LAND SIGHTED.
On leaving the choppy 'Pentland Firth,' we now entered on still rougher
waters, encountering an Atlantic swell, caused by the previous storm.
How the ship rolled! Walking on deck became impossible, while sitting in
our deck chairs was nearly as bad, for they threatened to slide from
under us. In despair we sought our berths, but to get into them in such
a sea was a matter of difficulty, which practice in smooth waters had
not taught us. Tuesday evening we bade adieu to the coast of Scotland,
but what a boisterous night followed! Oh, dear! that eternal screw made
sleeping at first impossible; we had not noticed its motion while on
deck, but as soon as we laid our heads on our pillows, its monotonous
noise seemed to grind our very brains. At last fatigue gained the
victory, and I slept for some hours.
A sudden stoppage of the vessel awoke me at last with a start; it was
still dark, but I heard loud talking and running about on deck overhead.
Alarmed I sat up in my berth, and wondered what was the matter. All at
once the screw again revolved and then again stopped, and was once more
in motion. We seemed to be going backward. I knew we were at least one
hundred miles from Scotland, and there was no land nearer.
Wishing to learn what was going on, for in my half-awakened state,
visions of icebergs and collisions rushed through my excited mind, I
hastily summoned the stewardess, and asked what was the matter to cause
such a commotion overhead. I learnt from her that an unusual and almost
fatal event had just occurred. The man at the wheel, suddenly seized
with a suicidal mania, had rushed from his post, possessed himself of
two mops, which were lying on the deck, and putting one under each arm,
with a wild and fiendish shriek had jumped overboard. The captain
immediately stopped the ship and ordered a boat to be lowered; but owing
to the high sea running, some time elapsed before this could be
accomplished, and in the meantime the man had drifted some way from the
vessel, and in the grey morning light his form was barely discernible in
the trough of the waves. Notwithstanding the danger, the moment the boat
was lowered there were no lack of volunteers to man her; but so
persistent was the unfortunate man's resolve to perish, that he eluded
all the efforts of his rescuers to capture him, and every time he was
approached, swam away. The men at the oars had nearly given in,
themselves soaked to the skin, when a cheery call from the captain
urged them on afresh.
It was only when exhaustion and numbness had rendered the poor maniac
unconscious, that the sailors were able to pull him on board in an
almost lifeless condition.
At breakfast time the captain informed us that the man's life had only
been restored by constant rubbing; and that the poor creature seemed so
violent, he had been obliged to have him locked up, probably a case of
temporary insanity, which the captain attributed to the moon! For some
days the poor deluded creature was very violent, and made many efforts
to escape from his confinement. On one occasion he succeeded in getting
half his body through a ventilating hole in his prison, from which he
was extricated with great difficulty. The reason he assigned for jumping
into the sea was that he feared being 'burnt alive,' in the boiler, a
punishment in his aberration he fancied the captain had ordered for him.
As may be supposed, the event caused much excitement on board, at the
same time practically diminishing our crew by two, as one man had
constantly to be told off to look after the madman. His subsequent
career was watched with great interest by those on board. His madness
continued during the whole of the voyage, although sometimes he enjoyed
lucid intervals, during which his chief desire was to sing, and he was
permitted up on deck, when he amused himself by singing sailor ditties
and dancing hornpipes to his heart's content.
At other times his madness assumed a more dangerous form, and he had to
be closely watched, to prevent him taking his own life. Every kindness
was shown him by the captain and ship's officers and my brother attended
him daily. When we reached Leith he was handed over to his relatives,
and was subsequently put into an asylum, where I fear there was little
chance of recovery, as madness was hereditary in his family.
As we steamed on, our voyage became somewhat monotonous, and we longed
for the time to pass when we should reach the first trading port in
Iceland, hoping there to imbibe new food for thought and comment. Our
table was very fair; but a small steamer in a rough sea has many
disadvantages in tempting the appetite. I must say the captain did all
he could to make us comfortable, but he was not accustomed to carry lady
passengers, and as the 'novelty of discomfort' began to wear off, it
rendered us somewhat sensible to its unaccustomed yoke. There was a
small smoking-room on deck, large enough to hold about eight persons,
but which was always filled with smokers. The only other sitting-room
was the saloon, the sofas of which were generally occupied by male
passengers fast asleep, so we ladies had to choose between our berths
and the deck, and we much preferred the latter in all weather, and under
all circumstances.
Our fifth day at sea was one of utter misery. At dinner, despite the
fiddles, the soup was landed in my lap, and a glass of champagne turned
over before I had time to get it to my lips. I struggled through the
meal bravely, and then went up on deck, but found it far too rough to
walk about, while sitting down was only accomplished by holding fast to
some friendly ropes tied near us with that view. About nine o'clock I
sought my berth, but sleep was impossible, as most of my time was spent
in trying to keep within the bounds of my bed, expecting that every
successive lurch would eject me; whilst the port-holes having to be
closed (that greatest of all discomforts in a storm) made the cabin
close and unbearable.
The next morning, everybody had the same night's experience to relate,
whilst the state of disorder our cabins were in, proved that we had not
exaggerated our misery.
After leaving the Faroes on our right, we never sighted land for two
days, nor did we even see a single ship; the one break in the monotony
being the spouting of whales.
Two more days of terrible rolling amid those wild Atlantic breakers,
which, as they washed our decks, seemed to sway the ship to and fro.
Happily the wind was with us during the greater part of our voyage, and
the captain crowded on all sail, making about 10 knots an hour.
[Illustration: Our first view of Iceland. Etched by F.P. Fellows, from a
sketch by the Author, 1888.]
On the Thursday following, we sighted Iceland, and our spirits rose
in proportion as we felt our voyage was nearing its completion. The sea,
too, became calmer, and as we neared the coast the view was truly grand.
At 10.30 P.M. the sun had not yet set, but was shedding its glorious
evening glow over mountains which rose almost perpendicularly from the
sea, and whose snow-clad peaks caught the rosy hues and golden tints of
departing day. It was one of the most beautiful atmospheric effects I
have ever witnessed, doubtless enhanced by the marvellous clearness of
the atmosphere. I knew that Iceland was mountainous in its interior, but
I had no idea that it had such a magnificent coast line, or such
towering snow-capped hills. One thing we made special note of, namely,
that while in the day time the thermometer rarely stood above 42°--10
above freezing point--it was very considerably lower at night, whilst
instead of the damp cold we experienced during the day, at night the air
was dry and frosty; the wind blowing from the north-west, and straight
over the ice of Greenland, accounted for its being so sharp and keen.
It was well we had provided ourselves with furs and wraps of every
possible warmth, for now indeed we required them all. Happily we only
saw field ice in the distance, for had we come into nearer proximity
with it, we should not have been able to pass round the north at all. No
ice actually forms round the coast line, but the sea ice drifts from
Greenland, 100 miles distant, causing the north of the Island to be
impassable, except during two or three months in the year.
The mean temperature of the south of Iceland is 39° F., in the central
district 36° F., while in the north it is rarely above freezing point.
During the winter of '80 and '81, when we were having what we thought
great cold in England, the thermometer in Iceland was standing at 25°
below zero, and polar bears were enjoying their gambols on its northern
shores, having drifted thither on the ice from Greenland.
Iceland lies between N. Lat. 63, 23, 30, and 66, 32; and W. Long. 13,
32, 14, and 24, 34, 14; is 280 miles in length, and 180 to 200 miles in
breadth.
Steaming up the east coast of the Island we breakfasted the next morning
in the Arctic Circle, and what a delight it was to be there, the next
best thing to being at the North Pole itself, and far more comfortable!
We were also now in calm water, so could give vent to our excitement
without fear of consequences. We had indeed had a terrible time of it
since we left Scotland: even the captain acknowledged that the voyage
had been unusually rough.
All that day we continued our course along the north-eastern coast of
Iceland, in constant admiration of the magnificent wild scenery which
broke upon our view. Snow capped-mountains rose almost abruptly from the
sea, down which flowed little glacial rivulets, which emptied
themselves into the briny deep below. Another clear lovely evening, in
which the quaint rocky outlines of the hills were discernible, with
valleys, torrents, and glorious fjords, the whole embracing a panorama
of miles of grand serrated coast line, showing to the greatest advantage
in the curious evening glow.
So calm and beautiful was the scene, that all our party agreed it was
worth a few days' discomfort in order to revel in the beauty of this
bold Icelandic approach. The water was perfectly green, and as clear as
possible, revealing innumerable yellow jelly-fish disporting themselves.
We did not, however, see any of the sharks which are so frequently met
with in these waters.
Entering the 'Oe Fjord' on our way to Akureyri, a small town lying some
thirty miles from its mouth, as the evening lights shed their rich
varied hues on all around, it was difficult to believe we could really
be, after only a week's absence from home, so far north as the Arctic
Circle, the more so as the rich warm colouring of the landscape
resembled rather some southern clime.
We anchored off Akureyri at about eleven P.M., still in broad daylight,
and I could read the smallest print at that hour without any difficulty,
so short is the twilight of an Arctic summer. Real night there is none.
This latter fact is most convenient for travellers, for being benighted
in their explorations is an impossibility. If, however, the Icelanders
enjoy this prolonged daylight during their brief summer, how painful
must be the reverse during the long winter, when they have but a few
hours of daylight.
We were told an amusing story of an enterprising merchant from Glasgow,
who, wishing to impress the Icelanders with the advantage of the
electric light to cheer their long winter's darkness, went to Reykjavik
in his large steam yacht, sending forth a proclamation inviting the
natives to come and behold this scientific wonder. It was August, and he
had not taken into consideration the fact that during that month there
is no night in the Island, consequently his display was totally
ineffectual!
After breakfast, a boat came alongside our steamer to convey us to the
town. Off we went in a high state of pardonable excitement. All past
discomfort was forgotten; we were about to set our feet on that _terra
incognita_ to most Europeans, viz., 'Iceland,' whose high mountain
masses, varying in altitude from 3000 to 6800 feet, are, for the greater
part of the year, covered with snow.
But before we land, let me describe the boat; large, of course, or it
would never be able to stand the rough waters of the fjords, which, we
were told, were often so turbulent as to render any communication with
ships at sea impossible. Both ends of the boat are made alike,
resembling two bows; our boat had neither rudder nor stern, and
required three men to handle each oar, one facing the other two, and all
three pulling simultaneously. Sometimes the men stood up, their combined
strength being thus apparently more effective in pulling through the
rough sea which surrounded the Island. The oars were very thick at the
rowlock, tapering off to an almost straight blade, not more than five
inches wide. The men pulled well, and soon landed us amid the curious
gaze of the inhabitants of the town, who had crowded down to the beach
as soon as our steamer came in sight.
[Illustration: AKUREYRI (SHOWING LARGEST TREES IN ICELAND).]
The first thing that struck us on landing was the sad, dejected look of
the men and women who surrounded us. There was neither life nor interest
depicted on their faces, nothing but stolid indifference. This apathy is
no doubt caused by the hard lives these people live, the intense cold
they have to endure, and the absence of variety in their every-day
existence. What a contrast their faces afforded to the bright colouring
and smiling looks one meets with in the sunny South.
The Icelanders enjoy but little sun, and we know ourselves, in its
absence, how sombre existence becomes. Their complexions too, were very
sallow, and their deportment struck us as sadly sober. A few of the
women might possibly have been called pretty, notably two of their
number, who possessed clear pale skins, good features, blue eyes, and
lovely fair hair, which they wore braided in two long plaits, turned up,
forming two loops crossed on the crown of the head. These braids were
surmounted by a quaint little black silk knitted cap, fitting close to
the skull like an inverted saucer, and secured to the head by silver
pins.
Hanging from this cap is a thick black silk tassel, from some six to ten
inches long, which passes at the top through a silver tube, often of
very pretty workmanship. I tried on one of these caps, and came to the
conclusion that it was very becoming; thereon my vanity made me offer to
purchase it, but as its owner asked twelve shillings, I declined to buy
it, and afterwards procured one for half the sum in Reykjavik.
The bodices of the women's costumes are pretty, bound round two inches
deep with black velvet, joined at the neck and waist with silver
buckles; the bust is left open, showing a white linen shirt, sometimes
ornamented with the finest embroidery; the skirt is short and full, and
made of dark cloth.
[Illustration: A NATIVE WOMAN. _Page 34._]
The men were of low stature, and broadly built, and wore fur caps and
vests, with huge mufflers round their throats. These latter, we
observed, were mostly of a saffron colour, which, combined with their
fur caps, tawny beards, and long locks, gave them a very quaint
appearance. Men, women, and children alike wore skin shoes, made from
the skin of the sheep or seal, cut out and sewn together to the shape of
the foot, and pointed at the toe. These shoes are tied to their feet by
a string made of gut, and lined merely with a piece of flannel or
serge, a most extraordinary covering in a country so rocky as Iceland,
where at every step sharp stones, or fragments of lava, are encountered.
Mocassins are also sometimes worn. The Icelanders, however, do not seem
to mind any obstacles, but run and leap on or over them in their 'skin
skurs' as though impervious to feeling. Later on we saw a higher class
of Icelanders wearing fishermen's boots, but such luxuries were unknown
in the little town where we first landed. The men being short of
stature, in their curious kit much resembled Esquimaux.
The double-thumbed gloves worn were likewise a curiosity to us. These
gloves have no fingers, but are made like a baby's glove, with a thumb
at each side; and when rowing or at other hard work if the man wears out
the palm of his glove, he simply reverses it and makes use of the other
thumb. These gloves are generally knitted of grey wool, the thumbs being
white, and resemble at a distance a rabbit's head with long ears. An
Icelander always wears gloves, whether rowing, riding, fishing, washing,
or sewing.
In ascertaining the number of days in a month we English people are
accustomed to repeat a rhyme: the Icelander has a different mode of
calculation. He closes his fist, calls his first knuckle January, the
depression before the next knuckle February, when he arrives at the end,
beginning again; thus the months that fall upon the knuckles, are those
containing thirty-one days, a somewhat ingenious mode of assisting the
memory.
In our short trip to the Island, except on our visits to the geysers,
which occupied four days, we invariably slept and dined on board the
_Camoens_, making use of the time the steamer remained in each port to
lionise the little towns we touched at, and to make such excursions into
the interior as time permitted. In fact, except in the capital, there is
not a really good hotel to be met with, although primitive accommodation
may be found in the peasant dwellings and small hostelries.
[Illustration: THE FERRY BOAT.]