ICELAND.
Volcanic Origin of the Island.--The Klofa Jökul.--Lava-streams.--
The Burning Mountains of Krisuvik.--The Mud-caldrons of
Reykjahlid.--The Tungo-hver at Reykholt.--The Great Geysir.--
The Strokkr.--Crystal Pools.--The Almannagja.--The
Surts-hellir.--Beautiful Ice-cave.--The Gotha Foss.--The
Detti Foss.--Climate.--Vegetation.--Cattle.--Barbarous Mode
of Sheep-shearing.--Reindeer.--Polar Bears.--Birds.--The
Eider-duck.--Videy.--Vigr.--The Wild Swan.--The Raven.--
The Jerfalcon.--The Giant auk, or Geirfugl.--Fish.--Fishing
Season.--The White Shark.--Mineral Kingdom.--Sulphur.--Peat.--
Drift-wood.
Iceland might as well be called Fireland, for all its 40,000 square
miles have originally been upheaved from the depths of the waters
by volcanic power. First, at some immeasurably distant period of
the world’s history, the small nucleus of the future island began
to struggle into existence against the superincumbent weight of the
ocean; then, in the course of ages, cone rose after cone, crater was
formed after crater, eruption followed on eruption, and lava-stream
on lava-stream, until finally the Iceland of the present day was
piled up with her gigantic “jökuls,” or ice-mountains, and her vast
promontories, stretching like huge buttresses far out into the sea.
In winter, when an almost perpetual night covers the wastes of this
fire-born land, and the waves of a stormy ocean thunder against its
shores, imagination can hardly picture a more desolate scene; but in
summer the rugged nature of Iceland invests itself with many a charm.
Then the eye reposes with delight on green valleys and crystal lakes,
on the purple hills or snow-capped mountains rising in Alpine grandeur
above the distant horizon, and the stranger might almost be tempted to
exclaim with her patriotic sons, “Iceland is the best land under the
sun.” That it is one of the most interesting--through its history, its
inhabitants, and, above all, its natural curiosities--no one can doubt.
It has all that can please and fascinate the poet, the artist, the
geologist, or the historian; the prosaic utilitarian alone, accustomed
to value a country merely by its productions, might turn with some
contempt from a land without corn, without forests, without mineral
riches, and covered for about two-thirds of its surface with bogs,
lava-wastes, and glaciers.
The curse of sterility rests chiefly on the south-eastern and central
parts of the island. Here nothing is to be seen but deserts of
volcanic stone or immense ice-fields, the largest of which--the Klofa
Jökul--alone extends over more than 4000 square miles. The interior of
this vast region of névè and glacier is totally unknown. The highest
peaks, the most dreadful volcanoes of the island, rise on the southern
and south-western borders of this hitherto inaccessible waste; the
Oraefa looking down from a height of 6000 feet upon all its rivals--the
Skaptar, a name of dreadful significance in the annals of Iceland,
and farther on, like the advanced guards of this host of slumbering
fires, the Katla, the Myrdal, the Eyjafjalla, and the Hecla, the most
renowned, though not the most terrible, of all the volcanoes of Iceland.
As the ice-fields of this northern island far surpass in magnitude
those of the Alps, so also the lava-streams of Ætna or Vesuvius are
insignificant when compared with the enormous masses of molten stone
which at various periods have issued from the craters of Iceland. From
Mount Skjaldebreith, on both sides of the lake of Thingvalla as far as
Cape Reykjanes, the traveller sees an uninterrupted lava-field more
than sixty miles long, and frequently from twelve to fifteen broad; and
lava-streams of still more gigantic proportions exist in many other
parts of the island, particularly in the interior. In general, these
lava-streams have cooled down into the most fantastic forms imaginable.
“It is hardly possible,” says Mr. Holland, “to give any idea of the
general appearance of these once molten masses. Here a great crag
has toppled over into some deep crevasse, there a huge mass has been
upheaved above the fiery stream which has seethed and boiled around its
base. Here is every shape and figure that sculpture could design or
imagination picture, jumbled together in grotesque confusion, whilst
everywhere myriads of horrid spikes and sharp shapeless irregularities
bristle amidst them.”
By the eruptions of the Icelandic volcanoes many a fair meadow-land has
been converted into a stony wilderness; but if the subterranean fires
have frequently brought ruin and desolation over the island, they have
also endowed it with many natural wonders.
In the “burning mountains” of Krisuvik, on the south-western coast, a
whole hill-slope, with a deep narrow gorge at its foot, is covered with
innumerable boiling springs and fumaroles, whose dense exhalations,
spreading an intolerable stench, issue out of the earth with a hissing
noise, and completely hide the view.
[Illustration: 40. EFFIGY IN LAVA.]
The Námar, or boiling mud-caldrons of Reykjahlid, situated among a
range of mountains near the Myvatn (Gnat-Lake), in one of the most
solitary spots in the north of the island, on the border of enormous
lava-fields and of a vast unknown wilderness, exhibit volcanic power
on a still more gigantic scale. There are no less than twelve of these
seething pits, all filled with a disgusting thick slimy gray or black
liquid, boiling or simmering with greater or less vehemence, and
emitting dense volumes of steam strongly impregnated with sulphurous
gases. Some sputter furiously, scattering their contents on every side,
while in others the muddy soup appears too thick to boil, and after
remaining quiescent for about half a minute, rises up a few inches
in the centre of the basin, emits a puff of steam, and then subsides
into its former state. The diameter of the largest of all the pits can
not be less than fifteen feet; and it is a sort of mud Geysir, for
at intervals a column of its black liquid contents, accompanied with
a violent rush of steam, is thrown up to the height of six or eight
feet. Professor Sartorius von Waltershausen, one of the few travellers
who have visited this remarkable spot, says that the witches in
_Macbeth_ could not possibly have desired a more fitting place for the
preparation of their infernal gruel than the mud-caldrons of Reykjahlid.
Among the hot or boiling springs of Iceland, which in hundreds of
places gush forth at the foot of the mountains, some are of a gentle
and even flow, and can be used for bathing, washing, or boiling, while
others of an intermittent nature are mere objects of curiosity or
wonder. One of the most remarkable of the latter is the Tungo-hver,
at Reykholt, in the “valley of smoke,” thus named from the columns of
vapor emitted by the thermal springs which are here scattered about
with a lavish hand. It consists of two fountains within a yard of each
other--the larger one vomiting a column of boiling water ten feet
high for the space of about four minutes, when it entirely subsides,
and then the smaller one operates for about three minutes, ejecting a
column of about five feet. The alternation is perfectly regular in time
and force, and there are authentic accounts of its unfailing exactitude
for the last hundred years.
But of all the springs and fountains of Iceland there is none to equal,
either in grandeur or renown, the Great Geysir, which is not merely
one of the curiosities of the country, but one of the wonders of the
earth, as there is nothing to compare to it in any other part of the
world.
At the foot of the Laugafjall hill, in a green plain, through which
several rivers meander like threads of silver, and where chains
of dark-colored mountains, overtopped here and there by distant
snow-peaks, form a grand but melancholy panorama, dense volumes of
steam indicate from afar the site of a whole system of thermal springs
congregated on a small piece of ground which does not exceed twelve
acres. In any other spot, the smallest of these boiling fountains would
arrest the traveller’s attention, but here his whole mind is absorbed
by the Great Geysir. In the course of countless ages this monarch
of springs has formed, out of the silica it deposits, a mound which
rises to about thirty feet above the general surface of the plain, and
slopes on all sides to the distance of a hundred feet or thereabouts
from the border of a large circular basin situated in its centre, and
measuring about fifty-six feet in the greatest diameter and fifty-two
feet in the narrowest. In the middle of this basin, forming as it were
a gigantic funnel, there is a pipe or tube, which at its opening in the
basin is eighteen or sixteen feet in diameter, but narrows considerably
at a little distance from the mouth, and then appears to be not more
than ten or twelve feet in diameter. It has been probed to a depth
of seventy feet, but it is more than probable that hidden channels
ramify farther into the bowels of the earth. The sides of the tube are
smoothly polished, and so hard that it is not possible to strike off a
piece of it with a hammer.
Generally the whole basin is found filled up to the brim with sea-green
water as pure as crystal, and of a temperature of from 180° to 190°.
Astonished at the placid tranquillity of the pool, the traveller can
hardly believe that he is really standing on the brink of the far-famed
Geysir; but suddenly a subterranean thunder is heard, the ground
trembles under his feet, the water in the basin begins to simmer, and
large bubbles of steam rise from the tube and burst on reaching the
surface, throwing up small jets of spray to the height of several
feet. Every instant he expects to witness the grand spectacle which
has chiefly induced him to visit this northern land, but soon the
basin becomes tranquil as before, and the dense vapors produced by
the ebullition are wafted away by the breeze. These smaller eruptions
are regularly repeated every eighty or ninety minutes, but frequently
the traveller is obliged to wait a whole day, or even longer, before
he sees the whole power of the Geysir. A detonation louder than
usual precedes one of these grand eruptions; the water in the basin
is violently agitated; the tube boils vehemently; and suddenly a
magnificent column of water, clothed in vapor of a dazzling whiteness,
shoots up into the air with immense impetuosity and noise to the height
of seventy or eighty feet, and, radiating at its apex, showers water
and steam in every direction. A second eruption and a third rapidly
follow, and after a few minutes the fairy spectacle has passed away
like a fantastic vision. The basin is now completely dried up, and on
looking down into the shaft, one is astonished to see the water about
six feet from the rim, and as tranquil as in an ordinary well. After
about thirty or forty minutes it again begins to rise, and after a few
hours reaches the brim of the basin, whence it flows down the slope
of the mound into the Hvita, or White River. Soon the subterraneous
thunder, the shaking of the ground, the simmering above the tube, and
the other phenomena which attend each minor eruption, begin again,
to be followed by a new period of rest, and thus this wonderful
play of nature goes on day after day, year after year, and century
after century. The mound of the Geysir bears witness to its immense
antiquity, as its water contains but a minute portion of silica.
[Illustration: 41. THE STROKKR.]
After the Geysir, the most remarkable fountain of these Phlegræan
fields is the great Strokkr, situated about four hundred feet from
the former. Its tube, the margin of which is almost even with the
general surface, the small mound and basin being hardly discernible,
is funnel-shaped, or resembling the flower of a convolvulus, having a
depth of forty-eight feet, and a diameter of six feet at the mouth, but
contracting, at twenty-two feet from the bottom, to only eleven inches.
The water stands from nine to twelve feet under the brim, and is
generally in violent ebullition. A short time before the beginning of
the eruptions, which are more frequent than those of the Great Geysir,
an enormous mass of steam rushes from the tube, and is followed by a
rapid succession of jets, sometimes rising to the height of 120 or 150
feet, and dissolving into silvery mist. A peculiarity of the Strokkr
is that it can at any time be provoked to an eruption by throwing into
the orifice large masses of peat or turf; thus choking the shaft, and
preventing the free escape of the steam. After the lapse of about ten
minutes, the boiling fluid, as if indignant at this attempt upon its
liberty, heaves up a column of mud and water, with fragments of peat,
as black as ink.
About 150 paces from the Great Geysir are several pools of the most
beautifully clear water, tinting with every shade of the purest green
and blue the fantastical forms of the silicious travertin which
clothes their sides. The slightest motion communicated to the surface
quivers down to the bottom of these crystal grottoes, and imparts what
might be called a sympathetic tremor of the water to every delicate
incrustation and plant-like efflorescence. “Aladdin’s Cave could not
be more beautiful,” says Preyer; and Mr. Holland remarks that neither
description nor drawing is capable of giving a sufficient idea of the
singularity and loveliness of this spot. In many places it is dangerous
to approach within several feet of the margin, as the earth overhangs
the water, and is hollow underneath, supported only by incrustations
scarcely a foot thick. A plunge into waters of about 200° would be
paying rather too dearly for the contemplation of their fairy-like
beauty.
[Illustration: 42. ENTRANCE TO THE ALMANNAGJA.]
The gigantic chasm of the Almannagja is another of the volcanic wonders
of Iceland. After a long and tedious ride over the vast lava-plain
which extends between the Skalafell and the lake of Thingvalla, the
traveller suddenly finds himself arrested in his path by an apparently
insurmountable obstacle, for the enormous Almannagja, or Allman’s
Rift, suddenly gapes beneath his feet--a colossal rent extending above
a mile in length, and inclosed on both sides by abrupt walls of black
lava, frequently upward of a hundred feet high, and separated from
about fifty to seventy feet from each other.
[Illustration: 43. THE ALMANNAGJA.]
A corresponding chasm, but of inferior dimensions, the Hrafnagja,
or Raven’s Rift, opens its black rampart to the east, about eight
miles farther on; and both form the boundaries of the verdant plain
of Thingvalla, which by a grand convulsion of nature has itself been
shattered into innumerable small parallel crevices and fissures fifty
or sixty feet deep.
[Illustration: 44. THE HRAFNAGJA.]
Of the Hrafnagja Mr. Ross Browne says: “A toilsome ride of eight miles
brought us to the edge of the Pass, which in point of rugged grandeur
far surpasses the Almannagja, though it lacks the extent and symmetry
which give the latter such a remarkable effect. Here was a tremendous
gap in the earth, over a hundred feet deep, hacked and shivered into
a thousand fantastic shapes; the sides a succession of the wildest
accidents; the bottom a chaos of broken lava, all tossed about in
the most terrific confusion. It is not, however, the extraordinary
desolation of the scene that constitutes its principal interest. The
resistless power which had rent the great lava-bed asunder, as if
touched with pity at the ruin, had also flung from the tottering cliffs
a causeway across the gap, which now forms the only means of passing
over the great Hrafnagja. No human hands could have created such a
colossal work as this; the imagination is lost in its massive grandeur;
and when we reflect that miles of an almost impassable country would
otherwise have to be traversed in order to reach the opposite side
of the gap, the conclusion is irresistible that in the battle of the
elements Nature still had a kindly remembrance of man.
[Illustration: 45. THE TINTRON ROCK.]
“Five or six miles beyond the Hrafnagja, near the summit of a dividing
ridge, we came upon a very singular volcanic formation, called the
Tintron. It stands, a little to the right of the trail, on a rise of
scoria and burnt earth, from which it juts up in rugged relief to the
height of twenty or thirty feet. This is, strictly speaking, a huge
clinker, not unlike what comes out of a grate--hard, glassy in spots,
and scraggy all over. The top part is shaped like a shell; in the
centre is a hole about three feet in diameter, which opens into a vast
subterranean cavity of unknown depth. Whether the Tintron is an extinct
crater, through which fires shot out of the earth in by-gone times, or
an isolated mass of lava, whirled through the air out of some distant
volcano, is a question that geologists must determine. The probability
is that it is one of those natural curiosities so common in Iceland
which defy research. The whole country is full of anomalies--bogs where
one would expect to find dry land, and parched deserts where it would
not seem strange to see bogs; fire where water ought to be, and water
in the place of fire.”
[Illustration: 46. FALL OF THE OXERAA.]
“Ages ago,” says Lord Dufferin, “some vast commotion shook the
foundations of the island; and bubbling up from sources far away amid
the inland hills, a fiery deluge must have rushed down between their
ridges, until, escaping from the narrower gorges, it found space to
spread itself into one broad sheet of molten stone over an entire
district of country, reducing its varied surface to one vast blackened
level. One of two things then occurred: either, the vitrified mass
contracting as it cooled, the centre area of fifty square miles (the
present plain of Thingvalla) burst asunder at either side from the
adjoining plateau, and sinking down to its present level, left two
parallel gjas, or chasms, which form its lateral boundaries, to mark
the limits of the disruption; or else, while the pith or marrow of the
lava was still in a fluid state, its upper surface became solid, and
formed a roof, beneath which the molten stream flowed on to lower
levels, leaving a vast cavern into which the upper crust subsequently
plumped down.” In the lapse of years, the bottom of the Almannagja
has become gradually filled up to an even surface, covered with the
most beautiful turf, except where the river Oxeraa, bounding in a
magnificent cataract from the higher plateau over the precipice, flows
for a certain distance between its walls. At the foot of the fall the
waters linger for a moment in a dark, deep, brimming pool, hemmed in
by a circle of ruined rocks, in which anciently all women convicted of
capital crimes were immediately drowned. Many a poor crone, accused of
witchcraft, has thus ended her days in the Almannagja. As may easily be
imagined, it is rather a nerve-trying task to descend into the chasm
over a rugged lava-slope, where the least false step may prove fatal;
but the Icelandic horses are so sure-footed that they can safely be
trusted. From the bottom it is easy to distinguish on the one face
marks and formations exactly corresponding, though at a different
level, with those on the face opposite, and evidently showing that they
once had dovetailed into each other, before the igneous mass was rent
asunder.
Two leagues from Kalmanstunga, in an immense lava-field, which probably
originated in the Bald Jökul, are situated the renowned Surts-hellir,
or caves of Surtur, the prince of darkness and fire of the ancient
Scandinavian mythology. The principal entrance to the caves is an
extensive chasm formed by the falling in of a part of the lava-roof;
so that, on descending into it, the visitor finds himself right in the
mouth of the main cavern, which runs in an almost straight line, and
is nearly a mile in length. Its average height is about forty, and its
breadth fifty feet. The lava-crust which forms its roof is about twelve
feet thick, and has the appearance of being stratified and columnar,
like basaltic pillars, in its formation. Many of the blocks of lava
thus formed have become detached and fallen into the cavern, where
they lie piled up in great heaps, and heavily tax the patience of the
traveller, who has to scramble over the rugged stones, and can hardly
avoid slipping and stumbling into the holes between them, varied by
pools of water and masses of snow. But after having toiled and plodded
to the extremity of this dismal cavern, his perseverance is amply
rewarded by the sight of an ice-grotto, whose fairy beauty appears
still more charming, in contrast with its gloomy vestibule. From the
crystal floor rises group after group of transparent pillars tapering
to a point, while from the roof brilliant icy pendants hang down to
meet them. Columns and arches of ice are ranged along the crystalline
walls, and the light of the candles is reflected back a hundred-fold
from every side, till the whole cavern shines with astonishing lustre.
Mr. Holland, the latest visitor of the Surts-hellir, declares he never
saw a more brilliant spectacle; and the German naturalist, Preyer,
pronounces it one of the most magnificent sights in nature, reminding
him of the fairy grottoes of the Arabian Nights’ Tales.
From the mountains and the vast plateau which occupies the centre of
the island, numerous rivers descend on all sides, which, fed in summer
by the melting glaciers, pour enormous quantities of turbid water
into the sea, or convert large alluvial flats into morasses. Though
of a considerable breadth, their course is frequently very short,
particularly along the southern coast, where the jokuls from which
they derive their birth are only separated from the sea by a narrow
foreland. In their impetuous flow, they not seldom bear huge blocks
of stone along with them, and cut off all communication between the
inhabitants of their opposite banks.
The chief rivers of Iceland are, in the south, the Thiorsa and the
Hvita, which are not inferior in width to the Rhine in the middle
part of its course; in the north, the Skjalfandafljot and the Jökulsa
and the Jökulsa i Axarfirdi, large and rapid streams above a hundred
miles long; and in the east the Lagarfliot. As may be expected in a
mountainous country, containing many glacier-fed rivers, Iceland has
numerous cascades, many of them rivalling or surpassing in beauty the
far-famed falls of Switzerland.
One of the most celebrated of these gems of nature is the Goda-foss,
in the northern part of the island, formed by the deep and rapid
Skjalfandafljot, as it rushes with a deafening roar over rocks
fifty feet high into the caldron below; but it is far surpassed in
magnificence by the Dettifoss, a fall of the Jökulsa i Axarfirdi.
“In some of old earth’s convulsions,” says its _discoverer_, Mr.
Gould,--for from its remote situation, deep in the northern wilds of
Iceland, it had escaped the curious eye of previous travellers--“the
crust of rock has been rent, and a frightful fissure formed in the
basalt, about 200 feet deep, with the sides columnar and perpendicular.
The gash terminates abruptly at an acute angle, and at this spot the
great river rolls in. The wreaths of water sweeping down; the frenzy
of the confined streams where they meet, shooting into each other
from either side at the apex of an angle; the wild rebound when they
strike a head of rock, lurching out half way down; the fitful gleam
of battling torrents, obtained through a veil of eddying vapor; the
Geysir-spouts which blow up about seventy feet from holes whence
basaltic columns have been shot by the force of the descending water;
the blasts of spray which rush upward and burst into fierce showers on
the brink, feeding rills which plunge over the edge as soon as they are
born; the white writhing vortex below, with now and then an ice-green
wave tearing through the foam to lash against the walls; the thunder
and bellowing of the water, which make the rock shudder under foot, are
all stamped on my mind with a vividness which it will take years to
efface. The Almannagja is nothing to this chasm, and Schaffhausen is
dwarfed by Dettifoss.”
The ocean-currents which wash the coasts of Iceland from opposite
directions have a considerable influence on its climate. The south
and west coasts, fronting the Atlantic, and exposed to the Gulf
Stream, remain ice-free even in winter, and enjoy a comparatively mild
temperature, while the cold Polar current, flowing in a south-western
direction from Spitzbergen to Jan Mayen and Iceland, conveys almost
every year to the eastern and northern shores of the island large
masses of drift-ice, which sometimes do not disappear before July
or even August. According to Dr. Thorstensen, the mean annual
temperature of the air at Reykjavik is +40°, and that of the sea +42°,
while according to Herr von Scheele the mean annual temperature at
Akureyre, on the north coast, is only +33°, though even this shows
a comparatively mild climate in so high a latitude. But if Iceland,
thanks to its insular position and to the influence of the Gulf Stream,
remains free from the excessive winter cold of the Arctic continents,
its summer, on the other hand, is inferior in warmth to that which
reigns in the interior of Siberia, or of the Hudson’s Bay territories.
The mean summer temperature at Reykjavik is not above +54°; during many
years the thermometer never rises a single time above +80°; sometimes
even its maximum is not higher than +59°; and, on the northern coast,
snow not seldom falls even in the middle of summer. Under such
circumstances, the cultivation of the cereals is of course impossible;
and when the drift-ice remains longer than usual on the northern
coasts, it prevents even the growth of the grass, and want and famine
are the consequence.
The Icelandic summer is characterized by constant changes in the
weather, rain continually alternating with sunshine, as with us in
April. The air is but seldom tranquil, and storms of terrific violence
are of frequent occurrence. Towards the end of September winter
begins, preceded by mists, which finally descend in thick masses of
snow. Travelling over the mountain-tracks is at this time particularly
dangerous, although cairns or piles of stone serve to point out the
way, and here and there, as over the passes of the Alps, small huts
have been erected to serve as a refuge for the traveller.
In former times Iceland could boast of forests, so that houses and even
ships used to be built of indigenous timber; at present it is almost
entirely destitute of trees, for the dwarf shrubberies here and there
met with, where the birch hardly attains the height of twenty feet, are
not to be dignified with the name of woods. A service-tree (_Sorbus
ancuparia_) fourteen feet high, and measuring three inches in diameter
at the foot, is the boast of the governor’s garden at Reykjavik; it is,
however, surpassed by another at Akureyre, which spreads a full crown
twenty feet from the ground, but never sees its clusters of berries
ripen into scarlet.
The damp and cool Icelandic summer, though it prevents the successful
cultivation of corn, is favorable to the growth of grasses, so that
in some of the better farms the pasture-grounds are hardly inferior
to the finest meadows in England. About one-third of the surface of
the country is covered with vegetation of some sort or other fit
for the nourishment of cattle; but, as yet, art has done little for
its improvement--ploughing, sowing, drainage, and levelling being
things undreamt of. With the exception of the grasses, which are of
paramount importance, and the trees, which, in spite of their stunted
proportions, are of great value, as they supply the islanders with
the charcoal needed for shoeing their horses, few of the indigenous
plants of Iceland are of any use to man. The _Angelica archangelica_
is eaten raw with butter; the matted roots or stems of the _Menyanthes
trifoliata_ serve to protect the backs of the horses against the
rubbing of the saddle; and the Icelandic moss, which is frequently
boiled in milk, is likewise an article of exportation. The want of
better grain frequently compels the poor islanders to bake a kind of
bread from the seeds of the sand-reed (_Elymus arenarius_), which on
our dunes are merely picked by the birds of passage; and the oarweed
or tangle (_Laminaria saccharina_) is prized as a vegetable in a land
where potatoes and turnips are but rarely cultivated.
When the first settlers came to Iceland, they found but two indigenous
land-quadrupeds: a species of field-vole (_Arvicola œconomus_) and the
Arctic fox; but the seas and shores were no doubt tenanted by a larger
number of whales, dolphins, and seals than at the present day.
The ox, the sheep, and the horse which accompanied the Norse colonists
to their new home, form the staple wealth of their descendants;
for the number of those who live by breeding cattle is as three to
one, compared with those who chiefly depend on the sea for their
subsistence. Milk and whey are almost the only beverages of the
Icelanders. Without butter they will eat no fish; and curdled milk,
which they eat fresh in summer and preserve in a sour state during the
winter, is their favorite repast. Thus they set the highest value on
their cattle, and tend them with the greatest care. In the preservation
of their sheep, they are much hampered by the badness of the climate,
by the scantiness of winter food, and by the attacks of the eagles, the
ravens, and the foxes, more particularly at the lambing season, when
vast numbers of the young animals are carried off by all of them. The
wool is not sheared off, but torn from the animal’s back, and woven by
the peasantry, during the long winter evenings, into a kind of coarse
cloth, or knit into gloves and stockings, which form one of the chief
articles of export.
“While at breakfast,” says Mr. Shepherd, “we witnessed the Icelandic
method of sheep-shearing. Three or four powerful young women seized,
and easily threw on their backs the struggling victims. The legs were
then tied, and the wool pulled off by main force. It seemed, from the
contortions of some of the wretched animals, to be a cruel method; but
we were told that there is a period in the year when the young wool,
beginning to grow, pushes the old out before it, so that the old coat
is easily pulled out.” The number of heads of cattle in the island is
about 40,000, that of the sheep 500,000.
The horses, which number from 50,000 to 60,000, though small, are very
robust and hardy. There being no wheel carriages on the island, they
are merely used for riding and as beasts of burden. Their services are
indispensable, as without them the Icelanders would not have the means
of travelling and carrying their produce to the fishing villages or
ports at which the annual supplies arrive from Copenhagen. In winter
the poor animals must find their own food, and are consequently mere
skeletons in spring; they, however, soon recover in summer, though even
then they have nothing whatever but the grass and small plants which
they can pick up on the hills.
The dogs are very similar to those of Lapland and Greenland. Like them,
they have long hair, forming a kind of collar round the neck, a pointed
nose, pointed ears, and an elevated curled tail, with a temper which
may be characterized as restless and irritable. Their general color is
white.
In the year 1770 thirteen reindeer were brought from Norway. Ten
of them died during the passage, but the three that survived have
multiplied so fast that large herds now roam over the uninhabited
wastes. During the winter, when hunger drives them into the lower
districts, they are frequently shot; but no attempts have been made to
tame them: for, though indispensable to the Laplander, they are quite
superfluous in Iceland, which is too rugged and too much intersected by
streams to admit of sledging. They are, in fact, generally considered
as a nuisance, as they eat away the Icelandic moss, which the islanders
would willingly keep for their own use.
[Illustration: 47. ICELANDIC HORSES.]
The Polar bear is but a casual visitor in Iceland. About a dozen come
drifting every year with the ice from Jan Mayen, or Spitzbergen, to
the northern shores. Ravenous with hunger, they immediately attack the
first herds they meet with; but their ravages do not last long, for the
neighborhood, arising in arms, soon puts an end to their existence.
In Iceland the ornithologist finds a rich field for his favorite study,
as there are no less than eighty-two different species of indigenous
birds, besides twenty-one that are only casual visitors, and six that
have been introduced by man.
The swampy grounds in the interior of the country are peopled with
legions of golden and king plovers, of snipes and red-shanks; the lakes
abound with swans, ducks, and geese of various kinds; the snow-bunting
enlivens the solitude of the rocky wilderness with his lively note,
and, wherever grass grows, the common pipit (_Anthus pratensis_) builds
its neat little nest, well lined with horsehair. Like the lark, he
rises singing from the ground, and frequently surprises the traveller
with his melodious warbling, which sounds doubly sweet in the lifeless
waste.
[Illustration: 48. SHOOTING REINDEER.]
The eider-duck holds the first rank among the useful birds of Iceland.
Its chief breeding-places are small flat islands on various parts of
the coast, where it is safe from the attacks of the Arctic fox, such as
Akurey, Flatey, and Videy, which, from its vicinity to Reykjavik, is
frequently visited by travellers. All these breeding-places are private
property, and several have been for centuries in the possession of the
same families, which, thanks to the birds, are among the wealthiest of
the land. It may easily be imagined that the eider-ducks are guarded
with the most sedulous care. Whoever kills one is obliged to pay a
fine of thirty dollars; and the secreting of an egg, or the pocketing
of a few downs, is punished with all the rigor of the law. The chief
occupation of Mr. Stephenson, the aged proprietor of Videy, who dwells
alone on the islet, is to examine through his telescope all the boats
that approach, so as to be sure that there are no guns on board. During
the breeding season no one is allowed to land without his special
permission, and all noise, shouting, or loud speaking is strictly
prohibited. But, in spite of these precautions, we are informed by
recent travellers that latterly the greater part of the ducks of Videy
have been tempted to leave their old quarters for the neighboring
Engey, whose proprietor hit upon the plan of laying hay upon the
strand, so as to afford them greater facilities for nest-building. The
eider-down is easily collected, as the birds are quite tame. The female
having laid five or six pale greenish-olive eggs, in a nest thickly
lined with her beautiful down, the collectors, after carefully removing
the bird, rob the nest of its contents, after which they replace her.
She then begins to lay afresh, though this time only three or four
eggs, and again has recourse to the down on her body. But her greedy
persecutors once more rifle her nest, and oblige her to line it for the
third time. Now, however, her own stock of down is exhausted, and with
a plaintive voice she calls her mate to her assistance, who willingly
plucks the soft feathers from his breast to supply the deficiency.
If the cruel robbery be again repeated, which in former times was
frequently the case, the poor eider-duck abandons the spot, never to
return, and seeks for a new home where she may indulge her maternal
instinct undisturbed.
[Illustration: 49. EIDER-DUCK.]
Mr. Shepherd thus describes his visit to Vigr, in the Isafjardardjup,
one of the head-quarters of the eider-duck in the north of Iceland:
“As the island was approached, we could see flocks upon flocks of the
sacred birds, and could hear their cooings at a great distance. We
landed on a rocky wave-worn shore, against which the waters scarcely
rippled, and set off to investigate the island. The shore was the most
wonderful ornithological sight conceivable. The ducks and their nests
were everywhere in a manner that was quite alarming. Great brown ducks
sat upon their nests in masses, and at every step started up from under
our feet. It was with difficulty that we avoided treading on some of
the nests. The island being but three-quarters of a mile in width,
the opposite shore was soon reached. On the coast was a wall built of
large stones, just above the high-water level, about three feet in
height, and of considerable thickness. At the bottom, on both sides
of it, alternate stones had been left out, so as to form a series of
square compartments for the ducks to make their nests in. Almost every
compartment was occupied; and, as we walked along the shore, a long
line of ducks flew out one after another. The surface of the water
also was perfectly white with drakes, who welcomed their brown wives
with loud and clamorous cooing. When we arrived at the farmhouse we
were cordially welcomed by its mistress. The house itself was a great
marvel. The earthern wall that surrounded it and the window embrasures
were occupied by ducks. On the ground, the house was fringed with
ducks. On the turf slopes of the roof we could see ducks; and a duck
sat in the scraper.
“A grassy bank close by had been cut into square patches like a
chessboard (a square of turf of about eighteen inches being removed,
and a hollow made), and all were filled with ducks. A windmill was
infested, and so were all the outhouses, mounds, rocks, and crevices.
The ducks were everywhere. Many of them were so tame that we could
stroke them on their nests; and the good lady told us that there was
scarcely a duck on the island which would not allow her to take its
eggs without flight or fear. When she first became possessor of the
island, the produce of down from the ducks was not more than fifteen
pounds’ weight in the year, but, under her careful nurture of twenty
years, it had risen to nearly one hundred pounds annually. It requires
about one pound and a half to make a coverlet for a single bed, and
the down is worth from twelve to fifteen shillings per pound. Most of
the eggs are taken and pickled for winter consumption, one or two only
being left to hatch.”
Though not so important as the eider, the other members of the duck
family which during the summer season enliven the lakes and swamps of
Iceland are very serviceable. On the Myvatn, or Gnat Lake, one of their
chief places of resort, the eggs of the long-tailed duck, the wild
duck, the scoter, the common goosander, the red-breasted merganser,
the scaup-duck, etc., and other anserines are carefully gathered and
preserved in enormous quantities for the winter, closely packed in a
fine gray volcanic sand.
The wild swan is frequently shot or caught for his feathers, which
bring in many a dollar to the fortunate huntsman. This noble bird
frequents both the salt and brackish waters along the coast and the
inland lakes and rivers, where it is seen either in single pairs or
congregated in large flocks. To build its nest, which is said to
resemble closely that of the flamingo, being a large mound, composed of
mud, rushes, grass, and stones, with a cavity at top lined with soft
down, it retires to some solitary, uninhabited spot. Much has been said
in ancient times of the singing of the swan, and the beauty of its
dying notes; but, in truth, the voice of the swan is very loud, shrill,
and harsh, though when high in the air, and modulated by the winds, the
note or whoop of an assemblage of them is not unpleasant to the ear. It
has a peculiar charm in the unfrequented wastes of Iceland, where it
agreeably interrupts the profound silence that reigns around.
The raven, one of the commonest land-birds in Iceland, is an object
of aversion to the islanders, as it not only seizes on their young
lambs and eider-ducks, but also commits great depredations among the
fishes laid out to dry upon the shore. Poles to which dead ravens are
attached, to serve as a warning to the living, are frequently seen
in the meadows; and the Icelander is never so happy as when he has
succeeded in shooting a raven. This, however, is no easy task, as no
bird is more cautious, and its eyes are as sharp as those of the eagle.
Of all Icelandic birds, the raven breeds the earliest, laying about the
middle of March its five or six pale-green eggs, spotted with brown, in
the inaccessible crevices of rocks. Towards the end of June, Preyer
saw many young ravens grown to a good size, and but little inferior to
the old ones in cunning.
In the gloomy Scandinavian mythology the raven occupies a rank equal to
that of the eagle in the more cheerful fables of ancient Greece. It was
dedicated to Odin, who, as the traditional history of Iceland informs
us, had two ravens, which were let loose every morning to gather
tidings of what was going on in the world, and which on returning in
the evening perched upon Odin’s shoulders to whisper the news in his
ear; the name of one was _Hugin_, or spirit; of the other, _Mumin_,
or memory. Even now many superstitious notions remain attached to the
raven; for the Icelanders believe this bird to be not only acquainted
with what is going on at a distance, but also with what is to happen in
future, and are convinced that it foretells when any of the family is
about to die, by perching on the roof of the house, or wheeling round
in the air with a continual cry, varying its voice in a singular and
melodious manner.
The white-tailed sea-eagle is not uncommon in Iceland, where he stands
in evil repute as a kidnapper of lambs and eider-ducks. He is sometimes
found dead in the nets of the fishermen; for, pouncing upon a haddock
or salmon, he gets entangled in the meshes, and is unable to extricate
himself. The skins of the bird, which seems to attain a larger size
than in Great Britain, most likely from being less disturbed by man,
are sold at Reykjavik and Akureyre for from three to six rix-dollars.
[Illustration: 50. THE JYRFALCON.]
The jyrfalcon (_Falco gyrfalco_), generally considered as the boldest
and most beautiful of the falcon tribe, has its head-quarters in
Iceland. As long as the noble sport of falconry was in fashion, for
which it was highly esteemed, the trade in falcons was worth from 2000
to 3000 rix-dollars annually to the islanders, and even now high prices
are paid for it by English amateurs.
The rarest bird of Iceland, if not entirely extinct, is the Giant-auk,
or Geirfugl. The last pair was caught about seventeen years ago near
the Geirfuglaskers, a group of solitary rocks to the south of the
Westman Isles, its only known habitat besides some similar cliffs
on the north-eastern coast. Since that time it is said to have been
seen by some fishermen; but this testimony is extremely doubtful, and
the question of its existence can only be solved by a visit to the
Geirfuglaskers themselves--an undertaking which, if practicable at all,
is attended with extreme difficulty and danger, as these rocks are
completely isolated in the sea, which even in calm weather breaks with
such violence against their abrupt declivities that for years it must
be absolutely impossible to approach them.
In 1858 two English naturalists determined at least to make the
attempt, and settled for a season in a small hamlet on the neighboring
coast, eager to seize the first opportunity for storming the
Geirfugl’s stronghold. They waited for several months, but in vain,
the stormy summer being more than usually unfavorable for their
undertaking; and they were equally unsuccessful in the north, whither
they had sent an Icelandic student specially instructed for the
purpose. The giant-auk is three feet high, and has a black bill four
inches and a quarter long, both mandibles being crossed obliquely with
several ridges and furrows. Its wings are mere stumps, like those of
the Antarctic penguins. Thirty pounds have been paid for its egg, which
is larger than that of any other European bird; and there is no knowing
the price the Zoological Society would pay for a live bird, if this
truly “rara avis” could still be found.
[Illustration: 51. THE GIANT-AUK.]
The waters of Iceland abound with excellent fish, which not only
supply the islanders with a great part of their food and furnish them
with one of their chief articles of exportation, but also attract a
number of foreign seamen. Thus about 300 French, Dutch, and Belgian
fishing-sloops, manned with crews amounting in all to 7000 men,
annually make their appearance on the southern and western coasts of
Iceland, particularly those of the Guldbringe Syssel, or gold-bringing
country: thus named, not from any evidence of the precious metal, but
from the golden cod-harvests reaped on its shores. Between thirty and
forty English fishing-smacks yearly visit the northern coast. When they
have obtained a good cargo they run to Shetland to discharge it, and
return again for more.
The Icelandic fishing-season, which begins in February and ends in
June, occupies one-half of the male inhabitants of the island, who come
flocking to the west, even from the remotest districts of the north
and east, to partake of the rich harvest of the seas. Many thus travel
for more than 200 miles in the midst of winter, while the storm howls
over the naked waste, and the pale sun scarcely dispels for a few hours
the darkness of the night. In every hut where they tarry on the road
they are welcome, and have but rarely to pay for their entertainment,
for hospitality is still reckoned a duty in Iceland. On reaching the
fishing-station, an agreement is soon made with the proprietor of a
boat. They usually engage to assist in fishing from February 12 to May
12, and receive in return a share of the fish which they help to catch,
besides forty pounds of flour and a daily allowance of sour curds, or
“skier.”
All the men belonging to a boat generally live in the same damp and
narrow hut. At daybreak they launch forth, to brave for many hours the
inclemencies of the weather and the sea, and while engaged in their
hard day’s work their sole refreshment is the chewing of tobacco or a
mouthful of skier. On returning to their comfortless hut, their supper
consists of the fishes of inferior quality they may have caught, or
of the heads of the cod or ling, which are too valuable for their own
consumption. These are split open and hung upon lines, or exposed on
the shore to the cold wind and the hot sun; this renders them perfectly
hard, and they keep good for years. In this dried state the cod is
called stockfish. About the middle of May the migratory fishermen
return to their homes, leaving their fish which are not yet quite
dry to the care of the fishermen dwelling on the spot. Towards the
middle of June, when the horses have so far recovered from their long
winter’s fast as to be able to bear a load, they come back to fetch
their stockfish, which they convey either to their own homes for the
consumption of their own families, or to the nearest port for the
purpose of bartering it against other articles. Haddocks, flatfish, and
herrings are also very abundant in the Icelandic seas; and along the
northern and north-western coasts the basking shark is largely fished
for all the summer. Strong hooks baited with mussels or pieces of fish,
and attached to chains anchored at a short distance from the shore,
serve for the capture of this monster, which is scarcely, if at all,
inferior in size to the white shark, though not nearly so formidable,
as it rarely attacks man. The skin serves for making sandals; the
coarse flesh is eaten by the islanders, whom necessity has taught not
to be over-nice in their food; and the liver, the most valuable part,
is stewed for the sake of its oil.
“We had observed,” says Mr. Shepherd, “that the horrible smell which
infested Jsa-fjordr varied in intensity as we approached or receded
from a certain black-looking building at the northern end of the town.
On investigating this building, we discovered that the seat of the
smell was to be found in a mass of putrid sharks’ livers, part of which
were undergoing a process of stewing in a huge copper. It was a noisome
green mass, fearful to contemplate. The place was endurable only for a
few seconds; yet dirty-looking men stirred up the mass with long poles,
and seemed to enjoy the reeking vapors.”
The salmon of Iceland, which formerly remained undisturbed by the
phlegmatic inhabitants, are now caught in large numbers for the
British market. A small river bearing the significant name of Laxaa,
or Salmon River, has been rented for the trifling sum of £100 a year
by an English company, which sends every spring its agents to the spot
well provided with the best fishing apparatus. The captured fish are
immediately boiled, and hermetically packed in tin boxes, so that they
can be eaten in London almost as fresh as if they had just been caught.
The mineral kingdom contributes but little to the prosperity of
Iceland. It affords neither metals, nor precious stones, nor rock-salt,
nor coal; for the seams of “surturbrand”, or “lignite”, found here and
there, are too unimportant to be worked. The solfataras of Krisuvik
and Husavik, though extremely interesting to the geologist, likewise
furnish sulphur in too impure a condition or too thinly scattered to
afford any prospect of being worked with success, not to mention the
vast expense of transport over the almost impassable lava-tracks that
separate them from the nearest ports. In 1839–40, when, in consequence
of the monopoly granted by the Neapolitan Government to a French
company, sulphur had risen to more than three times its usual price,
Mr. Knudsen, an enterprising Danish merchant, undertook to work the
mines of Krisuvik, but even then it would not answer.
In 1859, a London company, founded by Mr. Bushby,--who having explored
the sulphur districts, had raised great expectations on what he
considered their dormant wealth,--renewed the attempt, but after a
year’s trial it was abandoned as perfectly hopeless. The “solfataras of
Iceland”, says Professor Sartorius of Waltershausen, “can not compete
with those of Sicily, where more sulphur is wantonly wasted and trodden
under foot than all Iceland possesses. While the “Namars” of the north,
which are far richer than those of Krisuvik, annually furnish scarcely
more than ten tons, the sulphur mines of Sicily produce at least
50,000, and, if necessary, could easily export double the quantity.”
As coal is too expensive a fuel for any but the rich in the small
sea-port towns, and peat, though no doubt abundantly scattered over the
island, is dug only in a few places, the majority of the people make
use of singular substitutes. The commonest is dried cow’s and sheep’s
dung; but many a poor fisherman lacks even this “spicy” material, and
is fain to use the bones of animals, the skeletons of fishes or dried
sea-birds, which, with a stoical contempt for his olfactory organs, he
burns, feathers and all. There is, however, no want of fuel in those
privileged spots where drift-wood is found, and here the lava hearth
of the islander cheerfully blazes either with the pine conveyed to him
by the kindly Polar currents from the Siberian forests, or with some
tropical trunk, wafted by the Gulf Stream over the Atlantic to his
northern home.
[Illustration: 52. CATHEDRAL AT REYKJAVIK.]