrambles among the Alps” (London: Murray, 1871), the
way to tie and not to tie. The knapsack and alpenstock must be light; Mr
R. Glover, Honorary Secretary of the Wanderers’ Club, kindly assisted
the author in applying to the War Office, Pall Mall, for one of the
“male bamboos,” now used as cavalry lances: it proved, however, somewhat
heavy. A cousin, Edward Burton, was also good enough to send for a pair
of _truviers_, or Canadian snow-shoes; but these rackets are not so
useful as those of country make.[294] Boots for riding, for walking, and
for wading, are absolutely necessary. Binoculars, French grey
spectacles, and sun-veils must not be forgotten, and when they come to
grief, the face, especially the orbits, can be blackened, after the
fashion of the Cascade Range Indians, with soot and grease--the
explorer will look like an Ethiopian serenader, but there will be no one
to see him. Watches and instruments must be in duplicate, or, better
still, in triplicate. The map should be in four sections, guarded from
the wet with copal varnish; and skeleton pocket-maps save trouble. Mr
Longman (Suggestions, etc.) supplies a copious list of explorer-tools:
the author travelled with two pocket aneroids, a larger one left behind
for comparison; three B. P. thermometers; Saussure’s hygrometer; a
portable clinometer; an _aréometre selon Cartier_; three thermometers
(max. and min.); two hygrometers, the usual wet and dry bulbs;[295] a
prismatic compass; and Captain George’s double pocket-sextant--almost
all supplied by Mr Casella. A six-pocket waistcoat, with an inner pouch
for money, is the handiest way to dispose of the aneroid, small field
thermometer, compass, clinometer, silver-sheathed pencil, pen-knife, and
strong magnifying glass. Mr Watts, a young law-student, of whom more
presently, suggested for crevasse crossing a ladder twelve feet long,
which, turned up at one end, might serve as a sledge: it reminded me of
Mr Whymper’s troubles. This, together with the bamboo alpenstock, the
snow-shoes, lamp, spirits of wine, kegs, and other small necessaries,
were left at Djúpivogr for the benefit of future travellers.
For the Ódáða Hraun, besides food, forage, and fuel, the explorer will
require to carry water. The sun’s heat is intense even after Syria; and
dust-storms, when not laid by sullen, murky sheets of mist, or the
torrents discharged by angry, inky clouds, are bad as in Sind and the
Panjáb. Native attendants must be carefully rationed: they will live, at
their own expense, on bread and butter, or rather on butter and bread;
but they will eat the best part of a sheep at the employer’s, and they
will drink, as the saying is, “any given quantity.” On the Hraun,
Rigby’s “Express Rifle” may be useful in case of meeting a reindeer, and
pistols and bowie-knifes will encourage the guide to defy the
Útilegumenn, _les hommes hors de la loi_, with whom their superstitions
people these solitudes. It is as well to carry glycerine for chafes and
sunburns, poor man’s plaister, and materials indispensable in case of
accidents. The holsters should contain lucifers, and the coat-pockets
metallic note-book and measuring tape, insect bottle with bran, and an
old magazine for carrying plants to camp.
The Reykjavik guides will assuredly refuse to accompany such an
expedition, and will declare that no Icelander can be persuaded to say
yes. This, as will be seen, is not the fact. But raw men who take scanty
interest in exploration, can hardly be expected to incur great risks.
About the end of July, somewhat late in the year, students _en vacance_,
speaking good Danish, a few words of English, French, and German, and
perhaps a little “dog Latin,” would be persuaded by three or four
rixdollars per diem to become “vacation tourists,” and something more.
They must not be treated like common guides, and they also should be
furnished with strong boots and bedding, for nights on the lava and in
the snow.
* * * * *
This long Introduction may conclude with a pleasant quotation from Prof.
C. Vogt: “Plus je reporte mes souvenirs vers nôtre voyage accompli cet
été, plus je me sens attiré vers l’Islande, dont la nature, eminemment
sauvage, porte un cachet tout à fait particulier, et dont le sol
volcanique offre encore tant de questions à resoudre.” And the
traveller’s memory will in future days dwell curiously upon the past,
when
“The double twilights rose and fell
About a land where nothing seemed the same,
At noon or eve, as in the days gone by.”
[Illustration: THE DWARFIE STONE, HOY, ORKNEY.]
ULTIMA THULE;
OR,
A SUMMER IN ICELAND.
CHAPTER I.
THE STEAM-SHIP “QUEEN”--THE ORKNEYS AND MAES HOWE--THE SHETLANDS AND THE
FÆROE ISLANDS.
Adieu, O Edinburgh! whether thou prefer to be titled Edina, Dun-Edin,
Quebec of the Old World, the Grand Chartreuse of Presbyterianism, Modern
Athens--a trifle too classical--or Auld Reekie, good Norsk but foul,
fuliginous, and over familiar. Many thanks for the civilities lavished,
with one “base exception,” upon the traveller, who returns them in a
host of good wishes. _E.g._, May the little lads and lasses that play
ball and hop-scotch upon thy broad _trottoirs_ presently rise, like the
infantry of Ireland and the Cici of Istria, to the dignity of shoes and
stockings! May the odious paving-stones, which, under gigantic “busses,”
make thee the noisiest as thou art the most picturesque city in the
empire, disappear before the steam-roller and the invention of thine own
son Macadam: the former, after having long been used in the virgin
forest of the Brazil, has at length found its way to London, and why
should it not travel north? May unclean wynd and impure close, worse
than the Ghetto of Damascus, perish with krames and lucken-booths, and
revive in broad way and long square! May the railroad cars put in an
appearance amongst the open hackneys, whose reckless driving, like that
of the Trieste jarvey, seems to be connected in business with the
undertaker; and may the stands no longer be wholly deserted on the
Scoto-Judaic Sabbath! May there be some abatement and mitigation of the
rule, "Let us all be unhappy on Sunday”--when man may drink “whusky,” but
“manna whustle”--that earthly and transitory equivalent, as the
facetious Roman Catholic remarked, for the more durable, but haply the
not more unendurable, Purgatory! May thy beef lose its pestilent flavour
of oil-cake, thy dames look less _renfrognées_, and thy sons unlearn the
stock phrase which begins every answer “Eh! nae!” And lastly, St Giles
grant that so hospitable a city may condescend to set on foot a club
where the passing stranger, not only the “general commanding,” can see
his name enrolled for a month or two of membership, and no longer suffer
from the outer darkness of utter clublessness!
The spring of 1872 was tardy and dreary, and though I had left London
_en route_ for Iceland shortly after mid-May, June began before the
normal severity of a septentrional summer justified departure
northwards. Travellers of the last generation were still subject to the
sailing ship. Mr Chambers and his party are the first (1855) who had the
chance of a “smoky Argosy,” and the wild island-fishermen flocked to
save a ship which appeared to be on fire, whilst the country people fled
from the monster to their lava fastnesses. So in 1832 the first steamer
passing the Shetlands coast, greatly excited the unsophisticated
peasantry by suggesting witchcraft--I am not sure that some did not
expect Thor to be on board. So, finally, Captain Trevithick’s “puffing
devil” was held by Cornishmen to be the gentleman in black; and French
peasants shot at balloons, holding them to be monstrous birds.
During the summer of 1872 there was embarrassment in the wealth of
conveyance. The royal mail steamship (Danish Government) “Diana” touches
at Granton[296] and Lerwick once a month between March and November. The
Norwegian steamer, “Jón Sigurðsson,” visited the chief port of the
Shetlands with a certain irregularity, but the electric telegraph could
always give timely warning. The “Yarrow” of Glasgow, belonging to Mr
Slimon, ran during the season; and Mr Robert Buist of Edinburgh
chartered the “Queen” from the Aberdeen, Leith, and Clyde Shipping
Company. We shall see them all in due time.
Accompanied by my brother Stisted, I ran down to Granton betimes on June
4, along a road whose sides are coped walls, not rails and hedges,
through a country still showing early spring, although some six weeks
more advanced than Iceland. A couple of hours’ delay gave us time to
inspect Granton, and we owe it a debt of gratitude for saving us the
mortification of ancient Grangemouth. Scotch tourists in Iceland compare
its regularity with the irregularity of Reykjavik: it is regular as a
skeleton, this sketch-town, this prospectus, this programme-city with
its three piers--the Mineral, the Middle, and the Breakwater; and with
its square composed of two sides, the gaunt, grim hotel forming half the
whole. The staple trade appears limited to blue-green barrels of the old
“petreol,” which now seem to travel all round the world.[297] The
central quay--whose promenaders, though no longer fined threepence, may
not smoke--is remarkably good; and wind-bound ships affect the harbour,
because its bottom is soft mud, and because they are charged for shelter
only one penny per ton during the whole stay, discharging cargo for
sixpence instead of a shilling at Leith. The place is the property of
the bold Buccleuch, who, bolder this time than even at the British
Association, expended, ὡς λέγουσι, £1,200,000 for an annual
consideration of £15,000. Despite its stout-hearted progenitor, it is a
dull, young Jack of a settlement, all work and no play; but we shall
find it perfect civilisation, a little Paris in fact, on landing from
Reykjavik.
At 1.30 P.M. we cast loose, or, to put it more poetically with a modern
author, we assisted at the “chorus of sailors,” who are supposed to
sing--
“The windlass ply, the cable haul
With a stamp and go, and a yeo-heave-oh!”
The little knot of friends--T. Wright of the 93d and D. Herbert of the
_Courant_--wave farewell hats from the pier. It is an exceptional day.
The German Ocean wearing an imitation azure and gold robe, with the
false air of a southern sea, treacherously promises a yachting trip. The
smoke of many steamers forms a thin buff canopy, far-stretching over the
waste of pale sky-blue waters striped here and there with long bands of
yet milkier hue--_placidi pellacia ponti_. The Firth of Forth somewhat
reminded me of the fair entrance to Tagus; only here, instead of
obsolete windmills and huge palaces, we see red-tiled roofs and tall
stacks, artificial fumaroles vomiting pitchy vapours--the various
symbols of a very busy race. Along the populous shores of the Fifeish
“kingdom” whose _riant_ hills are loved by foxes that love lambs, where
the Lomonds give a _faux-air_ of resemblance to the Bay of Bombay, rise
successively Burntisland, Kinghorn, Kirkcaldy, Wemyss, and Leven with
gables facing the sea and fringing the main, “as lace embroiders the
edges of a lady’s petticoat.” After yet a little time there will be a
single line of habitation along what the late M. Alexandre Dumas, the
inventor of the “Lapin Gaulois,” called the “Fifth of the Fourth, or sea
arm running up to Edinburgh,” and its limits will be Dunbar and St
Andrews. In the rear rises the lumpy blue sofa that formed Arthur’s
Seat, a local Cader Idris, very like, under certain aspects, the Istrian
Monte Maggiore; here the husband of Queen Guenevere is what Wallace and
Auld Michael are to the rest of Scotland, ‘Antar to Syria, the Devil or
Julius Cæsar to Brittany, and Sæmund-the-Learned-cum-Gretti-the-Strong
to Iceland. The volcanic outcrop, famed by Huttonians, is flanked to the
north by the basaltic Salisbury Crags, whose billows of stone I had last
seen in the limestone cliffs of Marmarún or Dinhá (_vide_ Unexplored
Syria); and a thin white thread at the base denotes the “Radical Road”
(to Ruin), round which the ragged ruffians and rascals run.
And so we steam past Inchkeith; here a tall lighthouse is flanked
seawards by a pile of buildings which would have been better sheltered
on the other side, and which ought to be a mass of batteries like
Gibraltar. We cannot but remark the utterly defenceless state of the
northern capital, which lies literally at the mercy of a single
ironclad, commanded by any Paul Jones. But happily in these days we
battle with gold not with steel; we arbitrate instead of fighting.
Otherwise we might be tempted to propose torpedo stations, iron-rivetted
turrets, and other appliances of an art which the policy of the last
five years has made utterly antiquated, not to say barbarous. The
Westminster players of 1872 grumble--
“Ah! minimè refert quid sentiat Anglia! Totam
Mutandis sese mercibus illa dedit.
Pacis amans quovis pretio, maris arbitra quondam
Nunc ipsa externo pendet ab arbitrio--”
and grumble in vain.[298] However, “we have heard about that before.” We
have also heard of yon quaint pyramid on the starboard bow, concerning
which Mr Henderson says (i. 36), “The term ‘Law’ is still applied to
many hills in Scotland, as ‘Largo-Law,’ and so forth.” But the verbal
resemblance to the natural Lögbergs (law-mounts) of Iceland,[299]
Orkneys, and Shetlands, corresponding with the artificial moot-hills of
Scotland, is a trivial accident which has caused a philological stumble.
“Law” is simply the Anglo-Saxon Hlæw or Hlaw, primarily a low hill,
secondarily a tumulus, cairn, or sepulchral burrow (Bearw or Bearo),
heaped over the dead, as Lud-low the Low of Lude. Berwick-Law, though
shaped very like a Lögberg, means only Berwick Hill. Farther east is the
Bass, “sea-rock immense,” northwards steep-to apparently the rule of the
northern coast and the Orkneys, a broad-shouldered and misshapen stack
rising, like Ailsa Craig, sheer from the sea, and now very far from
being the “terror of navigators.”
During dinner, at the primitive and Viennese hour of four P.M., we had
passed Fifeness, _alias_ the East Neuk of Fife, not our “nook,” an
indention, but the Norsk Hnjúkr or Hnúkr, a knoll; the high, lone hill,
like Arthur’s Seat, occupies a long, blue tongue, which projects a
perilous reef some ten miles out to sea. The Firth of Tay--“firth,” from
Fjörð, is right; “frith,” from Fretum, is wrong--with its many
brethren, are foretastes of Iceland and Norway; the huge gapes of
dwarfish bodies, embouchures whose breadth promises a length of many
hundred miles, which the shortness of the watershed reduces to scores.
Such are the estuaries and giant mouths of the Gaboon, and, indeed, of
all the South African rivers save five--the Congo and Zambezi, the
Rufiji, the Limpopo, and the Orange; and we need hardly go so far to
study the feature, as the Mersey of Mercia is a first-rate specimen. We
peer from a distance at the “Geneva of the North” (_proh pudor!_), the
Faridon dé, the Donum Dei, famed in the days of terror as the abode of
the “reverend citizen Douglas,” where of late the mob-caps have had a
famous bout of “clapper-clawing” with the bonnets of bonnie Dundee; and
where, according to its own _Advertiser_, “there are heathens who read
newspapers during the Christmas holidays.”
Broad daylight blazed till ten P.M.; but fog, probably born of smoke,
and marring the effect of the pretty sail, obscured the outlines of
Fowls’ Heugh, in Kincardineshire. These are cliffs some 300 to 400 feet
high, where adventurous cragsmen still risk broken necks to plunder
birds’ nests. The Færoese hold that the unfortunates falling from great
heights burst in mid air; and it has been remarked by those who have had
ample opportunities of induction, that the many who have thrown
themselves off the London monument wear placid countenances, showing
none of the horrors of agonising death. It is possible, then, that the
sudden shock may cause asphyxia and apoplexy--we will hope that it does.
Before “turning in,” as the wheezing of the wind and the pelting showers
of blacks suggest, let us shortly survey the ship and our shipmates, a
process which travellers apparently despise as unworthy of their
high-mightinesses. The “Queen,” Captain William Reid, is a crowded
little thing of 280 tons register; a startling contrast to Messrs
Papayanni’s large and comfortable “Arkadia,” Captain Peter Blacklock, in
which I last sailed as _the_ passenger from Bayrút. She is licensed to
carry forty-seven miserables; her old-fashioned engines half-consume
twenty-three tons of coal in twenty-four hours; and her horse-power
(230) makes her bore through the water at the maximum rate of nine
knots. She has no bath; washing is at a discount amongst these
northerners; her offices are truly awful; and the berths are apparently
built for Arctic exploration, or for the accommodation of General Tom
Thumb and Commodore Nutt: the close vapours would generate nightmare,
but, happily, only the stewards sleep in the main cabin. The food is
profuse but primitive--giant tureens of oleaginous soup; fish which
cannot be kept quite fresh; huge junks of meat, of course carved at
table; mutton chops--not cutlets--all fat, or rather tallow; vast slices
of “polonies,” lard-speckled, and very like the puddings of sheep’s
blood farther north; marbled potatoes; graveolent cabbages; parsnips and
carrots, hateful to Banting; poor bread; good hard biscuit; excellent
butter, much enjoyed by Icelanders; rice puddings, and huge pies of
rhubarb, locally called overring or southern wood; tea which resembles
nothing that fancy can suggest; coffee much resembling a watery
decoction of senna; excellent whisky; the usual brandy, _not_ right
“Nantz,” and gin clean forgotten.
The passengers are all first-class, and those who should be seconds pay
somewhat less than the usual return fare, £6--board not included. In
these lands, the three R’s are the great levellers; and for a certain
roughness, moral as well as physical, we need hardly visit Canada or the
Far West; our Lowlander, emphatically opposed to the Highlander,
supplies us with an admirable specimen. Many of the travellers are bound
northwards on business, and their “Gentlemen, who says feesh?” reminds
us of Mr _Punch_ and his “pudden.” There is a laird of the parts about
Aberdeen, accompanied by an intelligent Scotch bailiff; an army man,
Major B., and his brother-in-law, Mr S.; a navy man, Captain H., much
addicted to fishing; another Piscator, popularly known as Johnny B.; and
a missionary, who will not walk the quarter-deck on “the Sabbath.” He
offers a tract to our parson--we can longer quote amongst British
proverbs, “Coals to Newcastle”--the Rev. R. M. Spence, originally of
Kirkwall, Orkneys, and now holding the manse of Arbuthnott. I must name
him; his local knowledge was most valuable to all on board; it was given
freely and without stint, and after his “parson’s week,” he was kind
enough to correspond with me during my stay in Iceland. Kirkwall has
produced much “good company,” but none better than the Reverend Spence.
There is a stewardess, who stoutly cleared for herself the ladies’
saloon. The steward and his mate are of the type often seen on board the
“leather-breeches mob of steamers”--an epithet, mind, which I do not
apply to the “Queen.” They are fond of bumping you, of spilling the
soup, of putting unclean towels upon your open books, of carrying a host
of articles in one hand, of charging the smallest and meanest items, and
of being peculiarly civil on the last day. The captain soon merits the
general description of a “regular brick;” he has no pilot who knows
coast or course, not a soul on board has ever been in Iceland, yet he
accepts all responsibility like a man and a seaman; and he will spend on
deck two successive nights of fog and wet. Finally, although the “Queen”
is not one of the floating coffins which have roused Mr Plimsoll’s just
indignation, she was sent out in a peculiarly reckless way,[300] and
without so good a sailor as Captain Reid, she--and we--ran the very best
chances of coming to a bad end.
* * * * *
_June 5._
During the few dark, or rather chiaro-oscuro, hours, we ran along the
coast north-east and by east, turning the great shoulder north of
Aberdeen. As the raw and rainy morning dawned, high loomed on the port
bows Duncansby, popularly written Duncansbay, Head, whose castellated
and ruin-shaped rocks of yellow-brown sandstone, streaked with white
layers of guano, were new features to us; much resembling in form,
though not in formation, what Iceland will show. The steep and frowning
headland, sentinelled by needles, the Shetland “drongs,” the Færoese
“drengr,” and the Icelandic “drangar,” bluff to the sea, and sloping
backwards in long brown-green dorsa, is lit up by a sickly, pallid sun,
which picks out of the dark curtain the snowy wings of myriad sea-fowl.
The parallel strata supply the celebrated flags of Caithness, and the
softer parts are readily hollowed into “Devil’s nostrils,” Helyers,[301]
or sea-washed caverns, with pyramidal entrances which cause frequent
cliff-falls.
Beyond this point the coast is fretted into shallow bays of good soil,
fronted by sandy beaches of dwarf proportions, and here and there by a
small scaur; the chord is also pierced by long winding passages,
incipient Fjörðs, whose vistas end in yellow shingle. These
pasture-lands of Caithness are scattered with cots, “infield” and
“outfield,” but we look in vain for copse, wood, or forest. As a
northern writer said some hundred years ago, “A single tree does not
appear that may afford shelter to friendship and innocence” (why
innocence?), and fuel must be supplied by wreck-wood and drift-wood, by
peat and wrack, by cattle chips and bones. The cause is one from the
Prairies and the Pampas to the Carso of Trieste, and the rich uplands of
Spain, Syria, and the Haurán. Be the soil ever so fertile, its growth,
without the protection of walls or depressions in the level, is soon
blasted by the furious cutting winds. The experiment of planting
pitch-pines (_Pinus picea_ and _Pinus abies_) was tried by Governor
Thodal of Iceland, but the trunks never rose above two feet from the
ground, and, like Dean Swift, they died at the head. The scene already
suggests Thule without its Jökulls; scattered byes, greenish _túns_
(“towns,” or home-fields), brown distances, low stone walls, and big
bistre-coloured cliffs, black below where bathed by the flowing tide.
Behind Duncansbay Ness[302] we are shown the site of John o’ Groat’s
House; there is no need to walk there, as a stage coach now runs along
the fine broad road from the “(ex-) Herring Capital of the North”
(Wick). The old “Norwegian,” as some miscall him, left Holland with
Malcolm Cavin, and brought to Caithness a Latin letter from James II. of
Scotland recommending him to the northern lieges. It is still a disputed
point whether the Grotes of the Orkneys are the original stock, or
drifted there through Scotland. Strangers are taken to the
semi-historical ruin, a one-storied octagon, with its eight windows,
which appeased fraternal wrath--if, at least, there were eight, and not
two brothers. It is supposed to be a banqueting-hall, as there are no
bedrooms, and only the photograph for sale at Wick, probably taken from
some apocryphal sketch, caps it with a small look-out. A dull grey barn
is here fronted by a dwarf sand-streak, up which fisher boats are drawn,
whilst others, with stained sails, scud and toss over the unquiet
waters. The colouring matter is peat. In the Bahia de S. Salvador
(Brazil) the Piaçaba palm supplies the tannin-dye, while Venice and
Dalmatia assert superior claims to art by rough pictures in coloured
earths and oil. The object is everywhere the same--to make the canvas
last.
And now with the rock ledges called “Pentland Skerries” on our right, we
dance over the tide-rip of the terrible “Pight-land Firth,”[303] which
has become classical in the north, like Pharaoh’s Ford in the Gulf of
Suez. Mýsing, the sea-king, according to the Elder Edda, ended the
“Peace of Fróði,” by slaying Fróði, king of Denmark; he also captured
the clattering hand-quern Grótti, and the two prescient damsels Fenia
and Menia. The victor ground white salt in the vanquished ships until
they sank in Pentland Firth, causing the main to become briny: there has
ever since been a vortex where the sea falls into the “well” or mill’s
eye, and the roar of the ocean is the grinding of the quern.[304] And
all this folk-lore because at times storm-wind meets tide running some
five to seven knots an hour with “waws” and “swelchies,” causing sore
grief to many a gallant ship. Yet there are men still young--Colonel
Burroughs of the 93d (Sutherland) Highlanders is one--who habitually
crossed this firth in open boats.
We had now turned the north-eastern end of Scotland, where Ben Dorrery,
a blue saddleback somewhat crater-shaped, rose supreme; and where Foss
or cascade water, anciently Fors, draining Lake Lunnery, suggested
Scandinavia. We presently passed the Paps of Caithness, and admired the
grand profile of classical Dunnet Head,[305] whose flanks are
horizontally streaked with broad golden patches, whilst a Cockney gun of
our party brought out a swarming colony of birds from their cliffy
homes. Behind it lay Thurso (Thjórsá, or Bull water), built with the
dull grey stone of Bath, not the picturesque red of Edinburgh, nestling
in the usual fertile bight, shallow withal and open to the northern
ocean. We halted for the first and last time off Holburn Head to take in
and deal out letters. Beyond it the picturesque Sutherland Highlands
ended in a long line of bluffs remarkably quoin-shaped. Dim in the slaty
and stormy sky rose Farout Head, not unlike the Elephant Mountain, the
classical Mons Felix that outlies the murderous Somali Coast. Ten miles
west of it rose the north-western Land’s End of Scotland, a mere
hummock low down upon the horizon. This was Cape Wrath, which some
understand literally, whilst others derive it from “Rath,” a conical
hill, or a fortified place: it is evidently Cape Hvarf, a common name,
as Hvarven, near Bergen, for a sudden turn of coast. “You should see it
in December,” said the steward, when we were disposed to deride its
anger: he had doubled it in a casual vessel from Liverpool to Dundee
carrying sugar and palm oil.
And now it is time to cast a look starboardways from Duncansbay Head.
The first feature is Stroma Island (Straumsey, corrupted to Stromey),
bluff to the north-west, and sloping gradually to the south-eastern sea;
the inner sound is a narrow channel, lately rendered safe by a red
beacon. The scrap of land--a small item of the two hundred inhabited
which form the British archipelago--is politically included in
Caithness, but, popularly speaking, it belongs to the Scoto-Scandinavian
race, the fourth great family of Great Britain, utterly dissimilar from
the Norman of the Channel Islands, the Kelt, and the Anglo-Kelt. Their
neighbours talk of the “poor sneaks of Stroma,” and these retort by the
opprobrious term “ferrie-loupers.” The memory of many a broken head and
bloody fray in bygone day is preserved in the couplet--
“Caithness cabes (_i.e._, ticks), lift up your heads,
And let the Orkney sheep go by!”
How soon will telegrams and steamers--there is a daily mail between
Thurso and Stromness--cause these local differences to share the fate of
the national garb?
Behind Stroma, and towering over it in the purple grey cloud, is South
Ronaldshaw, or Ronaldsha, in whose corrupted and degraded name we can
hardly trace the pure and classical Norsk termination.[306] Properly
Ronansey, from St Ronan, Ringan, or Ninian, it still preserves an
old-world flavour. Till the last thirty years wreckers were rife: it was
held “best to let saut water gang its gate;” in other words, uncanny, as
we find in “The Pirate,” to save a drowning sailor. Mariners lost all
their rights when keel once touched sand; whatever was cast ashore
became the lawful property of the people; Earl Patrick, who now is
cursed at Scalloway because “he hung the Shetlanders,” was blessed for
his wise laws against all that would help ships amongst the breakers; a
wreck was a sight to “wile the parson out of his pulpit in the middle of
his preaching,” and the blessing upon the shore was coupled with a wish
that the Lord would send “mair wrecks ere winter.” Men still remember
the old Orcadian minister’s prayer: “O Lord, I wish not ill to my
neighbours, but if wrecks be going, remember Thy poor island of
Sandey!”[307] The clergy feared to offend those sturdy pagans, their
“little ones,” by denouncing from the pulpit what the devoutest held to
be a “dispensation of Providence.” A pious fraud began by
excommunicating all who broke the Sabbath in such Satan’s work, and the
course of time did the rest.
But old ideas do not readily die. Lately a farmer in Orphir parish
(Ör-fjara, or Ör-fyri, “a reef covered by high tide”), having lost many
head of cattle by “witching,” applied to the “spae-wife,” who prescribed
the sacrifice of a bull-calf, probably by cremation, to Baal. The
practice is, of course, kept secret, yet the best possible authority at
Kirkwall told me he had reason to suspect that such offerings to the
sun-god are by no means singular. The late pugnacious Sir James Simpson
(Archæological Essays) also heard of a cow being buried alive as a
sacrifice to the spirit of murrain. The Yule bonfires and the games of
ball at that season were also in honour of the greater light.
Beyond South Ronaldshaw we had a fair profile view of Hoy (=Há-ey, high
isle), a three-hilled, long, narrow parallelogram which took us some
five hours to pass. The fierce south-westers which scoop and scallop
western Scotland, like western Iceland and the occidental coasts of
north Europe generally, render cultivation impossible except on the
leeward side, where the “links” are.[308] _En passant_, it may be
observed that the island capitals between Caithness and Iceland, as
Stornoway of the Hebrides, Kirkwall of the Orkneys, Lerwick of the
Shetlands, and Thorshaven of the Færoes, are all built upon the eastern
shore. We strained eyes in vain to sight the position of Walter Scott’s
“Dwarfie Stones,” so called _per antiphrasin_, says Brand;, and equally
vain was the “search for the great carbuncle” of Ward Hill, now
invisible as the gem of the Diamond Rock, and probably never seen save
by the eyes of faith. I heard of the same mysterious light in the far
Gaboon River. We were more fortunate with the Hill of Hoy, the tallest
part of the dorsum (1500 feet), whose “Old Man,” which farther north
would be called a “witch finger,” appeared first a dot, then a column,
and lastly a dome upon the summit of a huge cathedral. It is of the “Old
Red,” a pale, unfossiliferous sandstone, the normal material of the
western mainland, though some describe it as a slaty formation supported
by a base of granite, which also crops out near Stromness. According to
Bleau, the midnight sun can be seen from it in midsummer; Dr Wallace
qualifies the statement by opining that the true solar body cannot be
visible, but only its image refracted through some watery cloud upon the
horizon. The last glimpse of Hoy was Ronay Head, a glorious bluff at
least 1000 feet high, and beyond it lay nought save _pontus et aer_.
I will here step out of the order of my journey, which would more wisely
have been reversed. To begin with Iceland is to begin at the end,
neglecting the various steps and stages of Orkneys, Shetlands, and
Færoes, whilst to describe the climax and its anti-climax, would be
utterly uninteresting and bathetic. My three days (Sept. 10, 11, and 12)
at the Church-bay (Kirkjuvágr, vogr, vad, waw, wall) produced some
results, and these shall be briefly recorded.
The good ship “St Magnus” ran up “the String” to Kirkwall Roads, and
landed me after a ten hours’ passage from Lerwick. My first care was to
send my introductory letter, the gift of Mr Gatherer, to Mr George
Petrie, well known in the anthropological world. He kindly led me to the
little museum, which, like that of Lerwick, is far behind the order and
neatness of Reykjavik. The collection contains good specimens of netting
needles, cut out of rein and red deer bone: the former animal extended
to the Orkneys, as broken bones have been found in the burghs, and
suggest that they were continental. There were natural stone knives,
looking as if shaped by art--the Brazil shows heaps of celts equally
deceptive--pots of micaceous schist and steatite from Shetland; combs
conjectured to have been used for ornamenting pottery; a two-handed
scraper of whale’s bone; specimens of “bysmers” and “pundlers,” wooden
bars used as steelyards, the former three, and the latter seven, feet
long: they carried the Norwegian weights, “bysmars” and “lispunds,”[309]
which took root in the Shetlands. I noticed the huge Varangian[310]
fibulæ and torques; the querns still common amongst the islandry; red
“keel” or pigment of silicious hæmatite, showing that even the artless
dames did not ignore the art of rouge; rude beads of bone and clay; and
a human skull with four rabbit teeth, possibly bevelled by the “bursten
bigg,” coarse roasted bere or barley, even as the Guanches of Tenerife
ground down their molars with parched grain. My guide showed me his
ingenious plan for “squeezes,” and making casts of spearheads and
similar articles by means of warmed gutta-percha applied to the stone,
and lastly cooled in water.
Scapa (Skálpeið) Brock, the highly interesting ruin discovered by Mr
Petrie in 1870, was of course visited. At the Earl’s Castle, whose
approach is choked with trees like that of Baalbek, I remarked that the
kitchen and the banqueting-room had false and shouldered arches, which
might have been borrowed from the Haurán. We pitied poor St Magnus the
Martyr for the insult lately offered to him in the shape of a wretched
court-house--a similar affront has been inflicted upon York Minster. The
old cathedral, grand in its rude and ponderous Norman-Gothic, is made
remarkable by the red sandstone mixed with whitey-grey _calcaires_: it
shares with St Mungo the honour of being the finest remains of
Catholicism in the north, and it is unduly neglected by strangers. The
view from that eye-sore, the stunted spire, is charming. North-west
stretches the Bay of Firth, famed for oysters, backed by the dark
heights of Rousay (Hrólfsey); while north-east lies Shapinshay
(Hjápandisey),[311] smiling with corn and white houses, with the dark
hillocks of low-lying Edey in the distance. Amongst the smaller islets
may be mentioned castled Damsey (Daminsey); the Holm of Quanterness;
Thieves’ Holm (Thjófaholmr), where robbers, who were supposed not to
swim, found a safe prison, and often, too, a long home; and the
whale-back of Gairsey (Gáreksey), with the stronghold of that Sveinn
(Sweyn), who lost his pirate life when attacking Dublin--the Vikings
seem ever to have preferred these fragments of earth where the sea,
their favourite element, was never far distant. Nearer and rising from
the reniform “Mainland,” _alias_ Pomona, by the Sagas called Hrossey or
Horse Island, is Wideford (Hvitfjörð) Hill, backed by the Oyce or Peerie
Sea. The ground-wave is dark with bloomless gorse, and ruddy with fading
heath, whilst higher still
“Earth clad in russet scorns the lively green.”
It is a progressive country: middle-aged men have shot grouse in the
mosses near Kirkwall where now the fields bear corn. The peasant’s
father despaired of growing grass: the son ploughs the bog, builds dry
walls with the larger stones that cumber the surface, cuts deep drains,
and top-dresses with sand and lime. Hands, however, are wanting; the
fisheries bring more money than agriculture; and the good landlord will
not part with his slow old tenantry, because he cannot replace it.
[Illustration: ST. MAGNUS CATHEDRAL & EARL'S PALACE, KIRKWALL
Vol. O. Page 283. ]
Two monuments in the cathedral are peculiarly interesting, and partly
relieve the desert and dismal appearance of all Catholic places of
worship converted to a “purer creed.” The first is that of the Irving
family, true Orcadians, who never changed their name since A.D. 1361,
and one lies murdered in A.D. 1614. Mr Petrie, the discoverer,
communicated with the great Washington of that ilk, who replied
courteously, forwarding at the same time a presentation copy of his
works. Mr Pliny Miles (Norðurfari) and others of his class are fond of
claiming all distinguished names for their own country; for instance,
Snorri Thorfinnsson, “the first Yankee[312] on record,” is the
forefather of Finn Magnússon and Thorvaldsen, whilst Captain Ericsson is
the descendant of Eric the Red. It would be easier far to trace all
American celebrities directly to Europe, and many of them would not be
sorry to see the process thus inverted.
The second tomb, much more interesting to me than those of King Hakon
and Maid Margaret, is the cenotaph of Dr Baikie, R.N., designed and
inscribed, I believe, by Sir Henry Dryden: certainly both design and
inscription deserve scanty credit. Not a word about the original
profession of poor “Hammie,” as he was called by a host of friends. And
why should it be a cenotaph? Why bequeath the explorer’s bones to the
ignoble “European’s grave,” S’a Leone? Worse still, the journals, once
so interesting, have been allowed to lie in obscurity for want of an
editor, and a decade in these days takes away almost all the value of an
African traveller’s diary. Dr Baikie is supposed also to have left a
valuable collection of Nigerian vocabularies--these, at least, might be
forwarded to the Anthropological Institute. I can only express a hope
that the bereaved family will bestir itself before the cold shade of
oblivion obscures the memory of a heroic name.
After a long spell of cloudy, misty, and rainy weather, Thursday, the
12th September, broke fine, with a clear sun and a high rollicking wind
which swept the rolling surface-water like a broom. In these islands,
July, August, and September are frequently wet; in October the “peerie
simmer”[313] of St Martin, the Indian summer of the United States, sets
in and gladdens the eye of man before the glooms of winter round off the
year. Mr Petrie proposed himself as guide to Wideford Hill, Ingishowe
(Howe of Inga), Maes Howe, Stennis, Borgar (Brúargarðr), and
Stromness--I need hardly tell the pleasure with which his kind offer was
accepted. He has not only admirably described these and other
antiquities (especially in his “Notice of the Brochs, or Large Round
Towers of Orkney,” etc., read before the S.N.A., June 11, 1866): he has
done far more important work by converting popular _insouciance_, and
even ridicule, into a something of his own enthusiasm. Nor should I
forget to say that in this great task he has been ably and efficiently
supported by the landlord-class, amongst whom Colonel Balfour of Balfour
Castle and Ternaby (Tjarnabær), the owner of Maes Howe, has especially
distinguished himself. We shall now hope to have heard the last of such
barbarism as breaking up the venerable “Odin’s Stone” into building
material. These acts are like the state of Uriconium, a national
disgrace; we only wish that Jarl Hakon had Mr M----’s leg in the
“Cashidawis,” or “Warm Hose”--a fitting reward for those who justify the
sneer--
“Quod non fecerunt Gothi
Hoc fecerunt Scoti.”
It is also to be desired that the liberal proprietor of Maes Howe would
take active steps to defend the highly interesting central chamber from
the inclemency of the weather; the barrow was opened in July 1861, and
already the interior has suffered from exposure.
The most interesting event of the day was the inspection of Maes Howe,
which some one has lately suggested to be “simply a Norse fort.” It
would be mere impertinence to offer a general description of this
unique barrow after the studies of Mr Farrer (“Notice of Runic
Inscriptions discovered during Recent Excavations in the Orkneys,” made
by James Farrer, M.P.; printed for private circulation, 1862); lately
popularised by Mr Fergusson in “Rude Stone Monuments.” The three
mortarless _loculi_ of huge slabs and their closing stones reminded me
so strongly of the miscalled “Tombs of the Kings,” north of Jerusalem,
that I felt once more in the “Holy Land.” It is a glorious monument of
the great tomb-building race, or races whose animistic creed, the
essence of fetichism, expresses itself in tent-tombs (chambered cairns)
and cave-tombs (rock-cut chambers) upon the Siberian steppes, the
Algerian plains, the Wiltshire downs, and the Scoto-Scandinavian
islands. At Maes Howe we find all its characteristics--the stone circle
which drove away the profane; the long passage which keeps warm the cave
or hut; the vestibule for the funeral feast, and the various rooms for
the dead to live in. And at the first sight of the Branch Runes,[314]
otherwise called Palm Runes, I remembered having seen a similar alphabet
in northern Syria.
A ride to Hums, of old Emesa (February 27, 1871), and a visit to my old
friend the Nestorian Matrán (Metropolitan) Butrus, introduced me to the
alphabet known as El Mushajjar, or the branched, one of the many cyphers
formerly and, for aught I know, still current amongst Semitic races.
Returning to England, I sent a copy of it to the Anthropological
Institute, intending to illustrate a paper which was reprinted in
“Unexplored Syria” (vol. ii., Appendix, p. 241): unfortunately the copy
was lost.
According to the Matrán’s MS. there are two forms of El Mushajjar, one
applied to Arabic, and the other to Pehlevi. Both are read from right to
left, and the following is the Arabic form:
No. I.
[Illustration]
The adjoined is the Pehlevi.
No. II.
[Illustration]
No. III. is the Norsk-Runic alphabet, read from left to right, as
classified by Mr George Petrie, to decipher the palm-runes in Maes Howe.
No. III.
[Illustration]
And the following are the inscriptions on the walls of Maes Howe:
No. IV.
[Illustration]
The key to the cypher is here shown by the transverse stroke on the stem
of the first letter to the left (A or æ).
No. V.
[Illustration]
forming an inceptive--“these runes.” In the word “Runar,” the left-hand
branches are turned down by way of variety; of course the number is the
same. Finally, it is interesting to compare this “Mushajjar” with a
similar system, the Irish letters, which bear the names of trees. They
are:
[Illustration]
And even in the common runes, we may observe that there is only one (R)
which is not composed of a rune-staff, supporting offsets disposed at
various angles.
No. I., the Arabic form connected by horizontal base-lines, contains two
sets of three, and four sets of four letters, read as usual in Semitic
alphabets; beginning with Alpha and ending with Tau: it is in fact the
Aleph-Tav of the Hebrews and of the older Arabs, as preserved in the
numeral and chronological syllabarium “El Abjad.” I need hardly note
that this was characteristic of the world-conquering Phœnician, that
glorious gift to Greece, usually attributed to Cadmus (El Kadim, or the
Ancient), and by us incongruously applied to our Aryan speech; a
comparison of the sequences _a_, _b_, _c_, and _d_ (Abjad), and _k_,
_l_, _m_, and _n_ (Kalaman) with any other system at once proves direct
derivation. In the Pehlevi Mushajjar the letters, it will be seen, are
not joined at the base, and sundry branches are formed in a different
way.
Mr Farrer, who first “established the important fact of Runic
inscriptions existing in Orkney, where none had hitherto been found,”
gives both sets of palm-runes (Plates VIII. and IX.). He borrows the
following information (p. 29, referring to Plate VIII.) from Professor
Stephens, a good Norsk scholar: “The six crypt runes or secret staves
represent the letters A, Æ, R, L, I, K, R, and signify Aalikr or Erling,
a proper name, or perhaps the beginning of some sentence.” Professor
Munch observes, “The other characters in the third line are known as
‘Limouna,[315] or Bough-Runes.’ They were used during the later times of
the Runic period in the same manner as the Irish Ogham, but are not here
intelligible. The writer probably intended to represent the chief
vowels--A, E, I, O, U, Y. The Runic alphabet was divided into two
classes: the strokes on the left of the vertical line indicating the
class, and those on the right the rune itself.” And Professor Rafn
declares, “The palm-runes underneath cannot be read in the usual manner;
the first, third, and fourth of the runes being _a_, _o_, and _i_; the
writer probably intended to give all the vowels, but some of the letters
have been obviously miscarried, and have perhaps been altered and
defaced at a later period by other persons. In the first of these a
cross line has been added to show that the letter _a_ is intended.” Of
No. XVIII. (Plate X.), Mr Farrer notes, “The palm-runes are rarely
capable of being deciphered.” Professor Munch similarly declares, “The
boughrunes are not easy to decipher;” whilst Professor Stephens
asserts, “The palm-runes on the first line indicate Thisar Runar--‘these
runes.’” They are mentioned in the Elder Edda (Sigrdrífumál, stanza 11):
“Lim-runes thou must ken,
An thou a leech wouldst be,
And know to heal hurts.”
The cryptogram, “El Mushajjar,” was forwarded to Mr Petrie, who replied
as follows: “I attempted by means of your tree-branched alphabet to read
the palm-runes of Maes Howe, but failed. It then occurred to me that
they might correspond with the Futhork, or Icelandic alphabet, and,
obtaining the key of the cipher, I completely succeeded after a few
hours’ trial. On referring to Mr Farrer’s copies of the translations
given by the Scandinavian professors, I find that Professor Stephens
appears to have put five runes in each of the first two classes, which
makes the third palm-rune (inscription No. I.) to be L instead of Y;
moreover, he does not give the key. My first attempt at classifying the
runes by means of the cipher turned out correct, and I have therefore
retained that classification in reading the second inscription. It is
evident that the classification could be altered at will of the person
using it, and this uncertainty of arrangement must constitute the
difficulty of interpreting such runes.”
In Nos. XIX. and XX. (Plate X.) we read “Iorsafarar Brutu
Orkhröugh”--the Jórsalafarar (Jerusalem-farers, _i.e._, pilgrim-visitors
of Jerusalem) broke open Orkhow (shelter-mound), probably in search of
treasure: the latter is an object especially Eastern. There are seven
crosses, and one inscription (No. XIII.) must be read from right to
left. We may therefore believe that certain old _Coquillards_, and
possibly Crusaders, returning from Palestine, whence they brought the
“hubby,”[316] violated the tombs, and left a single name and an
unfinished inscription to record their propensity[317] for
grave-plundering.
We visited the museum at Stromness, the amorpholites or “Standing
Stones,” and that “Mediterranean in miniature,” the Stennis Lake, whose
flora is partly marine and partly lacustrine. Hereabouts, the plain
shows distinct remnants of the two great epochs--Bruna-öld, the Age of
Burning; and Hauga-öld, the Age of Burial. We have no reason to believe
the tradition that Odin introduced cremation; doubtless, the “crematee”
was chiefly of the wealthy classes, while the poor were inhumed--they
were both synchronous in the days of the Twelve Tables: “Hominem mortuum
in urbe ne sepelito, neve urito.” Hence a valuable rule for tracing the
exact limits of old Roman cities, even of Rome herself: the cemetery was
always outside the city settlement, and, if possible, to the south.
The day ended happily, as it began, in meeting Colonel Burroughs of
Rousay, and Dr Rea of Arctic fame. My memories of Kirkwall are pleasant
in the extreme. It wants only a good modern hotel to deserve the
patronage of tourists, who, in these days, are told to “try Lapland,”
when they have ample inducement to pass a summer in the “storm-swept
Orcades,” and in other sections of the Scoto-Scandinavian archipelago.
On Friday, September 6, the “Jón Sigurðsson,” Captain Müller of whom
more presently, made with some difficulty the Shetland Mainland. Many
derivations are offered for the latter word, but, as the island is
larger than all the rest put together, the obvious signification
suffices.[318] A dark, thick fog had kept us drifting all night close
to the dangerous rocks called Hivda Grind, Havre de Grind, or
Hardegrind, originally Nafargrind, from Grind (a hedge-gate or sea-way),
and, perhaps, Höfða (a head or bluff). Our position, some seven miles
E.S.E. of Foula (Fugley) Island, explained the noise of the surf and the
shallowing of water to thirty-two fathoms--it is far easier in these
latitudes to hear than to see the land! The raw mist obscured the bold,
grand scenery of the western coast till noon, when a sickly sun sublimed
the vapours, reminding me of the Malabar coast after the Nilgherry
Hills. Very mild was the Roost[319] or Race of Sumburgh, a Euripus,
where nine currents are said to meet. We could distinctly sight
Fitful[320] Head, and
“We saw the tide
Break thundering on the rugged side
Of Sumburgh’s awful steep.”
Its flank of clay-slate showed vast rivas (clefts) and stone-slips,
while beyond it lay the skeleton of Jarlshof (Earl’s house), names now
world-known. It is curious to trace how the practised eye and the
wonderful memory which created our modern historical novel skimmed the
very cream of Hjaltland peculiarities during a few days’ visit in August
1814, the year in which he published the Eyrbyggja Saga;[321] and it is
fortunate for writing travellers that Sir Walter Scott did not visit the
Færoes and Iceland. See what he did for the “Waverley Line” of Railway!
Amongst the islanders he is a household word, but though the Troils of
Papa Westræ do not object to Magnus Troil, they are still incensed by
the portraiture of that “fiddling, rhyming fool,” poor Claud Halcro.
The approach to Bressey Sound, one of the finest ports in Great Britain,
is unusually picturesque. On the right is the “Wart of
Bressey”[322]--verrucose features are here common as in the Orkneys, but
the word is the Icelandic “Varða,” and the German “Warte,” a
watch-house. Its flanks are gashed for turf; and a goodly lighthouse is
as much wanted on the dangerous western coast as on the Mediterranean
shores of Africa. The island was lately sold, they say, for £20,000. On
the left is the historic Knap or Knab (Hnapp meaning a button) of
quartzose slate, backed by the quarries and the spreading town of
Lerwick--mud bay. The (Arthur) Anderson Institute and the Widows’ Asylum
reminded me of a Shetlander who began life as a clerk, became M.P. in
1847-52, and died the chairman of the great “P. & O.”--it is a pity that
these fine establishments were not better endowed. The capital stands
with its feet in the water; the houses, with their crow-stepped gables,
being so built for convenience of smuggling, and its sons fondly compare
it with cities on the Rhine. Half a dozen Dutch busses, riding in
couples, now represent the hundreds of bygone days, when the British
fisheries were called the “gold mine of Holland.” Certain features
suggested modern Tiberias, but the disproportionate number of the
churches soon weighed down that flight of fancy.
On the day after arrival, I set out with Captain Henry T. Ellis, R.N.
(of “Hong-Kong to Manilla”), to do the tour _de rigueur_--Scalloway[323]
Castle and Moseyaburgum, the Mousa (Mósey) Broch[324] or Pecht House.
We took the excellent northern road, begun during the famine, and
finished some four years ago (1870): formerly when a picnic was
intended, gillies were sent on to smooth the way for riders. After a few
yards, we left the fertile seaboard, whose skirts and smooths are, as in
Iceland, the only sites for agriculture, and entered the normal type of
country, which begins in Scotland and Ireland. There can be no better
description of bog and moor, of hill-land or commonty, and of “moss,
mount, and wilderness, quhairin are divers great waters,” than that
which opens the first chapter of “Lord Kilgobbin,” the last work of that
most amiable and sympathetic writer, whose unworthy successor I now am:
“Some one has said that almost all that Ireland possesses of picturesque
beauty is to be found on or in the immediate neighbourhood of the
seaboard; and if we except some brief patches of river scenery on the
‘Nore’ and the ‘Blackwater,’ and a part of Lough Erne, the assertion is
not devoid of truth. The dreary expanse called the Bog of Allen, which
occupies a high table-land in the centre of the island, stretches away
for miles, flat, sad-coloured, and monotonous, fissured in every
direction by channels of dark-tinted water, in which the very fish take
the same sad colour.” Similarly we read of Scotland: “The inland, the
upland, the moor, the mountain, were really not occupied at all for
agricultural purposes, or served only to keep the poor and their cattle
from starving.”
The surface of this Irish Sliabh and Icelandic Heiði, a true “black
country,” natural not artificial, rolls in low warty moors revetted with
moss, spangled with Fífa, or cotton-grass (_Epilobium_, or _Eriophorum
epistachion_), and gashed with deep black earth-cracks, showing the
substrata of peat; the tarns and flowing waters are inky as the many
Brazilian “Unas” (Blackwaters), and though strongly peat-flavoured, they
are not unwholesome. I could not find that they had been used for
tanning, nor have the people yet found out the value of the “peat-coal,”
macerated condensed[325] peat, so long appreciated by the Grand Trunk
of Canada and the railways of New England and Bavaria; even in the
Brazil a patent for the manufactory was taken out some years ago, and
Bahia now exports the article. Yet in Lyell’s “Principles of Geology”
(11th edit., vol. ii., p. 504) we meet the strange assertion, “No peat
found in Brazil.” The supply of the bog factories near Montreal costs
nine shillings to ten shillings per ton, or about one-fourth the value
of pit coal. The Torbite of Horwich (Lancashire) is even cheaper, and
experts have said that it gets up steam to 10 lbs. pressure in one hour
ten minutes, and to 25 lbs. in one hour thirty-two minutes--the figures
of Lancashire coal being two hours twenty-five minutes and three
hours--at any rate, we may believe that when water is excluded, its
heating power is about half way between wood and coal. Thus it becomes
an article of general value to brewers, distillers, and manufacturers;
and the Swedish iron, equal to Low Moor, as well as the yield of the
Bavarian, the Wurtemberg, and the Bohemian mines, are all treated with
condensed peat. It is now time to utilise the vast bogs of the finest
deep black fuel, in which Ireland and the Hebrides, the Shetlands and
the Orkneys abound, especially when perpetual colliery strikes, causing
coal famines and the immense rise in the value of the combustible, have
made steamers lie idle in our ports. Truly Torf-Einarr Jarl, who first
taught the art and mystery of “yarpha”-burning, deserves a memorial
statue on the Torf-nes.
In such “sea-girdled peat-mosses” as these, agriculture is a farce, and
only sheep can pay. The foundation of the rocks, snowy quartz veining
grey and chloritic slate, is that of Minas Geraes, and yet crushing for
gold has not, we were assured, been attempted. Dr Cowie informed me that
copper and iron are now successfully worked near Sandwich; and I hope
soon to hear of prospecting for the nobler metal. At present our
African California, the Gold Coast itself, is not more thoroughly
neglected.[326]
Shetland life is concentrated near the sounds and voes (the Vogr of
Iceland), where the dykes of Galway and Roscommon, dry or mortared
walls, enclose yellow fields of oats, barley, and potatoes black with
frost. Churches, and manses bigger than the churches; kilns burning kelp
and lime; substantial houses, thatched with barley-straw, upon “pones,”
or slabs of dried turf, the whole kept in place by “simmins” (straw
ropes), stones, and logs, dotted the lowlands. Here and there stood a
few willows and maple-planes, erroneously called sycamores,[327] under
the shelter of walls; and uncommonly pleasant after Iceland was the
twitter of the birdies. Many broken and unroofed cottages, some of them
leper-houses in bygone days, reminded us that the disease lingered
longer in Scotland than in England; in the Scoto-Scandinavian islands
than in Scotland; and in Iceland than in the “Eyjar.” The frequent
ruined home-steads of small tenantry, compelled, when their land was
“laid down to grazing,” to seek their fortunes elsewhere, are the
salient features. The “murid” (murret) coloured Shetland sheep have now
made way for Scotch intruders; the cattle are from Ayrshire; and English
horses, not “cussers from Lanarkshire,” have taken the place of
shelties. Ducks and geese are everywhere; skarfs and gulls are more
numerous than the speckled cocks and hens; and salt-fish, which here is
not sun-dried, lies piled, as in Iceland, upon the sands.
Much has been said in books[328] about the physical beauty of the
Shetlanders, but neither of us could see it. There is a greater variety
of race than in the islands farther north, but less, as might be
expected, than in the Orkneys and Caithness. The blue eyes are milder
than in Iceland, the long bright locks are the same, but the complexion
is by no means so “pearl and pink”--perhaps its muddiness may result
from peat-water. The blondes, as a rule, wear that faded and colourless
aspect, which especially distinguishes the Slav race. The look is shy
and reserved, and the voice is almost a whisper, as if the speaker were
continually nervous: strangers notice this peculiarity even in society.
_En revanche_, the women appear to be peculiarly industrious. They crowd
Commercial Street during the Monday markets, and even when carrying
their heavy “cassies,” “cassie-cazzies,” or crates of peat, which serve
for “Ronin the Bee,” they spin yarn and knit “tree-ply stockings,”
apparently not intended for their own naked feet. The Wadmel, or
Wadmaal, the North of England Woadmel, here better known as “Shetland
claith,” cannot, however, compare with that of Iceland; the texture is
loose, and the stuff in the shops is evidently meant to sell, not to
last.