A heart that, like the Geyser spring
Amidst its bosom’d snows,
May shrink, not rest,—but with its blood
Boils even in repose.
P. J. BAILEY.
WHETHER Americans will ever have the opportunity of returning any of the
hospitality that the Icelanders extended to one of their countrymen, is
uncertain. At any rate, their guest was made welcome. Mr. Stefan
Thorarensen insisted on presenting me with a fine copy of the poems of
Jonas Hallgrimson, one of the modern poets of Iceland. Perhaps, some day
I’ll translate it into English verse! The pleasantest meetings must have
an end; and, after the sun had passed the meridian, we had our horses
caught, and bade adieu to Hraungerthi. Two hours’ riding brought us to
the ferry of Laugardælir, on the Hvitá, too formidable a stream to ford
at this place, and far larger than I found it above Skalholt, where it
came so near carrying me away. Here we found our clerical-looking friend
who helped make the brandy-toddy disappear at the sysselman’s. He was
the ferryman, his house standing near the bank of the river. Like some
other sanctimonious-looking fellows, he was evidently a pretty hard
case—something of a sinner. No hospitalities in his house; not even a
glass of brandy and water. He was agent for an Iceland newspaper, and
seeing copies of the last number, I offered to purchase one. I took a
copy of the paper, and then held a handful of money towards him, for him
to help himself to the price. There were all sizes and values of Danish
coin down to a skilling, to select from; and, though the price of a
paper was just about one penny sterling, he took a third of a dollar! At
the ferry, he “tried it on” again, but there it didn’t fit. He asked me
a dollar, double the uniform price, for rowing me across, but I gave him
only the customary rate. This was the first little variety that I had
seen in Iceland character; but there are few flocks composed of all
white sheep. When we arrived at the bank of the river, we saw the boat
in the center of the stream, apparently coming towards us, but on the
opposite bank were two or three travelers, vociferating violently to be
taken across. We halloo’d to the boatman furiously, and seeing his
clerical-looking master, he came to us first. A hook was set near the
landing, and honest black-coat drew it up, and found he had hooked a
small trout. A comely, handsome girl came down to the water-side; and
our honest ferry-master told me, a number of times, that she was his
“dottir.” He seemed very proud of her; and well he might, for she was a
strong contrast to himself. If he ever gets to heaven, it will probably
be on her account. The prettiest girl I have seen since leaving England,
was selling flowers in the market, at Hamburg; and the next prettiest
stood bare-headed and bare-footed, in an old brown petticoat, on the
bank of the Hvitá, with a fish in her hand, and her long hair streaming
in the wind.
We had the usual variety in crossing the river. Several of the horses
got loose, and then tried to get into the boat, or overturn it; and some
of them went swimming and floating far down the stream before they
landed. The boat was rowed by the boatman, and the ferry-master in his
“suit of sables.” The master was a regular “lazy;” and I thought the
boatman would, though on the down-stream side, turn the boat round in a
circle. This boatman was the wildest-looking man I ever saw in my life.
He had no hat, coat, nor vest, and his long hair, hanging down on all
sides of his head, made him look like a wild man. He was a picture, and
would have made a subject fit for a Wilkie. He was not a man, though, to
be afraid of; and, in fact, I should rather trust him than his master.
Our journey, to-day, led through a country mostly level meadows and
bogs, with a constant range of hills and mountains on our right. The
same continued evidences of a volcanic region presented themselves, that
we see more or less, all over Iceland.
There was not as much lava, except on the hills, as we found in some
other places; but a constant succession of hot springs. Since crossing
the Thiorsá river, yesterday, we have passed at least six different
localities where the smoke arises from hot and warm springs. We were now
approaching some springs far more celebrated than any we had seen
lately, and perhaps the third in point of interest of any to be found in
Iceland. These springs are known as the Reykir springs, and are visited
by most everybody that comes to Iceland, being but one day’s journey
from Reykjavik, and far easier of access than the Geysers. The Reykir
springs, to be enjoyed, must be seen before visiting the Geysers, as
they are far inferior to their more celebrated spouting brethren in the
north. I was told I should come to these springs after winding round a
range of hills on my right; but we kept “winding round,” and I thought
the springs never would appear. The weather was rainy, and the roads
bad, and though we had but a short journey to-day, I was glad when the
wreaths of smoke announced the day’s travel nearly over. I had here a
hotel of the usual dimensions, and the ordinary sacred character—a small
church, and the poorest I had seen in Iceland. “Frouzly” haired men, and
fat, red-cheeked girls, with large pails of milk, were, as usual, seen
about the farm-house. A bed of down—what all the Icelanders have—and one
of those small and prettily-checked coverlets, the manufacture of the
family, were brought out to the church, and with some dry clothes, hot
water for my tea, and a large bowl of milk, _Nero_ and I were soon fast
by the altar, and enjoying ourselves as much as any two sinners in the
world. Oh! if a man wants to enjoy his loaf, whether it is white bread
or black, and if he wishes sound sleep, either in a church or on the
ground, let him mount a pony every day, and ride in storm and calm,
through bush and bog, brake and brier, and over fields of Iceland lava.
The Reykir springs are nearly a hundred in number, and cover some fifty
acres—a tract nearly as large as the Geysers occupy. These springs also
comprise every variety of hot, warm, spouting, and mud springs. The
springs here that spout, are more regular than the Geysers, but do not
perform on so extensive a scale. They don’t bore with so big an auger;
haven’t the caliber, nor the capital to do business on. They are very
beautiful; but, to be appreciated fully, should be seen before going to
the Geysers. The spouting ones are intermittent, giving their eruptions
at regular periods. I found, by consulting my watch, that the largest
one commenced an eruption once in three hours and sixteen minutes. Each
eruption continues about half an hour. This spring, or Geyser, is like a
well, about five feet in diameter. It has been nearly filled up, by
persons throwing large stones into it. When I arrived, it was not in an
eruption, and down among the stones I could see the hot water, boiling
violently. It was on the top of a rise or knoll of ground, and I could
see that the water had made an aperture, and escaped through the
petrified wall of the well, and appeared on the surface of the ground, a
little way down the knoll, making a fair-sized brook. No water ran over
the top of the well, only when in action.
At the time of an eruption, it rushed suddenly, without any warning,
up through the stones, separating into a great many streams. There it
continued playing beautifully, much like an artificial fountain, for
nearly half an hour. The noise could be heard for half a mile, or more.
The first time it played, after my arrival, was near midnight, after I
had got to sleep. Hearing the roar and rush of water, I was instantly
awakened, and ran to the church window, and looked out. There it was,
throwing up its broad, white, foamy jets, about a quarter of a mile
from me. There being no darkness here, at this season, sights and shows
appear to about as good advantage in the Iceland twilight as in the
noonday sun. I watched it from my window, till it settled down, and
gradually sunk into the earth. I saw it in eruption twice the next
morning, before I left. Its height was scarcely forty feet, but it
would be a grand addition to the artificial fountains and warm baths
in one of our cities. Wonder if the Icelanders would sell it? Guess
not; it is one of the “lions” of the country; and, if their curiosities
were gone, there would be nothing to attract the foreigners here. If a
stretch of the imagination could make a spring movable property, one
would hardly think of carrying off Mount Hekla or Skaptar Jokull. This
Geyser is near the foot of a range of hills, the same as the Geysers
in the north. The brook of hot water from this, ran near half a mile
before it emptied into a cold stream that flowed past. One of the
prettiest fountain-springs in the world is near the bank of this cold
brook, at the foot of a very steep ridge, near half a mile from the
larger Geyser. The basin itself was ten or fifteen feet across, and
shaped some like the half of an oyster, or rather a clam-shell. The
side next the hill was far the deepest, sinking into a kind of well
three or four feet in diameter, where the water came out. The direction
of the well was slanting or diagonal, the opening coming outward from
the hill. The brow of the hill hung partly over the spring, so that in
an eruption the water could not rise perpendicularly, but was forced
out at an angle of thirty or forty degrees with the ground. It did
not throw the water more than ten or twelve feet high, and fifteen
or twenty feet outwardly. This spring makes up for its lack of size
and grandeur, in the frequency of its eruptions, and the beauty of
the incrustations and petrifactions in and around it. All the bottom
of the spring is a mass of petrifaction, and nearly as white as the
purest marble. After an eruption, the water would gradually recede
from the basin, and sink down into the earth, nearly all disappearing,
so that the water could just be seen down the aperture of the spring.
Then it would at once commence rising gradually; and in three or four
minutes it would get to spouting, and continue going till the basin was
full, and run over considerably. After three or four minutes it would
gradually stop, and sink back again. A whole round of performance,
rising up, blowing off, and sinking down again, occupied about fifteen
minutes.
With a hammer that the guide brought me, I broke up some beautiful
incrustations to bring home. The samples of these petrifactions are
not unlike some found in the limestone caves of Virginia and Kentucky.
The mud-springs here are very curious. Some of them are like large
and sputtering cauldrons of black pudding. Again, some of them are
seen gurgling away down in the earth; and, attracted by the noise and
the steam, I would go and look down a hole, and see it sputtering and
boiling, apparently pure clay in a semi-liquid state. The clays here
are very beautiful, and a great variety of colors, as I had found them
at the Geysers. In many places near the springs—particularly near the
mud-springs—the clay is soft and hot, often dangerously so. Visitors
sometimes get into a soft place, and sink into it, getting their feet
and legs dreadfully scalded. In these places it is boiling hot. What
a terrible fate for a man to sink down here out of sight! _Nero_
accompanied me from the house up to the Geyser, and when he came to the
brook of hot water that ran from it, he stopped, and gave a howl. Poor
_Nero_! he knew it was hot, and would scald his feet, and it was too
wide for him to jump it. So I took him up in my arms, and carried him
across. He seemed to appreciate the favor perfectly. The poor dog did
not know but he had escaped being drowned in the rivers, or roasted in
Mount Hekla, to come here and be boiled in the Reykir springs. Good old
_Nero_! many a long league we’ve traveled together, and you have got so
you scarcely know whether you like your Iceland or your Yankee master
best. I rather think you like the one best for the time being, who
gives you the most boiled bacon, and fresh milk.