VESTMANNAEYJAR
“Here, by each stormy peak and desert shore,
The hardy isleman tugs the daring oar,
Practiced alike his venturous course to keep,
Through the white breakers or the pathless deep.”
—_Scott._
These islands are named for the Irish slaves, formerly called Westmen,
who are reported to have fled to this desolate pile in 879. For centuries
it was the resort of piratical expeditions from England and from far-away
Barbary. The first recorded attack was made by an English crew under the
command of “Gentleman John.” Three years afterwards the church property
was restored by King James, and John was severely punished.
The greatest raid was made in 1627. Barbary pirates were planning an
expedition for plunder. One of them held a Danish slave by the name of
Paul, who was tired of his life of servitude and counseled his master to
make an expedition to Iceland. He stated that he had been there and could
pilot them and that they could obtain a large profit in sheep and church
valuables as well as many slaves. The expedition was decided upon and
for his treachery he was to receive his freedom. The flotilla comprised
four ships, one sailing from _Kyle_ and three from Algiers. June 15 1627
the ship from _Kyle_ reached _Grimdavik_, Iceland. They ransacked the
village and took several prisoners. The people mistook the pirates for
English fishermen, who had long been in the habit of landing on the coast
to steal a few sheep, and so did not flee. The Moors captured a Danish
trading vessel and then sailed to _Hafnarfjörðr_. After raiding this
settlement they sailed for _Kyle_, which they reached in five weeks from
their departure. Their prisoners were sold in the slave market.
The three ships from Algiers reached _Berufjörðr_ and thoroughly sacked
the town. They remained on the Iceland coast eight days, captured one
hundred and ten people and secured a large amount of booty from the
treasure chests of the people and the churches. They were extremely cruel
with the older people but quite kind to the children, hoping to convert
them to the faith of Mohammed. To illustrate,—
At _Hál_ they found the priest’s wife, an aged woman, confined to the
bed with sickness. They dragged her down to the shore, but finding her
physically unable to go with them, beat her into an unconscious state
with their muskets, a condition much to be preferred to that in which so
many of her people found themselves in Moorish slavery.
They next set sail for the Westman Isles. They pressed into service an
Icelandic renegade who had acted as pilot for English fishing boats.
At this time the population of _Heimaey_ was of two classes; first,
Icelandic fishermen and birdcatchers and second, a small Colony of Danish
officials and their servants. The Icelanders so mistrusted the Danes that
they fled to the cliffs rather than assist them to repel the invaders.
The Danish agent, Bagge, armed his assistants and prepared as best he
could for defense, posting sentinels around the island.
Early in the morning Thorstein showed the pirates a secret path up the
face of the cliffs at the south, which they ascended and spread out their
damp powder to dry. During this time they danced and yelled in fiendish
glee looking down upon their helpless victims. The raiders then divided
into three bands and thoroughly ransacked the village. They looted the
church and in mockery rang the bells, arrayed themselves in the vestments
of the priest and finally burned the church. The people fled to the
several caves in the tufa, many were murdered while in flight and others
captured and bound. For three days one hundred people hid in one of these
caves which is so concealed that it is with difficulty that it can be
found.
Jon Thorstein, the first translator of the Psalms into Icelandic verse, a
priest, since called “the Martyr,” took refuge in a small cave with his
family where he doubtless would have been saved had it not been for the
curiosity of a companion who ventured to the entrance and exposed himself
and thus attracted the attention of the pirates. The following account is
from the history of Björn of _Scandsá_:—
“The priest went to the outer part of the cave, where he saw that blood
ran in the opening; and then he hied him out, and saw that Snorri lay
headless at the door of the cave: for the raiders had shot off his head,
and he had been to them a signal for the cave. Then Jon went within again
telling this hap; and he bade his folks beseech Almighty God to succor
them. Forthwith thereafter these noisy hounds stood over the cave, so
that he heard their footfall.
“‘Margrjet, they are coming,’ he said, ‘Lo, I will go to meet them
without fear!’
“He prayed that God’s grace might not leave her. But while the words were
in the saying, the bloodthirsty hounds came to the cave’s mouth and would
search it, but the priest went out to meet them. Now when they saw him,
one of them said,” (doubtless the renegade, Thorstein),—
“‘Why art thou here, Sira Jon? Ought’st not to be at home in thy church?’
The priest answered—
“‘I was there this morning.’ Then said the murderer,
“‘Thou wilt not be there to-morrow morning.’ And thereafter he cut him on
the head to the bone. The priest stretched out his hands and said,—
“‘I commit me to my God. That thou doest do freely!’ The wretch then
struck him another blow. At this he cried out saying,—
“‘I commit me to my Lord Jesus Christ.’
“Then Margrjet, the priest’s wife, cast herself at the feet of the
tyrant, and clung to them, thinking that his heart might be softened, but
there was no pity in these monsters. Then the scoundrel struck a third
blow. The priest said,—
“‘That is enough. Lord Jesus receive my soul!’ Then the foul man cleft
his skull asunder. Thus he lost his life.
“There was a little rift higher up in the cliff than where these folk
lay, and two women saw and heard all these things.”
Nearly four hundred Icelanders were carried to the Algerian slave markets
where most of them speedily succumbed to the cruelty of their masters and
the hot climate. Of the many carried away only thirteen ever returned to
their native land.
When _Herjölfr_ settled in the Westman islands, legend relates that he
buried a large amount of gold, part of which he obtained in his Viking
expeditions to the English Channel and the remainder by selling the water
of the only spring on _Heimaey_. His daughter, Vilborg, in true charity
and by stealth, distributed the water to poor people in times of drought.
The residents of the island delight to show the niche in the tufa where
_Herjölfr_ stabled his horses. The only spring on _Heimaey_ to this day
is called Vilpá in memory of the maiden. Her father with all his wealth
was buried during an earthquake and the inhabitants, when they have
nothing else to do, delight in searching for the hidden treasure which
the leader of the pirates, Morad, failed to find.
The Westman Isles are fourteen in number and lie seven miles off the
south coast of Iceland. Four of these are entirely barren, sea-washed
and storm-beaten, affording admirable nesting places for sea birds.
The strait which separates them from the mainland is shallow, beset
with shoals and hidden reefs and contains several treacherous currents.
The mainland shore, the _Rangar Sands_, has a broad morass of drifting
volcanic sand, upon which heavy waves continually break, rendering it
nearly impossible to launch or beach a boat. Thus the Westman Isles are
isolated much more than the narrow strait would indicate.
Until within a few years the children born on _Heimaey_ have always
died within two weeks of birth with infantile tetanus. It was formerly
the custom for prospective mothers to visit the mainland to save their
children from this dread disease. Improved sanitary conditions and
scientific medical treatment have lately made this customary precaution
unnecessary. Formerly the inhabitants were recruited by residents of the
north of Iceland.
_Heimaey_, the “Home Island,” has an area of only four square miles and a
population of less than one thousand. The village is on the northern side
of the island, on the south shore of a little bay, under the bird cliffs
which afford a harbor for small craft and then only in calm weather. This
little bay is separated from the strait by the grand bird cliffs 2000
feet high, which are attached to the island by a narrow rim of volcanic
sand. A solitary cone, _Helgafell_, with a black crater stands at the
center of the island and _Heimaey_ clings to the lower slope of the
volcano, apparently ready to loose its grip and slip into the sea. The
land slopes gently upward to the cone of cinder, tufa, and ash. The lower
slopes are covered with a scanty carpet of grass freely sprinkled with
flowers, where uncertain pasturage invites the sheep and forms a strong
contrast to the red and black cone which rises naked against sea and sky.
The remainder of the island is a rough and jagged mass of lava, partly
disintegrated into a desolate moor and partly storm-swept to the very
ribs of the island. No brook chatters in the dark ravines, no trees
shadow the sheep from summer’s long sunshine. Wherever the lava has
crumbled to mingle with the droppings of uncounted generations of
seabirds, the grass is emerald green as if in memory of the first
settlers from the Emerald Isle. The climate is mild and enjoys the
highest mean temperature in all Iceland. For centuries the people have
had to depend upon their own resources. In recent years they have
obtained supplies from Europe in exchange for oil, fish and feathers.
The houses, for the most part, are tidy little homes often with a little
patch of carefully guarded cultivation. At the rear of the village stands
the modest parish church, containing a good altar piece painted upon
wood. Beside the church is the cemetery enclosed with a wall of lava and
turf. The graves are mounds raised high above the level of the land,
because the lava is so near the surface that to dig a grave is impossible
and dirt is carried to the cemetery to form the mounds.
Excavations made in the volcanic sand in 1910 by Baron Klinckowström
of Stockholm help to fix the date of the last eruption of the volcano.
In the sand and ash he found evidences of a former people, a comb of
ancient Scandinavian construction and the bones of the seal and sheep.
One great volcano formerly covered this entire area and poured out ashes
and cinder all around it. This material has since solidified into tufa
and much of the tufa has been worn away, leaving many solid columns of
the original lava core, which stand isolated in the sea. Then came the
second eruption when the crater of _Helgafell_ was formed. The references
given in the Landámabók and the exhumed material fix the date of this
eruption subsequent to the settlement of the island by the Irish slaves.
The tufa itself is very hard for this class of volcanic rock. It is
weathered in fantastic forms with myriads of niches and contains several
sea caves. One of these is so large that we entered it in a thirty foot
naptha launch and turned about within. The view from within is strange
and impressive. The deep azure of the waters, the light brown tufa dome,
the dark cone of _Helgafell_ rising above the village and the clouds of
sea birds shadowing the entrance to the cave and filling the air with a
resounding clangor on our exit made a mark on memory’s tablet never to be
effaced.
The most interesting occupation in _Heimaey_ is bird catching. Of course
the fish curing is worthy of attention, but then it is much the same
whether we see it on the drear coast of Labrador, the green slopes of
the Faroes, the lava blocks of Iceland or the wood stages of Gloucester.
With the inhabitants of this volcanic pile it is not only a business
it is a pleasure and an art which has culminated with generations of
experience. The fulmar, puffin and guillemot are the principal birds
taken. Throughout the summer the raucid clamor of the fulmars on the face
of the cliffs mingles with the complaints of the puffins which stand in
long rows like lines of soldiers, and the guillemots scan each other
sagely from their captured niches in the tufa. These mammoth cliffs are
riddled with holes and cracks and ornamented with narrow, projecting
ledges. Above the cliffs there is an abundance of loose material where
the shearwaters and puffins excavate their burrows.
[Illustration: _Helgafell, Volcanic Cone in Vestmannaeyjar._
_A Chain of Basalt Pyramids in Faroe._]
The cliffs are the property of the Danish Crown and are rented annually
in sections at a price ranging from sixty to seventy-five dollars. The
laws governing bird catching are well defined and strict. The season and
method of capture of each species is explicitly stated. A gun can never
be used under any circumstances. No act can be committed which would in
the least disturb the birds. The eider duck can never be killed except by
a man who can prove that he was actually starving with no other means of
procuring food. But above all the laws and rendering laws unnecessary is
a sound public opinion.
All the birds are very tame. Tens of thousands of puffins sit upright
along the tops of the crags, many of them still holding rows of little
fishes in their great beaks. The catchers station themselves at definite
intervals along the cliffs and catch them in a net as they fly past.
Their necks are broken with a sudden twist as the net is unloaded and the
birds left in piles along the ground or thrown to the bottom of the cliff
to be gathered by the boys and women who pluck them. The breast is used
for food. The remainder of the birds are strung on long lines and hung
upon the fences or festooned from the gables of the houses to dry and to
furnish fuel. A single puffin is worth when first captured about a cent
and a half. The down is sold at the trader’s store for thirteen cents per
pound. About 40,000 puffins are taken on these cliffs each season.
The fulmar is nearly as important as the puffin. About 30,000
are captured during the open season. The fulmar, “foul-gull,” is
appropriately named. When captured or disturbed it spits a large quantity
of oily fluid, rank with the odor of putrid fish. These birds are taken
by the simple act of knocking them over with a club. Several men usually
work in unison. One man has a long rope fastened to his waist and then
twisted around each thigh. Suspended in the air, or with his feet against
the face of the cliff he ascends or descends the sides of the rock,
kicking himself outward. The rope is managed by three or four men at the
top of the cliff and sometimes secured by an iron ring fastened in the
rock.
The fulmars are plucked, the heads and wings cut off, the body split
open, the interior fat cleaned out, and then the birds are either smoked
or packed in salt for winter use. The fat is boiled down to a thick oil,
spiced and used as a substitute for butter. Ten fulmars will yield a
liter of oil. The oil is used in the native lamps. The entrails, heads,
wings and legs are dried and used for fuel. It is so difficult to free
the feathers from the oil that they are of little value. When thoroughly
cleaned they are worth only twelve cents per pound. The birds themselves
when cured are worth four cents each.
Nearly a thousand gannets, Solon Goose, are taken in these islands each
year. Why it is called the “Solon” is not known. It is possible that it
really possesses wisdom in excess of other geese. Scientifically it is
not a real goose. A great many kittiwakes and guillemots are captured
though the total value is much less than the above mentioned birds.
The young men of _Heimaey_ capture the stormy petrels alive for the
purpose of playing jokes with them. The birds give a sound similar to the
purring of a cat. Several of them are let loose in the night in the house
of the person on whom the joke is to be played. The birds dart about the
house in a lively manner and give their cry of alarm which is weird and
uncanny. It produces the desired effect upon the sleeper as he awakens.
We steamed away from _Heimaey_, passed between _Fuglasker_ and
_Reykjaness_ where steam was rising from numerous hot springs and at
seven in the morning, having crossed _Faxafjörðr_, dropped anchor in the
stream before the still slumbering city of _Reykjavik_.