by long lines laid at night, and hauled in next day. They carry 200 to
300 hooks, but they are miniatures of the giants used by English
fishermen in the North Sea, which are measured by miles. The flounder,
the halibut (Heilag-fiski, Helliflynder, _Hippoglossus pinguis_, or holy
flounder), and the red-spotted plaice are favourites, despite want of
flavour: the dried skate is the bread of this ichthyophagous race, and
the fish has passed into a proverb for voracity--“he eats everything
that comes in his way like a skate.” I heard reports of enormous squids,
the skate-whaals of the Shetlands, which may easily have given rise to
the “Kraken” tale. Specimens have been seen from Zanzibar to
Newfoundland, where cuttle-fish (_Architeuthis monachus_ and _A. Dux.
Steenstrŭp_) have been found with bodies 15 feet long by 19 inches
diameter, and “extensive arms of unknown extent.” The “Great
Cuttle-fish” is the Dragon of Polynesian mythology (p. 209, The
Emigration of Turi), and it pulled down canoes unless killed by the axe.
The Calmar de Bouguer, so called from the officer commanding the aviso
“Alecton,” was attacked in 1861, off north-eastern Tenerife, with
bullets and harpoons; this _piuvre_ is described as 18 feet long, and
beaked like a giant parrot. Moreover, the lumps of rock rising suddenly
from the smooths and lines of ripple, viewed through the evening fog,
must have kept alive the haunting idea of the kraken. The Great Sea
Serpent, or Soe-orm, _alias_ Aale last (_Serpens marinus magnus_),
appears in the pages of Bishop Pontoppidan as an impossible snake, with
crescental coils disposed perpendicularly instead of horizontally.
Although Professor Owen determined it to be an otary, the fact is not
“proven;” and of late years it was revived as a gigantic saurian which
has escaped the general destruction of his race. Similarly there is an
immense mass of evidence in favour of the Lind-orm or great land
serpent. We find him in Livy, Pliny, and Strabo; and Regulus saw him at
Bagrada stretching 100 feet long. That most conscientious traveller, Dr
de Lacerda, relates that when voyaging up the Brazilian Tiété, his
slaves sat down upon a trunk, which proved to be a snake; and I brought
home traditions of his having closed a path to travellers in Eastern
Intertropical Africa.
SECTION III.--TO BERUFJÖRÐ: UP THE FIRTH.
At Djúpivogr we met Hr Oddr V. Gíslason, a “Candidatus Theologiæ,” who
had visited England, and had published an Icelandic primer (Leidvisír,
Reyk., 1863), which he dedicated to a friend, the late Hermann Bicknell.
At the capital where his wife remains, he acts as Lloyd’s agent, and in
the east he collects ponies and sheep for Mr Askam. His local reputation
as a shark-fisher and a _viveur_ stands tolerably high, but he can work
hard when he pleases. This worthy at once applied himself to buying
bât-ponies, and to hiring a guide, whose perfect and well-known
uselessness deserves notice.
Gísli Eyriksson is a good-looking man of thirty-five, with blue eyes,
aquiline nose, and a full blond beard. Formerly a day labourer, he
prefers to be an able-bodied pauper; the sturdy vagrant owns two nags,
yet he has thrown his loafing self, his wife, and his three children
upon the parish. His only merit is not drinking; and the women pity him
because he is pretty. An Ebionite from the womb, a Lazarus with the
tastes of Dives, the invertebrate creature is soft as a girl; he dawdles
limp as a negro; he malingers, pleading a bad knee to attract
compassion; he makes everybody do his duty; he is ever in the kitchen,
never at work; he breaks everything he touches; it makes one’s fingers
tingle to look at him. Presently he will strike for more pay. Meanwhile
he is the picture of the Prodigal Son in Iceland garb: his
stutt-buxur,[142] the pointed and buttoned overalls, said to have been
imported from Scotland by King Magnús Berfætti, are in rags and tatters;
his stirrups are knotted cords, and his bridle is a string. Inconsequent
as a Somali, he drops his fragmentary Svipa (whip) every hour, and he
manages even to lose his knife. We engaged him for 4 marks per diem; the
“dog of an Icelander” swore after return that the wage was $1, 3m.; and
when he received his $29 he mounted his nag and jogged leisurely home.
_July 30._
We sent on our ponies, the first detachment, during the thick fog of
morning, the warm moist sea-air showing 73° (F.), condensed by the black
and white heights; and in mid-afternoon, we set out for Berufjörð in
Captain Tvede’s whaleboat. It had a centre-board after approved fashion,
but no sail to catch the fair wind from the Fjörð-mouth. The crew
consisted of two Icelanders, who, accustomed to the silly narrow blade,
the “mos majorum,” were unable to handle the broad oar; the two coopers,
a Dane, and a German who disliked soldiering at home, did much better.
As the mist lifted we enjoyed the views upon the firth, which our
patriotic captain compared with the Organ Mountains, Rio de Janeiro. Yet
there is abundant Icelandic physiognomy in the Fjörð viewed from above,
especially when the sun is slightly veiled and the shadow of the mist
falls upon the wild forms with a pale, unearthly glare. As a rule, too,
there is a distinct circulation, an indrift of lower and an outdrift of
upper cloud; the effect of the double winds, so common in maritime
Iceland, and very striking to the nephelophile. The rival shores
contrast sharply. The northern, especially about the Berunes chapel, has
broader flats and more frequent farms, backed by the stepped copings and
the buttresses of the Strandafjöll. The trend is to the north-west,
where quaint and regular castellations, either rising sheer or based
upon _débris_ disposed at the natural angle, are divided by deep gaps
and fosses. The eastern sky-line is broken into crags which appear a
mass of ruins; in places the capping is a single stone, a needle, a
column, a Grettis-tak (logan-stone), or an “old man;” here falls a sharp
_arête_; there towers a pyramid, which viewed at another angle proves to
be a headland. The general form is not unlike those dolomites which Sir
Humphrey Davy mistook for granite. A remarkable band of green
Palagonite, locally called “petrified clay,” dips waterwards at an angle
of 37°; it crops out north at Breiðdalsvík, and it is said to be
traceable southwards for a two days’ march.
The fronting shore begins with a fringe of rocks and skerries; the
Fiskenakketange baylet is mistaken at night for Djúpivogr; and the inner
and outer Gleðivík (gled-wich), the Indre and Ydre Glæding of old
Danish charts, are especially rich in “rognons of rock.” The uplands are
formed by masses of trap, with drops and slopes cut and chasmed, at
right angles, by gashes and ravines bearing a thin vegetation. We are
shown the Teigarhorn (paddock-horn) torrent, about a mile and a half
from Djúpivogr; here fine zeolites are, or rather were, found, and
Iceland spar is known to exist--unfortunately the farm is Church
property. The only important feature is the Búlandstindr, whose
north-eastern pyramid, laid down at 3388 feet (Danish), makes an
excellent landmark for those coming from the south; the grim black wall
bears snow on the northern exposure, and the easily breaking stone
renders the ascent unpleasant. At five P.M. we passed the Gautavik
(Gothwich) farm, about a century ago the only trading comptoir, dating
from the days of Burnt Njál. Some forty-five minutes afterwards we
touched at the excellent anchorage of Staulovik, to land Hr Gíslason and
a very small boy carrying a very very large jar of rum. Shortly
afterwards we opened on the right bank Fossárdalr, which bounds
Búlandstindr on the north: here the strata rise waterwards at an angle
of 28°. The vale, faintly green, is called Viðidalr in the upper part;
it is the directest line _viâ_ Keldadalr (well-vale) to Fljótsdalr,
immediately east of Snæfell, but there is no bridle-path, and the
compass must be the only guide.
The channel was not wholly desert, we met two boats; the sticks planted
upon the islet-rocks, the Æðarsker, and the Æðarsteinn, showed it to be
an eider-firth, where the intelligent seal well knows that he may not be
shot, and where ravens flock in forlorn hopes of a duckling. “Faraóslið”
is the folk or cavalry of Pharaoh, for that wicked but debatable king,
so great is the might of myth, has colonised even Ultima Thule; and his
lieges still become men and women, laying aside their furs, on the eve
of St John. They give rise to a multitude of proverbs, _e.g._, “‘Too
near the nose,’ as the seal said when hit in the eye.” Phoca here forms
part of the parson’s flock. They are tame as porpoises. The cows are
never killed, and the young are spared; when a battue of men-seals with
gun and club takes place, it is during summer. These mammals are most
numerous on the southern and eastern coasts; here in one spot we count
fourteen pair of eyes quietly but persistently prospecting us. As the
fine is three marks for firing a gun within a mile, and the flesh is
the best possible shark-bait, we are consulted upon the subject of
aircanes.[143] “Krummi” (crook-bill), the raven, whose size has been
exaggerated by travellers, is everywhere in Iceland an unmitigated pest,
and he shows the unbecoming familiarity of the “ghurab” in Somaliland.
His impunity may be due to his cousin the corbie’s sentiment:
“Ho, ho, ho! said the old black crow,
For that nobody will eat him he very well doth know.”
Perhaps some survival of old paganism may preserve the “yellow footed
bird in the inky cloak,” who became black by reason of his sins: Odin’s
hawk, the “black cousin of the swan,” who appeared in the traditional
oriflamme of the Norsk Vikings, and who still survives in the lines:
“Though Huginn’s (Mind’s) loss I should deplore,
Yet Muninn’s (Memory’s) would affect me more.”[144]
Hence, possibly, the prevailing superstitions, _e.g._, that Ralph
combines eccentric habits with human intelligence; that he is a bird of
augury; that he holds a Hrafna-Thing (council) in autumn, to billet the
several couples; that every church has its own pair; that Grip does not
plunder the farm nor fight the dogs of those who lodge the Grips; and
that he warns the owner of dead sheep. The Raven’s Song (Krumma-Kvæði),
a dialogue between “Hrafn” and a peasant, is well known, whilst the
Hrafna-galdur Öðins (Odin’s Raven Song) is a miracle of mystery.
Ralph’s croakings were and still are omens, betokening death, when heard
in front of a house, and he has appropriated a variety of proverbs.
Perhaps this sentiment prevented the Northerner “improving the subject,”
as did blind Herve in the Breton verse, “When you see a raven fly, think
that the Devil is as black and as wicked. When you see a little dove
fly, think that your Angel is as sweet and white.” Thus after St Vincent
was beheaded, all the Grips that alighted upon his corpse fell dead; on
the other hand, Ravenna owes her name to the fact that ravens, crows,
and jack-daws flocked from every part of Italy to take part in the feast
of St Appolinarius. In the Færoes the bird of the “brook Cherith” has
lost all his Odinic reputation; he is easily killed when the snow drives
him to the farm-house, and four skillings are given for his beak.
Perhaps instead of being slaughtered, he might be exported to England,
where he would now command seven shillings. According to the people, he
is not invincible, being often beaten by the agile sea-pie (_Hæmatopus
ostralegus_, the Sceolder of Shetland), and sometimes slain by the
strong-billed sea-parrot (puffin).
As we approached the bottom of Berufjörð, we could see the snows over
which our path would lie, and the “gurly flood” dashing down the broad
steps of trap. It drains the Axarvatn, the “Axe-water,” so called from
its shape; it is said to be rich in trout and fish, but Mr Pow, who was
of the party, found it far too clear and cold. After a pleasant row of
twelve miles in about three hours, we reached our destination, and the
“new chums” derided the place which appears so large upon the map.
Berufjörð is, in fact, nothing but a Prestagarðr (parsonage) and a
chapel, the latter distinguished from a stable only by the white cross,
episcopally commanded; the doors hang about, and there is a sad want of
paint. In Iceland the clergyman often moves off when his church wants
repair, for he must pay the expense.
We were courteously and hospitably received by Síra Thorstein
Thorarensson, who was busy in his tún superintending the day-labourers.
It is the hay-harvest, the only harvest that Iceland knows. The men ride
to and from their work, ply their ridiculous scythes, and, besides being
fed, are paid per teigr (80 square feet) 1 Fjórðung[145] = 10 lbs. of
butter, here worth 2 marks per lb. An active hand at this season can
make $2 per diem, 11 marks being the average; many farms are nude of
males, and consequently guides in August are scarce and dear. Hay, which
fetches 1 mark per 10 lbs. in winter, now sells for $2 the kapall[146]
(horseload, or 240 lbs. Danish); and as the ton in Scotland costs at
this season only £1, 10s. to £2, 10s., Mr Pow scents a spec. That
evening passed in the confusion of sorting goods and sending back all
articles not strictly necessary; it was far into the small hours before
we could settle ourselves upon the rotten boards, and under the hideous
crucifix which, forming the chapel’s altar-piece, carefully avoids
breaking commandment No. 2.
_July 31._
Whilst awaiting the arrival of our carriage, Captain Tvede volunteered a
walk up the Berufjarðarskarð, which crosses the northern wall of the
firth, and afterwards anastomoses with the road to Thingmúli. This part
had not undergone its annual repair, and it was painfully pitted with
horse-traps, deep holes. The lower part was an avalanche line:
“Interdum subitam glacie labente ruinam
Mons dedit, et trepidis fundamina subruit astris;”
but “interdum” hardly applies to what happens annually from these
“thunderbolts of snow.” To the right lay Sóta-botn, a huge hollow,
probably formed by hydraulic pressure, the sinking of a mountain-stream,
a common feature in the Brazil. As Sóti and his wife Bera (the bearess),
a name often given to women, were riding home over this pass, their
enemies raised a magic fog; he broke his neck by falling into the pit;
she broke her head as the famished horse, to whose instinct the rider
had trusted, rushed into the stable--the site of the latter is still
shown near the parsonage. Bera’s cairn lies at the top of a little
promontory at the north end of the Fjörð, where her ghost sits gazing
upon the ever restless tide.[147] The picture was diversified by an
advance of white mist; its fragments, forming a vanguard like a flock of
wild geese, with abundant play and movement presently invested the
shallow cupola of Thrándar Jökull, whose brown clouds were its own
growth: at times it melted under the sun, and presently it renewed
itself in the cold wind of the firth and in the colder breath of the
snow-clad summits. Finally, it settled upon the mid-ridge, making the
upper half appear miles away from its base.
After a two hours’ stroll we reached the Bitruháls, or _col_, which
stands over 2000 feet above sea-level.[148] On the left hand rose
Kistufell, the apex where the Danish officers placed a landmark: the
summit must be at least 1000 feet higher than the pass. Through the reek
and dance of the morning air we looked down upon Breiðdalsvík; the Broad
Dale is parted into a northern and southern feature by “Möleyri,” a
great spine of trap, and the nearer section is split by three large
perpendicular Gjás. The winding Breiðdalsá, which has a fork for each
valley, is clear and limpid, very different from Jökull water; and large
farms are scattered everywhere about the soles. The northern face of the
Berufjarðarskarð is even more striking than the southern; the “Vandyke
cliffs” have all the tints of Brazilian Tauá; nowhere does Iceland show
more colouring. The red, pink, dead-white, and pale-green Palagonite
follows the torrent-beds and girths the rivers; and the singularity is
increased by walls and outcrops of the hardest and blackest hornblende,
building dykes, bridging chasms, and causing the snow-streams to breach
over in cascades. Farther down there is a vein of glistening trachyte
celled with iron, probably a prolongation of the Skriða hills, which we
shall pass farther north; afar it looks like plaster fallen from a
wall. The valley is scattered over with chalcedonies and crystals of
lime, the produce of geodes washed out of the trap, and with jaspers,
especially the red, green, and banded; Hr Gíslason’s “copper ore” is
probably nothing but burnt or corroded “yaspis.” Along the stream-banks
grow yellow poppies (_P. nudicaule_; Icel. Mela-Sól), with small
lemon-coloured flowers and large spreading roots; they extend to
Spitzbergen, and the last time I saw them was in the Desert of the
Palmyrene.
Down the northern descent, which is rapid but provided with a good
causeway _à tourniquet_, runs the eastern road to Seyðisfjörð, firth of
the Seið or _Gadus virens_, the abode of many merchants, distant some
sixty miles from Djúpivogr: the western _viâ_ the Öxarheiði (ox-heath)
is generally preferred because it crosses two instead of three great
divides. The line to Thingmúli turns to the left, repeatedly crosses the
southern Breiðdalsá, and ascends by another newly built causeway, the
Breiðdalsheiði, where there is a nameless lakelet, neglected by the map,
which discharges the southern Broad Dale fork.
SECTION IV.--TO THE MÝ-VATN: THE SEVEN DAYS’ RIDE.
July 31 ended with a “sea of troubles.” Captain Tvede and Mr Pow left
us, greatly to our regret, and no one seemed anxious to effect a
departure but ourselves. The guide skulked, the ponies came in slowly,
and, worst of all, a dark march was proposed. This always appears to me
the _summum malum_ of travelling; it is equally injurious to strength
and temper; it often wastes the next day; and, worst of all, it gives a
false idea of the country.
Our party is now formed. Messrs Lock, father and son, are attended by
Bowers, an able seaman, born in Jamaica and domiciled at Southampton. He
is to superintend the sulphur boring; he does the work of half-a-dozen
Icelanders, but he has seldom been aboard a nag; and the honest fellow
is apt to forget the adage, “astern of a sail and ahead of a horse.”
Besides Gísli, the skulk, we temporarily engage for nine marks per diem
Hr Hoskulldar Guðmundsson, who is _en route_ for his father’s house. Hr
Gíslason, wishing to attend a fair, accompanies us for the first march.
The kind and obliging parson, after feeding us with fish, mutton fresh
and dry, sharks’ flesh, and seals’ haslets--good with vinegar, but even
then somewhat too oily--and after insisting upon sundry stirrup-cups of
“Iceland wine” (schnapps), determines to start one of the most
disorderly of caravans.
We have a total of nineteen ponies all under six years, which would be
four-year olds in England, and with the nineteen never a rope. For the
most part utterly unbroken, they break away and lose our time; disgusted
with their loads, especially with the long boring-rods, they kick and
bite, requiring constant reloading. Consequently, Mr Lock misses a
carpet-bag, which contains only his money and his papers, and all our
baggage suffers more in ten hours than in a year of railways. The
commercial complication was enormous; almost each animal had its own
hire; one was to be left at this place; two were to be sent on to that;
we took the wrong ones with us to Mý-vatn, and consequently we were
threatened with a lawsuit. Mr Lock (_père_) has a _largâ manu_ manner,
but he is strongly imbued with the Anglo-Saxon “idee,” to wit,
“The grand idee that every man jest do what he dam pleases.”
He compels the most headstrong to obey him; he remembers the adage, “In
Iceland if you want anything, ask for it;” he takes high ground, and he
“puts up with no nonsense.” The people, gentle and simple, do not openly
resent the novelty, but they slang him behind his back, and with a
certain dry humour they dub him “Loki,”[149] the bad god of Scandinavian
mythology. I can only say that the tone answered well as in Syria or
Egypt.
The disorderly party set out about an hour before midnight. We passed
in the dark a mine of magnetic iron disposed, they say, in volcanic
rock. This metal cannot be smelted for want of fuel, and its only
_raison d’être_ in Iceland is to deflect the magnet and to make
navigation and the Vatnajökull dangerous. The ugly bridle-path running
up the left bank of the Axavatn, and ascending a variety of stony steps,
divided by flats of deep moss, with a rare Beitivellir, baiting or
pasture ground, and snow-wreaths sounding hollow beneath the tread,
showed few features. Before the cold mist set in from the north, we saw
at our feet the long Berufjörð, and the spectre of Thrándar Jökull,
gleaming white in the pale and glaucous green light of an Arctic
midnight; whilst the continuous roar of foss and torrent rang in our
ears.
At the foot of the fifth and roughest grade, the Öxarheiði, we halted
for a while, where the steep ascent is called, apparently in bitter
derision, Vagna-brekka, or waggon-hill. The huge mountain-walls seemed
to tower straight above our heads; on the right was the Haurar-Gil
(crag-gil), and nearer the Mannabeinafjall, or man-bone hill, where some
of Sóti’s horsemen were slain. These things the good priest tells us,
and then, wringing our hands and bidding us Godspeed, he rides home,
bearing with him our best thanks. The very large jar of rum proved too
much for one of his friends; after galloping about like one insane,
changing his horse every half-hour, and drinking every ten minutes, he
lay him down to sleep comfortably upon the soft, cool snow, and lost no
time in losing his saddle and saddle-cloth, his bridle and his horse. He
will walk into camp at five P.M. next day, sadly crestfallen, if not
repentant.
After three hours, during which I felt frozen hands for the first time,
we stood on the summit of the Breiðdalsheiði, and looked down upon the
long valley to the north. It was a pleasant change after our uncouth way
and the _panorama maudit_ of the earlier night; but the sunlight, though
gleaming pink and gold upon the snow hills to the north, only saddened
sleepy eyes. The path leads down the right bank of the Múlaá in the
Skriðdalr, a mad stream rolling reckless over slope and drop, green and
blue, cold and clear, here deeply encased by huge slices of black trap,
there low-banked with long streaks of red-yellow bog-iron. The left
wall was regular with gracious concave lines, ending in the lion-headed
Múli, which gives a name to the Múla Sýsla: the right was a succession
of buttresses, each owning its own Kvísl, or shallow drain, and the
latter were _mauvais pas_, where only the cleverest ponies could spring
up and down the rocks without a fall. As we advanced, the valley
broadened out into flats of vivid, unwholesome green, bog and swamp
spangled with cotton-grass, whose pods much resemble those of the
veritable tree-wool, and which should be collected for sheep-fodder. At
9.30 A.M. we forded the stream, and rode up to Thingmúli, much to the
edification of the mowers, men in shirt-sleeves and women half-dressed--
“All hands employed,
Like labouring bees on a long summer day.”
We were not equally edified by their unbusy, dawdling ways: so at the
churn the servant girls will work five minutes and rest fifteen.
As I expected, the Thursday was a _dies non_, whose only event was
pancake made by the farmer’s wife. We inspected the tall Múli, whose
bare and ragged head of trap ends the long buttress to the
north-north-east: it is bounded east by the Geitdalsá, rising in the
Líkárvatn; draining, they say, the Thrándar, and uniting with the Múlaá
to form the Grímsá. We botanised at its foot, collecting two equiseta,
Elting (spearwort, or _E. arvense_) and Beitill (horse-tail), of which
there are many varieties; the Fjóla or violet (_V. montana?_); the
Hrossanál, or horse-needle (_Juncus squamosus_); the Blá-ber and
Grænyaxlar or young blaeberry (_Vaccinium myrtillus_); the bog-whortle
(_V. uliginosum_); the blue-bell (Bláklukka; _Campanula rotundifolia_,
Hjalt.), which grows everywhere, reminding us of Europe; the small, grey
birch; the dwarf-willow, all catkins; the Alpine bartsia (Icel.
Loka-sjóðsbróðir[150]); the meadow-rue (_Thalictrum Alpense_; Icel.
Kross-gras); the fleabane (_Erigeron_; Icel. Smjör-gras) and the
ephemeral Veronica. There were also the bright, yellow-green
reindeer-moss; the red Alpine catch-fly (_Lychnis Alp._); the usual
“sun’s-eye,” or buttercup (Sól-ey); the dandelion (Fífill); and the
lamb-grass or moss-campion, still in flower; the bladder-campion
(_Silene inflata_); the pretty, common lyng (heather); the
mountain-asphodel (_Tofieldia palustris_; Icel. Sýkis-gras); and, most
remarkable of all, the pale-lemon blossoms of the mountain avens already
beginning to pall. The Kræki-lyng, the black crowberry (_E. nigrum_),
supplied its small, red currants, sweet and mawkish, of which Bishop Pál
made sacramental wine; the vine-like Hrútaberjalyng (_Rubus ling_)
trailed on the sward; and the meadow-rose (_Epilobium angustifolium_;
Icel. Eyra-rós) reigned queen of Iceland flora. The leafage already
showed autumnal tints, yellows and reds taking the place of greens,
light and dark; and the air was all alive with grey moths (Fyrireld).
An interesting feature of the Skriðdalr, or slipping dale, is the Skriða
range, a name not in the map, but given to the north-eastern buttresses
of the broken valley as far as Sandfell. Fronted by dark traps they
rise, nude of turf, conspicuous in light-yellow skins of trachyte and
Palagonite, based upon a thin and sickly green--we learned to call them
the Sulphur Range. As the long streaks and gullies, the broad parting
_fiumaras_, and the slides and heaps of footing _débris_, show, the
Skriðas are infamous for landslips and snowslips (Snæ-Skriða), the
latter overwhelming túns and houses--
“Multos hausere profundæ
Vastâ mole nives; cumque ipsis sæpe juvencis
Naufraga candenti merguntur claustra barathro.”
The sole defence against these avalanches (Skriðáfall)[151] is the
Skriða-garðr, a dry wall, built very strongly at the sharp angle facing
the Skriða and the Snjóflóð, and repaired every year.
In the evening the people began to gather for the fair, and most of them
were in that state politely called “excited.” One man made himself
especially remarkable; with one leg shorter than the other, he was
dancing, roaring, snorting fou’; his face was much knocked about; and,
with his ’baccy smeared lips, he insisted on succulently kissing every
feminine mouth. Mr Lock, sen., had a somewhat narrow escape from a
venerable matron whose nostrils showed that she was no better in one
matter than our grandmothers: she advanced towards him prognathously,
when in the nick of time he turned and fled. He was much shaken, and for
some hours looked pale and weak.
The evening might have been in Tuscany; and we drank coffee outside, a
practice which excited general reprehension--here you rarely see a bench
or seat in the open air. We were lucky in engaging a superior guide, the
student Sigurður Gunnarsson, nephew of the archdeacon of Hallormstaðir;
his seven years at Reykjavik had given him a tincture of English; he was
good-tempered and obliging; in fact, the absolute reverse of
Baring-Gould’s “Grímr.” Hr Gíslason, to the satisfaction of every one,
disappeared with his big dog, a cur whose only idea of life was to chivy
sheep.[152]
Our day’s march was far more interesting than usual: it lay over the
long, prismatic tongue of land, a sister formation of the Múli line,
separating the Grímsá from its ultimate receptacle, the lake. Amongst
the scatter of farms lay Geirólfstaðir, where I slept on return: the
house is partly built of greenstone. The mountain path is called, why, I
know not, a “Remba,” a hard road to travel, from “að rembask,” to
struggle with, to puff one’s self up. The summit of this
Hallormstaðarháls was a mere divide, not a Heiði with level ground; and
from its altitude, about 880 feet, we looked down upon and around a most
extensive view. Below us, and stretching to north-north-east, lay the
long “broad,” known as the Lagarfljót, a milky water evidently from the
snow-mountains; and on the nearer shore, protected from the biting
blasts, lay the celebrated Skógr, or forest of Hallormstaðir, straggling
some twenty miles, and composed of birch-trees,
“If trees they may be called, which trees are none.”
Yet from afar they act pretty well as acacias, the point-lace of the
forest. To the north-east rise the nubs, heaps, and snows of Höttr, the
hats or cowls, and their frost-bound prolongation, the icy range of
Borgarfjörð, and, especially, the cones of Dyrfjöll. But every eye
turned instinctively southwards when majestic Snæfell, the northernmost
outlier of the Vatnajökull, fronted by its two northern outliers, the
Hafrsfell and the Laugarfell, shoots up towards the cirri and cumuli of
the still air, its glistening glaciers and steely-blue sides making
eternal winter in a lovely garb appear.
At Hallormstaðir, our first stage, we failed to find the Prófastr
(archdeacon) Sigurður Gunnarsson, who had gone for supplies to
Seyðisfjörð. His wife received us kindly with “Yule bread,” containing
raisins and other delicacies. She must be a model housewife; her
six-gabled house was being painted; her kitchen-garden grew unusually
fine potatoes; and her poultry-yard was far better stocked than usual.
We were hospitably invited to pass the night, and Gísli Skulk looked
wistfully at the comforts around him; but we were inexorable and, after
a two hours’ halt, began operations upon the next stage.
I shall not readily forget that march. The ponies, also, had apparently
made up their minds for a half-holiday, and, when refused, they resolved
to revenge themselves. Briefly, the loads were everywhere except where
they should have been, and the fight at the ford was unusually severe.
The bridle-path up the right bank, moreover, was bad, broken with
gullies, rugged with rocks, and cullendered with holes; in places we had
to avoid headlands of stony teeth by fording the waters; and, as on the
skirts of Hermon, the ways were double, high for winter, and low for
summer. Student Sigurður explained Lagarfljót as a corruption of Laugr,
a bath; others translate it the “layer” or mixed water, because composed
of ice and mud. It is considered unwholesome and undrinkable. The
average breadth is one mile and a half, and the people declare that the
depth reaches sixty fathoms. It is formed by a glacier stream, the
little Jökulsá, flowing through the Fljótsdalr or Norðurdalr, a line
which we shall presently follow; and an eastern lake-stream, the Keldá,
draining the Syðridalr. The latter rises in the Keldavatn, which the map
writes Kelduárvatn, the lake of springs-water; and it is reached in a
long day’s ride from the Víðivellir, or the Klúka farm, which almost
fronts Valthiófstaðir.
I had heard much of the Skógr (Shaw) of the Lagarfljót, as the most
beautiful in Iceland: it probably tempted the first settler, Hallormr,
to become Hallormr of the Wilderness. In other places, the freezing and
thawing of the sap bursts the vessels and kills the plants. Here,
however, the Birkis have a backing of heights to concentrate sun-heat, a
westerly exposure, and a large sheet of water tempering the cold. The
thin birch-scrub grows on all kinds of soil; mostly the trees are mere
bushes, but the topmost twigs of the giants of the forest may reach
twenty feet, and the timber is heavy enough to make pack-saddles. All
are being felled, and none are planted; the weight of the snow is said
to destroy the young trees. Nor was the Skóg a vocal growth: I listened
long and in vain for the merest chirp.
About an hour before reaching the ferry we had a fair prospect of the
Hengifoss, said to be the tallest cataract in Iceland. It is an
Icelandic copy of the immortal Cocytus (Mavroneria) in Arcadia, with a
fall six times the depth. “Hanging-force” plunges suddenly into a huge
caldron, the Hengifossárgil, and is dashed to drops before it reaches
the kieve, which is considered to lie 1200 feet below. Its wonders can
hardly be appreciated, we were told, without entering the cavity: it
faces to the south-east; and, as you ride along the lake, the strata lie
exposed to sight, as in a Californian cañon. Amongst them is said to be
a small quantity of Surtarbrand.
We had sent on to warn the ferryman, and Charon, Sigfús Stefánsson, of
Bessastaðir, with fiery hair, clean-cut red whisker, and huge goggles,
was the model of a Scotch pedagogue. Remounting, we galloped _ventre à
terre_, the best cure for cold feet, over the turfy flat of the left
bank, and found ourselves at Valthiófstaðir, the church and parsonage of
Síra Pétur Jónsson. The house was being painted, but we found lodgings
in the church: the altar candles were duly lighted, and, after doing
what little we could to make ourselves comfortable, we turned in shortly
before midnight.
_August 3._
At Waltheofstede, whose name is distinctly Saxon, we reduced our stud to
the best sixteen head; we bought ropes and horseshoes; we mended the
pack-saddles; we paid off the temporary guides; and we engaged the
student Stefán Sigfússon, of Bessastaðir, who gave thorough satisfaction
when he did not air his ten words of English. Whilst these preparations
were being made, I inspected the premises. The farm is of old date, but
it is not the Waltheofstede so pleasantly mentioned in the Landnámabók
(p. 100): “Tunc servi Erici ruinam villæ Valthiofi de Valthiofstadis
intulerunt, Eyolfus autem Saur (Eyólfr Saur) ejus cognatus servos apud
Skeidsbrekkas super Vatnshornum occidit, eâ de causâ Eirikus Ejolfum
Saurem interfecit, iste quoque Holmgangu Rafnem (Rafn, the duellist)
Leifskalis interemit.” Thus, in seven half Lines, we have a regular
monomachist, the destruction of a farm, and the murder of two Franklins,
with an indefinite number of thralls. We still find a Thórdísa, in
memory of old days, the granddaughter of the parson at Valthiófstaðir.
The church is somewhat larger and better, that is, more tawdry, than
usual; and justly vain of it is the district. Outside it is red-striped,
with gallery, tower, spire, finial, staff, and weather-cock: the latter
bears the cross of Denmark, yet “Odi Danicos, sperno, contemno,” is a
sentiment frequently expressed in this neighbourhood. Inside it is
daubed to mock marble. The bell in the loft bears for date 1744, and the
altarpieces are truly hideous: Sanctus Peterus (_sic_), with key and
book, wears his glory on one side of the head, like a cavalryman’s
forage cap. The churchyard epitaphs are funny as usual. Hjörleif
Thórðarson (ob. 1786) speaks of his future prospects with a confidence
which some might consider premature, if not misplaced:
“Fluctibus innumeris adversæ sortis in orbe
Tandem transmissis, jam benè tutus ago;”
and another’s long home, a box, has become a classic “urn:”
“Qui fuit eximium gentis decus undique nostræ
Gutthormus, jacet hic tenui Hiorlerius urnâ.”
More satisfactory was the aspect of the farm, which supports 11 cows and
600 sheep. The labourers’ Hey-annir is now begun, and will last for six
weeks: they were at work “queerving” the grass, as Shetlanders say, with
long thin rakes, so that it may not dry too soon; “mixtæ pueris puellæ,”
the lasses with turned-up sleeves and the inevitable gloves: at mid-day
all seek shelter from the “torrid sun.” This essential part of Iceland
“agriculture” is well and carefully done; and the number of hands
enables the farmer far to surpass anything farther south. The “Taða,” or
hay from the manured (Tað) infield, opposed to the Ut-hey, or produce of
the outfield and hills, is close-shaved, and tedded twice, and even
thrice, a day: that wanted for immediate use is carried to the house in
Kláfrs (creels or crates), articles of universal use, the Leipur of the
Færoes, which also carry peat in the Isle of Lewis; and the rest, when
thoroughly dry, is stacked and covered with turf. The implements are
mere toys, mounted on rods like billiard queues for easy packing and
cheap passage. The scythe is a sickle attached to a two-handed stick
nine spans long; the blade of three spans, little more than an inch
broad, and sharp as a razor, is used here and in the Færoes because the
warty ground permits no other. The rakes are of two kinds, with big pegs
and with small teeth, both wholly of wood; and in the best farms there
are always wheelbarrows and hand-barrows.
The venerable parson, who appeared somewhat “eld-gamall” (_un vieux
vieux_), consented to give us an extra guide, a student lad named
Thorsteinn, from the north country, whose circumstances had not allowed
him to keep his term at Reykjavik: he was to receive the unconscionable
sum of $4 for one day’s march. We set out in mid-afternoon, and rode
down the Lagarfljót’s left bank, in twenty-five minutes, to the ruins of
Skriðuklaustr, the last priory founded in Iceland. Two long barrows of
earth and stone show the site of the church: they measure 87 feet north
to south, and 62 east to west. The fane is surrounded by an _enceinte_
of similar humble material: the northern entrance is apparently ancient;
that to the west, modern. The habitations of the reverend men were near,
but below the little adjoining farm; and there are still fragments of a
built causeway running south-west to the cemetery. The latter lay all
around the church, and the old custom has been perpetuated: to the south
is the grave of Sýslumaður Winne, who died in the early eighteenth
century; whilst another heap, which trends east to west, not north to
south, is called the “tomb of the bad fellow”--a point of affinity
between Icelandic and New Zealand English. Unfortunately, I had no time
for skull-digging, and gaining the title of Haugabriótr (cairn-breaker).
We were not asked to dismount, nor did we dismount, at Bessastaðir: the
tumulus of the founder, old Bessi (the bear), is a green heap by the
river-side. After a general bout of kissing and rekissing, we began the
rugged divide separating the Lagarfljót from the Eastern Jökulsá, and at
once blundered northwards: when in the worst quagmire the new guides,
Stefán and Thorsteinn, a cock-nosed lad of about twenty-two, quietly
said, “Há, we should have gone there!” Gradually we rose to 2000-2200
feet, the average altitude of these Heiðis. The foreground was unusually
repulsive, and its aspect suggested frost a few inches below. It was a
surface of mosses, ever dank and dew-drenched; of iron-stained swamps;
of tarns like horse-ponds; of soppy stream beds, with livid-yellow
Palagonite encasing the gashes; of brown heath and black peat; of huge
heaps instead of the usual warts, as if the farmer had just drawn the
manure--in fact, it was a bad specimen of the worst parts of the New
Forest centuries ago.
Our eyes, saddened by a path all steps and drops, were suddenly
electrified by the first magical view of the Vatnajökull; it had
hitherto been hidden by sundry outliers, especially the Eastern or
lesser Eyvindar, a snowless block, or rather double block, curving like
a serpent’s tail, from left to front, from south to west (275° mag.).
For better examination, we dismounted at Vegup--“Collis viæ,” said the
students.
Behind the Snæfell cone a blue distance of lowland sweeps, like a streak
of paint, to the very foot of the “Lake Glacier,” whose general aspect
is a high dorsum of virgin white, an exaggeration of the Wiltshire downs
after a heavy fall of snow. The first thing which strikes me is that the
altitude by no means justifies all this eternal frost: we must probably
seek a cause in the immense agglomeration of ice behind; in thrust from
above, and in the prevalence of southerly, here the frigid, winds.
Secondly, the features of the grand _névé_ are perfectly separable and
distinct, very unlike the dead blank plateau of all the maps. Beginning
from the south-west, we notice the domed Kverk (throat) Jökull, fronted
by the feature which gives it a name; the huge gloomy mound, fissured to
the north, stands boldly out from the pure expanse, and sinks to the
level of the deep-blue air. Successively rise the Skálafell (hall-hill),
a double cone, connected by a long yoke of miniver, and fronted by a
glistening glacier; the three horns of Sval-barð and the ice-mailed
points of Snæfellsjökull, not to be confounded with the isolated Snæfell
cone:[153] this small Spitzbergen,
“ribbed and paled in
With rocks unscalable and roaring waters,”
all bristling with pink and silvery spikes, tapering, tooth ranged near
tooth, in formidable array, projects a long slope eastwards. Farther on,
the line, _bombé_ in the map, bends with a great bay from us. Helped by
Olsen and the students, we pick out the various features of the
south-eastern corner; the Heinabergsjökull (hone-hill glacier); the
Sauðhamarstindr (sheep-cliff point), a dark mound like a brown cloud;
and eastward, again, the Kollumúli (hind-mull), alternately a black
tower and a ridge-end; whilst behind, and upon another plane, flashes a
great and glorious snow-peak which, at other angles, assumes the aspect
of a bluff or buttress. To the extreme south-east, the blue and
snow-streaked horizon, backed by pearly mists, swells into a gigantic
bride-cake, the Hofsjökull, bounded west by a pale saddleback, and north
of it lies the now familiar dome of the Thrándar ice-mountain. The gold
and purple gleams of the westering sun, the opalline play of the
projections and prominences which catch the lights, the faint pink-azure
of the shades, and the skylarking of the cloud-hosts over the heads of
the tallest peaks, set off by the umbreous black foreground, dull and
sodden, by the beggarly features of the middle distance, and by the wash
of deep damascene blue at the base, fall into glorious picture; and the
presence of black spots, like “erminites,” in the waste of white
suggests the haunts of some Troll-like race--I no longer wondered that
there are superstitions about this mysterious realm of eternal snow.
After a sketch, for the purpose of better fixing the picture upon the
brain-plate, we jogged on, leaving the snow-streaked Knefill (the pole)
to the north; and at eleven P.M. we began the short and rugged descent
to the Eastern Jökulsá. The mountain flank was gashed with the hideous
chocolate-coloured chasms of the Sharon plain; we had to pull our
way-fagged horses down boulder and through bog. As we reached the
riverine plain, well sheltered from the wind, the poor beasts recovered
courage and carried us gallantly into the new farm, with its
three-gabled house, Thorskagerði (codfish garth). Whilst Mr Lock and I
put up the tent, “Charlie” bolted into the “eld-house” (kitchen),
much to the astonishment of the gudewife, who bolted out in
demi-semi-toilette: we supped at the “fashionable” hour of one A.M., and
we slept in the broad bright dawn.
* * * * *
AUGUST 4.
This was a day of peculiarly hard work; I look back upon it with
pleasure, because it introduced me to two new features, the cage and the
sand-desert. The forenoon began with the inspection of the Jökulsá, here
a frequent name: there are three which drain the Vatnajökull
northwards--;the Little Jökulsá, from Snæfellsjökull, forming the
headwater of the Fljótsdalr; the Great Easternmost Jökulsá, known to the
people as the Vale River (á dalr), or the Bridge Stream (á Brú); and the
Great Westernmost Jökulsá, or the Hill River (á fjöllum). Icelanders
apply the term Jökulsá Eystri (eastern) and Jökulsá Vestri (western) to
the chief headwaters of the Skagafjörð, as those who have read Chapter
X. may remember. Our river, an ugly gutter-water, milky, mineral as the
drain of a Cornish mining village, and consequently desert of fish, runs
in an old valley; and the ledges between the hills and stream are the
sites of frequent farms. The deep perpendicular rifts, cut by
rain-torrents, are filled with wintry snow; and throughout this part of
the country the people use sledges, heavy, tasteless board-boxes on iron
runners, wanting all the finish of Russia and North America. The modern
bed is mostly a crevasse of grey-blue basalt, black when wetted, built
in regular strata, and pitted with drusic pock-holes: the perpendicular
walls are split into thick and thin slicings; and slaty _débris_ and
spoil-banks deform the “broads” where the cliffs sink low into the
valley.
The narrowest parts of the bed are naturally chosen for passage; in
these gorges there is a great rush from sides to centre, with a furious
boiling of the foul stream, tossing up dirty waves, from which there
would be scanty hope of escape. On one precipice two ends of Kaðlar
(cables), here inch ropes, knotted to one cross-piece, and passed over a
second, are made fast under piles of rough stone: on the farther side
the cords are roven with a round turn over the cross-piece, and are kept
clear of the rock by a wooden bar, battened and rag-garnished, to
prevent slipping and chafing. The Kláfur, or cage, is a lidless box, a
stool, whose upturned legs are provided with pulleys; it is, in fact,
the “cradle” which once crossed the chasm, 65 feet wide, between the
Heights and the Holm of Noss in the Shetland Isles. The passenger,
sitting or standing, is towed across by one of the two guys, fastened
fore and aft. The passage takes about half a minute; you descend the sag
with a little run, and are slowly hauled up the other section of the
arc. Wire might be an improvement, but it would certainly be rejected as
liable to cut the pulleys. Meanwhile, the guy is always snapping and
wanting “splicing;” so, _að fára í Kláfi_, is by no means pleasant to
the nervous man, who looks down upon
“The hell of waters, where they howl and hiss,
And boil in endless torture.”
I need hardly observe that the “cradle” is a form still ruder than the
rudest Andine or Himalayan swinging-bridge, which gave a hint--for
“travelling teaches”--to the civilised suspension.
We wasted four hours at this river, the chief delay being caused by the
horses. The caravan then gathered at Eyríkstaðir, the large farm of Hr
Jón Janssen. Whilst the nags were being shod, we drank “blanda,” milk
mixed with water, the best procurable remedy for thirst. Inquiring about
the stage ahead, we were told that it would take four, six, eight, or
ten “tíma” (times), not to be confounded with “Klukku-stundir.” As the
student Thorsteinn had left us, we here engaged for the day’s march the
owner’s brother, Hr Gunnlaugr Janssen, who also gave complete
satisfaction.
The afternoon had passed away before we began to clamber up the high
eastern bank of the Jökuldalsheiði: presently we came upon a lake
country, a scatter of tarns large and small. The map shows half-a-dozen,
but not the largest, Ánavatn. Between them lie various hill-ranges, the
Western Knefill and Sval-barð (the cool hill-edge), which yesterday
appeared to us in epauletted form: to the west lay a Thríhyrningr, with
triple peak on a meridian concealing the broad shoulders of Herðubreið.
Where hill and water were not, sand, here chocolate-coloured, there
bright yellow, gave unusual opportunities for a gallop, especially where
the ground was free from dwarf-willow, deep earth-cracks, and streams
whose black arenaceous beds bent and swayed under the horses’ weight. We
were shown our line far ahead, marked by five bits of snow, which,
disposed upon a hill-side, passably imitated the human face: it veiled
and unveiled itself like a plain coquette.
On such a formation we expected a devious path hard to find; but we were
bitterly disappointed by the absence of game, where heads in thousands
have formerly been seen. Here and there lingered a duck or a teal, a
snipe or snippet, too wild to approach; the Arctic tern (_Sterna
Arctica_, Preyer) was not coy, but a solitary skua (_Lestris Thuliaca?_
Pr.), that had gone a-fishing, kept well out of our reach. A sharp
canter from No. 2 lake, Gripdeilir,[154] “_Certamen ovium_,” according
to our literary guides, soon placed us at the lakelet and farmlet of
Vetur-hús--winter-house, as opposed to Setr. It is neutral ground
between the swamps, which, probably, are under water every spring, and
the dry sands of the old sea-shore farther west. The owner, Páll
Vigfússon, owns a boat for char-fishing, and a fine flock of goat-like
sheep: his kailyard is well manured, to judge from the quantity of soft
and brittle puffs (Icel. Gorkúla; _Agaricus fomentarius_), which here
take the place of mushrooms.[155] The farm-box was a burrow worthy of St
Kilda or Rona in the olden day, entered by a hall like a mine-gallery;
the Baðstofa was fouler than the forecastle of a Greek brig; and the
three bunks which serve as dinner seats, as well as beds, gave one the
shudders. The only caloric was the natural form, which sheep have
learned to utilise; and the only chimney was a hole in the kitchen roof.
Yet the farm contained provision-room, smithy, workshop, byre, and
sheep-house. It was my fate to sleep there on the return march, but I
persuaded the good Paudl to put me in a hay-garret. After all, we must
remember Sir James Simpson’s description of the Barvas district in the
Isle of Lewis, where, during the last generation, neither window nor
chimney, chair, table, nor metal vessel existed. What a national scandal
was this barbarism!
After Vetur-hús we passed sundry farms, and we drank at every place, as
if on the banks of the Congo. Men, boys, and maidens came out to be
kissed by the two young guides, but we had only once reason to envy
their island-privilege. Beyond the Ánavatn lay the Sænaut lakelet, once
upon a time haunted by the fabled sea-cow; another pond was passed on
the left, whilst swampy ground extended far to the right. We then
ascended a ridge of sand scattered over with basaltic fragments, and saw
the Grjótgarðr, or stone-fence. It has a singular appearance, a line of
blocks, some of them ten feet square, roughly piled upon one another,
and extending half an English mile across the neck of ground. The
cubical masses appear like the produce of some quarry. The general look
suggests the line of rocks subtending the Grind of the Navir: I can only
conjecture that icebergs here meeting and grounding, have deposited
their burdens of huge boulder-rocks. The legend is that two Trolls, one
a sea-giant and the other a Jökull-giant, agreed to divide their
domains; the former started from the north, the latter from the south;
they built this wall at the place where they shook hands, and they lived
in peace--I was not told whether they married--ever afterwards.
Descending from the Grjótgarðaháls, we halted near the last lake, and
collecting a cart-load of willow-roots, which here represent the sage of
the Far Western Prairies, we kept out the mist and cold with a roaring
fire. The students, too lazy to follow our example, lay upon the ground;
yet when riding, these shuddering tenants of the frigid zone muffled
their throats in huge comforters, enclosed their hands in worsted
gloves, and wore vast waterproofs of oilskin, with other signs of
softness. It was the first fire, though not the last, that I saw in
Iceland travel.
Resuming our road, we presently began the ascent which had been pointed
out to us in the afternoon; crossed a snow-wreath and a snow-patched
divide, unusually hard work, and frequently felt the horses sinking
fetlock deep in the loose sand. We then descended the misty sides into
Heljadalr, and shivered in “Hellsdale.” A broad and open way crosses
this “Barahút,” whose unpleasant title is derived from the tremendous
torrents of spring-tide, the deep snows of winter, and the furious
dust-storms of the dry season. Leaving the Heljadalsfjall, we entered
the cold plain of Geitirssandr; the surface was of water-rolled stones
and pebbles, the base of black sand, whilst light-yellow Palagonite
appeared in the courses of the dry _fiumaras_. In places there were
crater-like heaps of dust from ten to a hundred feet high, the smaller
features perfectly conical, and set off by bars and patches of white
sand, lime, potash, and other produce of the sea. Evidently the
formation is subaqueous, as well as volcanic,[156] and I subsequently
found reason to believe that the ancient sea-beach begins west, and upon
the parallel, of the Jökulsá bridge, and runs up to the north-western
base of Snæfell, the mountain, not the Jökull. The whole tract reminds
one of what is said anent the Barony of Bunen: it has neither wood,
water, nor earth sufficient to hang, to drown, or to bury a man.
Walking our fagged horses down the yielding slopes, we presently found
the ground improve. A stream flowed to our left; a lakelet lay on the
right, and thin grass, well covered with sheep, made the scene an oasis.
We again put on steam, and shortly after three A.M. we made the
Möðrudalr farm. The church was shut, but the buxom housekeeper took
compassion upon our weary plight; basins were brought to relieve eyes
red with flinty dust, and skins painful with prickly heat; bowls of hot
coffee comforted the inner man, and once more we revelled in the luxury
of sheeted beds.
* * * * *
_August 5._
The farm of Galiums (etymologically “Madder”), girt by its desert of
sand and stone in all directions but the west, where the Western Jökulsá
flows at a distance of six indirect miles, is one of the best, if not
the best, in Iceland. It is not known in the Landnámabók,[157] which
tells us that this quadrant was the last occupied. The white-headed
owner, Sigurður Jónsson, has often been offered his own price for it,
but to no purpose. He brings out the map and enlightens us upon the
features of the wilderness on the other side of the river. He denies the
existence of the mountain “Dýngjufjöll hin nyðr Trölladýngjur,”
immediately south of Bláfjall; and I afterwards found that he was right.
Speaking of Baring-Gould’s project to attack the Sprengisandur from
Möðrudalr, he said that a traveller would be taking the wrong road; the
usual line is from Bárðardalr on the Skjálfjandifljót to the Thjórsá
headwaters: moreover, that this Sahara is never passed till early July.
He denied that the snows on Bláfjall give any rule for crossing the cap
of the Iceland dome, of which one stage is a _jornada_ of twenty-four
hours, waterless and grainless. He confirmed my idea that the Ódáða
Hraun is bounded east as well as west by the sandy region; and he
shrugged his shoulders when I consulted him about ascending the local
sundial, Herðubreið,[158] distant some sixteen miles. The
“Broad-shouldered” stood before us in all his majesty, cabochon-shaped,
or, as the Syrians say, a “Khatím” (seal-ring), girt by perpendicular
walls, and projecting a tall point between the double glacier, here of
frosted, there of polished silver, as the surface caught the rays of the
noontide sun. It is not my fault if the sketch be very unlike
Henderson’s “Herdubreid, seen from Mödrudal.”
[Illustration: THE BROAD-SHOULDERED.]
The wife was absent, but the buxom housekeeper let us want for nothing
except a sight of the Beauty of Möðrudalr, one of the daughters, who is
spoken of by every traveller. The comfortable homestead with three
gables showed me amongst other things a map of Palestine; but why did Mr
James Nisbet write “Treconitus?” The mill was a turbine, so quaint in
construction that the water could not be turned off. _En revanche_, the
mutton was admirable: the sheep easily fatten in this dry and delicate
air, and like their congeners of Somaliland, they put on flesh with the
slenderest rations. Not expecting to see it again, we devoured the fresh
meat as if devouring were a duty.
Mr Lock, sen., found the heat oppressive, and we waited till after noon
before we set out. A few minutes’ riding over grass led into loose, deep
sand, evidently a subaqueous formation; and here amongst the hillocks
grows the Melr, or wild oat, with pale glaucous and striped leaf, long,
tough root, large ear, and grain too small for making bread.[159] We saw
none during the night; as on the Sprengisandur, the land was too high to
hold water, and the cereal prefers hollows where it can enjoy a modicum
of damp. It will extend in scatters and patches as far as Mý-vatn; our
horses enjoy it, but the sheep apparently refuse the coarse growth, like
the “_pasto fuerte_” of the Argentine Republic. I looked in vain for
“birdies” amongst these tufts, probably they find the sands too hot and
too cold.
After an hour’s slow ride, we turned off the road to the right, where
Goðahóll, we were told, shows a temple of Thór. At the southern slope of
a hillock known as Selhóll, lay a few loose stones; farther down was the
place where the Dóm-hring was held, and northwards a black influent of
the Skarðsá formed the Blót-keldar. All was mean and barbarous in the
extreme.
We now entered upon what is called the “best road in Iceland.” To the
left or west lay Sandfell and Geldíngafell; the crests were sharp as
rabbits’ teeth, and for a similar reason. After about two hours we
crossed the Skarðsá, an ugly, dark torrent, the cesspool of the hills,
and, following a ledge, we passed through the defile of the same name,
Vegaskarð: the formation was of basalt and Palagonite, the pure and the
puddingstone. This _col_ debouched upon a Viðidalr, of course nude of
withies and willows; the poor and barren slope, cut by black waters, was
girt on either side by gloomy hillocks spotted with snow. We halted for
a time at the Sel which belongs to Möðrudalr, and the carpenter, a son
of the Rev. Pètur Jónsson, kindly offered us a drink.
The “best road” began again, the only defects being rock and deep sand
in patches. The ponies, offended by the pace, bit and kicked, shied and
bumped their loads. Presently we reached the Biskupsháls, where the
saintly men of Skálholt and Hólar once met: two cairns, the
Biskupsvarðas, conspicuously placed on a height, divide the Eastern from
the Northern Quadrant. During the rough descent, of basalt flaky and red
as jasper, leading to the valley, we saw the Jökulsá called á fjöllum,
“of the hills,” for the all-sufficient reason that it flows in a vale:
the map terms this part of the bed í Axarfirði because it disembogues
into the Axarfjörð. The milky water flows through a plain of green,
thinly veiling the chocolate-coloured face of earth. Beyond it, half hid
by gloomy mist, lay the Desert of Mý-vatn, and, farther still, rose the
slaty-blue cones and ridges with which we were presently to become
familiar.
Shortly before ten P.M. we rode up to the Grímstaðir establishment
belonging to the farmer and ferryman, Guðmund Árnason: he was absent at
the time, so his surly wife was duly kissed on the mouth by the
temporary guide, a peasant from Möðrudalr. This place trades, especially
in wool and mutton, with Vopnafjörð, distant a hard day’s ride; and by
this line travellers from the eastern ports usually make the Mý-vatn.
The sheep, mud marked on the rump, are good, and give rich milk, but
both articles are inferior to those of the “model farm” which we last
sighted. Grímr, the old Norwegian founder, chose a capital site; a
grassy slope gently rising from the right bank of a stream, and
protected by a ground-wave in front from the draughts and moving sands
of the river-side. It is marked by the Hálskerling, _alias_ the
Grímstaða Kerling, a natural pyramid, conspicuous to those coming from
the west: farther off rises the Haugr cone, snowy always. To the north
of the establishment is the workshop; and here I saw for the first time
horns of the reindeer, which had been shot about Herðubreið: they are
common in the neighbouring establishments. The guest-room, entered by a
small porch, had a wainscot painted to resemble maple; a gold beading
and mahogany furniture; but it boasted neither stove nor fireplace, and,
as usual, a whisper rang through the house. Then came the family
parlour, with eight windows, each single-paned, facing south: the rest
of the building consisted of outliers, byres, the sheep-house, known by
the normal central trough, and the usual artless windmill.
* * * * *
_August 6._
This morning the owner, a rough, hard-faced and obliging man, in
appearance much like our typical “Lowlander,” lectured me in the
geography of the Útgarð, or outer regions; and an hour before noon we
cantered over the three or four miles to the river. This Jökulsá is
about 200 yards across, with a sand-bank hard by the left shore. The
sides are of crumbling basaltic sand, red and yellow Palagonite, and
water-rolled stones; on the right lay a little strip of equisetum, and
opposite it were clumps of wild oats, which promised well for a ride to
the south. The turbid, slaty-white stream flows at the rate of at least
three knots an hour: there is a tradition of its being swum by a
horse-stealer, but the cold would deter most men unless riding for dear
life. Now low in the bed, it must rise at least five feet, as appears
from the driftwood, ground to little bits, which forms the high-water
mark. The rule of Andine travellers is to cross such rivers about dawn,
when the nightly frost has bound the snows which feed them. The map
places its chief sources in the northern border of the Vatnajökull, but
the details cannot be relied upon. The length must be at least 120
miles; and as the fall from Grímstaðír to the sea is about 1200 feet,
there can be no navigation except in the several reaches, and we can
hardly be surprised that it forms the Dettifoss, the small Niagara of
little Iceland. The ferry was shaped like a spoon amputated at the
handle; it was always half full; and four trips were made necessary by
the extent of our belongings. We sat amongst the Eyrarós, the islet
roses, representing the oleanders of Syria, and watched the nags
swimming across, with their heads as usual well up-stream--apparently
the custom of towing them from the boat is obsolete in Iceland, at least
I never saw it.
Shortly after noon we attacked the Mý-vatn Öræfi, the wilderness of
Mý-vatn, which is very perfunctorily laid down in the map. It is not
wholly barren. The surface is composed of ropy and cavernous lava, with
bursten bubbles and extinguished fumaroles, growing thin grass, the
usual flowers, dwarf birch, ground-juniper, and two species of willows,
the grey always in the neighbourhood of forage; these stripes overlie
and alternate with barren volcanic sand and stones, bad retainers of
water. The larger arteries of fire-stone, as usual in Iceland, are
called Hraun-fljót (run-floods), and the smaller veins Hraun-arða. The
sheep of Reykjahlíð and other farms are driven to the green parts during
the fine season; it is a _pays brûlé_, but we shall presently see
something far worse. Here, again, game was almost wholly wanting.
Plovers sat upon the stone-heaps, and the stringy curlew (Spói), which,
our ancestors loved to “unioynt” (carve), cried over our heads; possibly
they knew that their insipidity and toughness would save them from any
but steel-tipped teeth. A few ptarmigan ran almost from under our
horses’ hoofs, ejaculating Reu! reu! reu! They are excellent eating, but
it is a shame for any but starving men to shoot them at this season,
when the grey-brown poults, little balls of fluff, are still unable to
fly. The bird may be stupid, but it is an excellent mother, praise which
can by no means be accorded to all clever animals; it appears wholly to
forget self when aiding in the escape of its progeny. At this season
ptarmigan come down from the barren uplands to seek flowers and berries
in more genial climes; yet a few days and they will retire with the
young family to safer homes.
The remarkable mound on our left, a refuge to “lifters” in olden times,
is known as Hrossaborg, the Horse-fort. From afar it appears a mere
shell of stratified mud; a nearer approach shows a worn and degraded
Herðubreið, with regular couches of Palagonite clay falling steep on all
sides but one. The huge semicircus opens to the east, where its drainage
sheds to the Hrossaborglindá, the stream of the Horse-fort spring,
flowing from the south, and much affected by sheep. I found no sign of
lava, but an abundance of sand around it; if it ever erupted, the
discharge must have been like that of Hverfjall, which we shall
presently visit. Beyond it the sand is lively as that of Sind: on my
return I saw a dozen columns careering at the same time over the plain
although rain had fallen during three days. Our caravan was struck by
one of these “Hvirfilsbíld-ör” (whirlwind bolts), which arose close by;
unlike the Shaytan of the Arabian wild, which is adjured with “Iron, O
Devil!” it did not even remove our hats. The pillars, which spread out
at the top like a stone-pine in Italy, may have been 200 feet high: some
travellers, imitating the licence of Abyssinian Bruce, swell the
altitude to 2000 yards.
As the gear wore out, so the loads fell with unpleasant persistency,
making us plod slowly over good riding ground. In front rose a
semicircular ridge, extending from north, _viâ_ east, to south of the
lake, and thickly studded with hills and cones. The map calls it
Mý-vatns Sveit, the Mý-vatn district; our student corrupted it to
“Sveinn” (puer), opposed to Stúlka, a lass. The latter reminded us of
the Joe Miller attributed to the British sailor who understood why women
were called “Snorers” (Señoras) in Spain, but could not explain their
being “Stokers” in Iceland. This mild joke had power to comfort us
whilst all manner of topographical details concerning Jörundr,
Hlíðarfell, Búrfell, Hvannfell, Sighvatr, and Bláfjall, were poured into
our dull and dusty ears. We halted for a few minutes at the little farm
Eystrasel, and then pushed forward to the solfatara. After threading the
Námaskarð, where the air was not balsam, we sighted the lake, one of the
ugliest features of its pretty kind; and at 8.30 P.M., preceding my
companions, I rode in to our destination, Reykjahlið. The features here
only named will be described at full length in the following chapter.
ITINERARY FROM BERUFJÖRÐ TO MÝ-VATN.
BERUFJÖRÐ TO THINGMÚLI.
_Wednesday, July 31, 1872._
Left Berufjörð at 10.45 P.M. Line north-west up left bank of Axarvatn
stream, draining to Berufjörð; turf, sand, stones, washed from gullies.
Five distinct steps, separated by undulating ground; path rough; cold
mist; mountain streams to cross.
1.15 A.M. (2 hours 30 min.).--Halted at foot of fifth step, Hænu-brekka
(hen-ledge), the worst.
Walked up Hænu-brekka; snow-slope, path along _névé_; bending to north,
rough Öxarheiði, broken plain, tiers of trap, about 700 feet above
sea-level. Crossed sundry wreaths and beds of snow.
2.45 A.M.--Summit of Breiðdalsheiði; path marked by three Varðas.
Changed nags, 3.45 A.M.
Down valley of Múlaá, in the great Skriðdalr; watershed changes from
south to north.
6.30 A.M.--Passed first farm, Stefánstaðir; little Bær on left bank of
stream, and west of Skriðavatn; little lake, or rather “broad” of river.
On right, falls in the eastern path over the Berufjarðarskarð. Farms
every half-hour.
7.45 A.M.--Arnaholtstaðir farm; to-morrow will have cattle fair; some
sixty head for sale.
8.10 A.M.--Hallbjarnarstaðir, backed by its hill; general trend,
south-east to north-west.
Several farms together. At 9.30 A.M., forded Múlaá, girth-deep; rode up
to _Thingmúli_ (⊙ I.) chapel and farm, under priest of Hallormstaðir.
Good property; seventy sheep, and eight cows.
Night’s work, 10 hours 45 min., halts included. Average march, 3 to
3½ miles an hour. On map, direct geographical miles, 17. Direction,
north-west, bending to north.
Morning fine and sunny. Mist at 8 to 9 A.M.; heavy at 3 P.M. Night
cold, raw, and foggy; about midnight, mist from north.
Paid farmer, Davíð Sigurðarson, $5; his wife wanted $3 more. Little
trodden paths more expensive. People have no standard of value.
THINGMÚLI TO VALTHIÓFSTAÐIR.
_Friday, August 2._
Set out, 12.30 P.M. Forded river, rode down Grímsá valley; often crossed
stream; best road near the bank. After 45 minutes, left Grímsá, and
struck the Melar or barrens at foot of divide. To left Geirólfstaðir,
small farm of civil people, where I slept August 19. Up the long green
slope of Hallormstaðarháls; less abrupt than western slope. Reached
summit 3 P.M. (aneroid, 29·32), and began rough and abrupt descent. At
3.15 crossed Hafursá (buck-goat river), a dwarf ravine. Trap in steps,
and red-ochre fields to left. Lagarfljót Lake below; both banks easy
slopes; green ledges and swamps, crossed by causeways. Bridle-path well
kept, because it is road to Eskifjörð, the port. Farms everywhere; see
seven on western side. Passed through the “Skóg,” forest of
Hallormstaðir. General direction, north-west; direct distance, 4
geographical miles.
4.10 P.M.--(After 3 hours 40 min. slow = 2 fast) Reached Hallormstaðir.
Left it at 6 P.M. Up right bank of Lagarfljót; succession of torrents,
gullies, and bad stony places, which can be rounded. Rode under the
Rana-Skóg (wood of the hog-shaped hill). Big sand-bar of Gilsa forms a
tongue of boulders and bad torrent if the ford is not hit. Path double,
summer along lake and in water; winter, higher up. Deep holes between
basaltic blocks; horse sinks breast-high.
8.30 P.M.--At Hrafnkelstaðir (proper name of man), opposite Hengifoss
cataract, on other side of lake.
9 P.M.--Opposite fine farm, Bessastaðir.
9.30 P.M.--Ferry below junction of two forks of Lagarfljót; swift, cold
stream.; breadth, 200 yards; current, 3 knots; horses swam in 2 min. 30
sec. On return, forded it higher up, when split into three large and
three small streams. Another ford, wither-deep, farther down. Paid
ferry, $2.
⊙ II. 10.45 P.M.--After 20 minutes’ gallop over green plain, reached
Valthiófstaðir church and parsonage. Second march (general direction,
south-south-west), 3 hours 30 min. = 10 indirect geographical miles.
Total day’s work, 7 hours 10 min. = 14 miles.
Aneroid, 29·94; thermometer, 76° (second observation, 29·96;
thermometer, 83° in sun).
Morning gloriously clear. At 10 A.M., cloudy and sunny. 2 P.M., sun hot,
and people complained. Cirri and cumuli over the Vatnajökull. Evening
clear and cool.
VALTHIÓFSTAÐIR TO THORSKAGERÐI.
_Saturday, August 3._
Started 2.45 P.M.--Took upper road to avoid túns; lower better.
3.10 P.M.--Ruined monastery, Skriðuklaustr. Delayed 15 minutes.
Crossed ugly boulder-torrent, which wetted the beds. Reached Bessastaðir
farm, 3.50 P.M.
At 4.30 P.M., true start over the Fljótsdalsheiði. Map shows nearly
straight line from east to west. Not travelled over now. We struck
north-west-west; stiff rise for 45 minutes. Rotten ground, and cold air.
Reached first step at 5.10 P.M. Aneroid, 28·73; thermometer, 76°, on
summit.
First view of Vatnajökull from Vegup (Vègúp? or Vegupp?), 6.20 P.M.
Aneroid, 27·92.
On the southern road (Aðalbólsvegr) the highest point of the divide was
shown by aneroid 27·80.
7.30 P.M.--Reached midway height, water stagnates; presently the versant
changed, and the Miðvegr (half-way) torrent flowed west to the great
Jökulsá. Despite Varðas, lost way half-a-dozen times. Ground more and
more rotten.
10.30 P.M.--Crossed boulder river, Eyvindará, and turned from north-west
to south-west. Began descent.
11 P.M.--The western is the shortest, the Eastern Jökulsá being some 900
feet above the Lagarfljót. Crossed many streams divided by ridges.
_N.B._--The Holkná (water of the rough stony field) is misplaced in the
map. It is south of Eyríkstaðir, on opposite bank. Rode along river
banks; air much warmer.
⊙ III. 12.40 P.M.--Beached Thorskagerði. Ferryman’s house newly built.
Total on road, 9 hours 55 min.; very slow work; about 7 to 8 hours’ real
work. Distance measured by map, 22 to 23 geographical miles. General
direction, north-west and west-south-west.
In morning, sun and strong north wind. Then clouds from south. At 5 P.M.
saw a shower in the Lagarfljót. 7 P.M., drops of rain.
THORSKAGERÐI TO MÖÐRUDALR.
_Sunday, August 4._
Early in the forenoon, crossed the (E.) Jökulsá in the cage. The horses
were driven to the ford, 200 yards below. Only four of sixteen swam over
at first trial, in 1 hour 30 min. The rest were driven farther down, and
seven passed over in 1 hour 30 min. to 2 hours 30 min. The last five
were towed over with a rope. Occupied 4 hours. Ended at 12.45.
Loaded at Eyríkstaðir; left bank of, and 100 feet above, stream. Aneroid
at 2 P.M., 28·98; thermometer (in shade), 60°.
Set out at 5 P.M. Up the high left bank of stream, and at once lost the
road. Line not traced in map; it lies between the Möðrudalsvegr, north,
and the Jökuldalsheiði to the south. Began to cross the great divide, a
tableland, not a prism, between the two Jökulsás.
At 6 P.M., aneroid, 27·90; thermometer, 74°.
Passed north and along foot of Eyríks mountain. Entered a region of
lakes or tarns; whole surface has been under water, and probably is so
still in spring. Buðará reservoir and stream to right. Divided by dust
plains, chocolate and bright-yellow; good galloping-ground.
On right, second lake, Gripdeildr, at foot of Sval-barð Hill.
8.15 P.M.--Vetur-hús farm and lakelet; 3½ Danish (14 geographical)
miles from Möðrudalr. On return, rode in 4 hours 45 min.
End of first stage, which occupied 3 hours 15 min. = 4 geographical
miles.
Resumed road, 8.30 P.M. On left big lake, Ánavatn (Áni proper name), not
in map.
9.20 P.M.--Sænautasel (shieling of the sea-cow), a little bye, belonging
to the large Rangalon (Ranga, proper name, and-lón, sea-loch, inlet,
still-water) farm to north. There is also a Sænautavatn and a
Sænautafjall to west. Another lakelet to left. Up rise, a regular
divide; swampy region to right. Examined the “Halse of the stone wall”
(Grjótgarðaháls). Lakes and swamps again; peats cut here.
10.45 P.M.--Halted near edge of last swamp or lake. This second stage
occupied 2 hours 15 min. = 4 geographical miles.
Set out, 11.15 P.M. Bad descent to Rangaá (river), headwater of Hofsá,
going to Vopnafjörð. Map does not prolong it so far south. Exchanged
swamp for sand and snow-fonds.
Into Heljardalsfjall. Broad smooth plain of Geitirssandr.
Aneroid, 28·08.
Along hill-side to first steep descent; pyramid hill to left. Second
deep descent, the Skarð leading to plain of Möðrudalr.
⊙ IV. Arrived at Möðrudalr, 3.10 A.M. Third stage, 4 hours = 12 miles.
Total of day, 9 hours 30 min.; the distance, according to the people,
being 25 English miles. We made it 20 geographical miles.
Aneroid, 28·50; thermometer, 70° (in room).
Grey morning; sunny noon; high north wind; then heavy clouds; but no
rain till after we were lodged.
MÖÐRUDALR TO GRÍMSTAÐIR.
_August 5._
General direction, almost due north.
In morning took sights.
Herðubreið, 263° 30´ to 266° mag. (local variation--40°), or 223° 30´ to
226° true.
Kverkfjöll, 248° 30´ mag.
Fagradalsfjall, 244° to 246° mag.
$6 to owner, and $2 to student guide.
Set out, 2.45 P.M. Made for Geldíngafell (11° mag.), in line of tall
cliffs. Sandfell, rounded cone, on left. To right (eastward) was
Vegahnúkr, 45° mag., and the rocks and tumuli of Nýpi, or Núpur, 64°
mag. Not in map. Soon off grass into deep sand.
At 3.45 turned back, and lost twenty minutes visiting Goðahóll.
4.45 P.M.--Crossed Skarðsá, ugly black torrent, influent of Western
Jökulsá. Along a _corniche_, the Vegaskarð, a pass through the hills.
Dun-coloured Palagonite clay upon the stones; large blocks of
conglomerate and yellow basaltic rock below.
5.15 P.M.--The Miðvegr (mid-way).
Sharp riding to Víðidalr; ugly barren slope, black waters, foul stream
feeding Jökulsá. Red hill on left.
6.20 P.M.--Halted at farm; two white gables; many byres. Halted..
First stage, slow work, 3 hours = 10 geographical miles.
Set out again, 7.15 P.M. On right, Grímstaða Kerling, natural pyramid of
rock, used by trigonometrical survey.
8.45 P.M.--Biskupsháls.
Skirted Ytri Núpur, northern hill, bounded south-west by Grímstaða
Núpur.
9.15 P.M.--Good gallop over grass; rolling ground up and down.
⊙ V. Crossed rivulet south of farm, and reached Grímstaðir farm, 9.45
P.M.
Second stage, fast; 2 hours 30 min. = 12 miles. Total, 5 hours 30 min.,
half-slow, half-fast = 22 direct geographical miles.
Paid guide, $1; he wanted $2. Will gallop back in two hours.
Morning hot and dry; sun oppressive; in afternoon, cool and cloudy air.
About 8 P.M., cold east wind; hands numbed. In evening, dense cloud,
like ice-fog, rose from the horizon and covered the sun.
Aneroid, 28·88; thermometer, 52°. Next morning, aneroid, 28·72;
thermometer, 59°.
GRÍMSTAÐIR TO MÝ-VATN.
_August 6._
General direction, nearly due west. Took sights, and farmer gave names:
1. Jörundr, bare cone of Palagonite, which we shall leave to right, or
north, 334° mag.
2. Búrfell, tall blue hill, south of our road, 300° mag.
3. Hvannfell, at north end of Bláfell, 293° mag.
4. Fremrinámar, at south-east end of Bláfell (from afar very like
Krísuvík), 276° 30´ mag.
5. Herðubreiðarfell (not to be confounded with true Herðubreið), called
by people, Dýngjufjöll; long line of low heaps and craters, partly
concealing snows of Herðubreið.
Paid $4 for pasture, $2 for ferry (Henderson paid $3), and $2 for this
day’s guide, who has two horses, and returns in the evening.
11 A.M.--Left farm; pricked over plain, sand-outs, and thin scrub.
12.15 P.M.--Jökulsá River; 3 miles. Aneroid, 28·90; thermometer, 63°.
Ferry made four trips. Horses swam to island in 1 min. 15 sec.; spent
two hours at river.
Remounted, 2.15 P.M. Passed Hrossaborg block, and began the Mý-vatn
Öræfi (Desert of Mý-vatn).
Rode slowly; loads falling. Line, lava runs (five large) and sand; many
little craters studding the plain. In front, detached hills and cones,
arc of circle with hollow towards lake. The Mý-vatns Sveit (district).
6.30 P.M.--Little farm, Eystrasel (in map, Mý-vatnssel), 1 hour 30 min.
from Reykjahlíð; swamp to east, and stream to west. Line marked by tall
Varðas, alternate layers of turf and sticks.
Up and down the Námaskarð (_col_ of the wells), dividing Dalfjall, the
northern, from Námafjall, the southern range. Pass through the heart of
the solfatara.
At west end of pass sighted the Mý-vatn.
⊙ VI. 8.30 P.M.--Arrived at Reykjahlíð, our destination.
Second stage from river, 6 hours 15 min. = 17 to 18 direct geographical
miles, riding fast and slow. Total of day’s work, 7 hours 30 min. = 20
miles.
Dull, grey morning; threatens glare and warmth. Wind from north-west;
showers on hills. Dust clouds on plain, showing excess of electricity;
signs of heat, not of rain. Sunny afternoon; gloomy evening.
CHAPTER XIV.
THREE DAYS AT THE SOLFATARA OF MÝ-VATN.
I cannot accuse myself of failing to do traveller’s duty at Mý-vatn:
although the weather became raw and rainy, not an hour was wasted. The
first step was to climb the nearest height and form a general notion of
Midge-water, which must not be derived _à micturitione Diaboli_. It is
said to be forty miles in circumference--you might as well measure round
a spider--and the “gorgeous green isles” look like lumps of mud in a
horsepond; their only use is to grow angelica; but we saw them under a
dull grey sky, like an inverted pewter-pot. The mean of many
observations gave for the aneroid 29·12, and the thermometer 54°: if
this be correct, Midge Lake must be nearer 900 than 1500 feet above
sea-level. Travellers tell you that the fair dimensions were curtailed
by the great eruption of Leirhnúkr and Krafla (1724-30); that the lava
is not yet thoroughly cooled; and that consequently the surface is never
wholly frozen. But the Krafla, as we shall see, can never have flowed
here, and there are old craters and hornitos, volcanoes in miniature,
all about the edge: the whole becomes a solid sheet of ice, except where
sulphur and other minerals send forth springs more or less tepid;
moreover we found a depth of only 27 feet. The bottom is black and
muddy; the water along shore is shallow and weedy, sedgy and spumy,
whitening the coast and the island edges; it is glorious breeding-ground
for the blood-drawing “chief inhabitants of the district.” Gnat terrors
are emphatically noticed, and one traveller assures us that the people
wear a visored cassinet of black cloth to guard head and neck. They are
compared with those _feræ naturæ_, the midges of Maine; “No-see-ums,”
the “Indians” call them. We brought
[Illustration: N^o. 1.
THE REYKJALIÐ AND NÁMARF[.J]ALL SPRINGS.
N^o. 2.
PLAN OF FREMRI-NÁMAR.
N^o. 3.
PLAN OF LEIRHKNÚKR & KRAFLA (SPRINGS.)
M^c. Farlane & Erskine Lithrs. Edin^r.
Vol. II. Page 279.]
veils, and hardly saw a “Mý”--but then, the cold weather was against the
“bodies of Behemoths and the stings of dragons.” Nor did we find Mý-vatn
“a place where birds and fishes abound, and where many of the wonders of
Iceland are concentrated.” Every student of the avi-fauna who has
sighted the pool, from the days of Proctor and Krüper to those of
Shepherd[160] and Baring-Gould, makes it a very happy hunting-ground:
all give lists which bring water to the sportsman’s mouth. Ten short
years, however, have made the latest obsolete. We did not meet with a
single Iceland falcon, once so common; the birds, with the exception of
gulls, a host of sandpipers, and plucky little terns, whose sharp beaks
threatened our heads and eyes, were rare in the extreme; and we found
defunct chicks at every few hundred yards. Although we boated and shot
over the ugly puddle, our only bag consisted of a mallard, a widgeon, a
few grebes and pipers, and the Sefönd or horned grebe (_Podiceps
cornutus_ or _auritus_?), tufted on both sides of the head. The waters
supplied trout and char; there is no salmon, as the fish cannot leap the
falls twenty-five miles from the lake. Dead shells lay everywhere upon
the spumy margin, and the corpse of a duck was found studded with
mollusks. The soil, disintegrated volcanic rock, is of the richest; some
thirty farms and farmlets are scattered about the Hlíðar or ledges
between the several lava-gushes; and the pastures support some 3000
sheep.
The Mý-vatn is somewhat in the delta shape, with the apex fronting west
(⊳), and with the base extending seven to eight miles: its drain, the
Laxá frá Mý-vatn, escaping about the point and feeding the Skálfandi
Fjörð, must be a mere torrent. North of it is the lumpy, uninteresting
mound, Vindbeljarfjall, “wind-bellows hill;” the bag to the south, and
the nozzle to the north-east; an African pair of bellows, _i.e._, one
“bellow,” if such word there be. It is a trigonometrical station like
the Hlíðarfjall, a bare cone north-east of Reykjahlíð. The points and
promontories are most remarkable to the south, but these and other
features will be better observed on the road to the Fremrinámar.
My general survey ending about noon, I set out for Leirhnúkr and Krafla
under the guidance of Hr Pètur Jónsson, the farmer of Reykjahlíð. The
tall, burly old man, made taller by contrast with his little Jack nag,
had fenced himself against the grey mist and skurrying sea-wind by the
usual huge comforter meeting the billy-cock hat behind; by
“conservators” of green glass, and by a mighty paletot of the thickest
Wadmal. We followed yesterday’s road, and now I carefully observed the
lay of the land. Beyond the green and grassy point, Höfði (the
headland), we came upon sundry veins of lava about a century and a half
old, and much like slag: where Palagonite-conglomerate forms the
surface, begin the Sandfell and the Hlíðarnámar (Lithewells), the latter
wrongly confounded in the map with the Námar to the east of the
Námafjall range. A couple of boards some six inches long were the only
signs of work. The dirty-yellow mountain, striped from top to toe, as if
washed by rain, with primrose, brick-red, dark blue, pea-green, light
blue, and chalky-white, now stood smoking before us; and beginning the
ascent, we passed the two boulders of pure sulphur, from which every
traveller has carried off a bittock. Threading the Námaskarð by a decent
path, we wound first to south and then to north, till we sighted the mud
caldrons on the eastern slope. In Henderson’s day they numbered twelve;
in 1872 apparently they were on their “last legs:” two lay to the north,
four to the south; they were shaped like Sitz baths, and they ejected,
with a mild puff which could not be called a roar, spirts of repulsive
slime, blue-black, like mud stained by sulphate of iron. These
“Makkalubers” contrasted strongly with the patches of lively citron and
sprightly pink all about the slopes. One traveller finds it a “most
appalling scene”--he must be easily “appalled.”
Debouching upon the eastern plain, we rode along the foot of the
Dalfjall (dale-hill), which continues the Sulphur Range to the north,
hugging the sides to avoid the Steiná, another bed of newish lava, an
impossible mass of cinder, brown, black, and red, on our right. The path
was well grown, but the “lady of the woods” (birch) is a dwarf in these
parts, and looked tame beside the patches of Dryas. We flushed sundry
ptarmigan, which were certainly not “absurdly tame.” After an hour and
a half of “Trossacks,” which on return was covered in forty-five
minutes, we halted at Skarðsel, a little Setr or summer shieling, a mere
“but and ben” without tún, a heap of peat and stones grubbed out into
rooms. The primitive churn found in every dairy shows that the ewes’
cream is here made into cheese, whilst the skim-milk forms the national
Skýr. Of course the animals are poor and thin all the year round--the
effect of continued “drain upon the constitution.”
Beyond the Skarðsel, we began to ascend and round sundry diseased and
mangy hills, walking up the higher pitches, and riding over peat mounds,
based upon oldish lava. After a total of two hours, we dismounted at the
foot of Leirhnúkr (mud-knoll), where the horses’ hoofs flung up mere
sulphur, and where warm, damp air escaped from every hole. The view from
the summit convinced me that the emplacement has been poorly described
by travellers. It is the northern head of a thin spine, a sharp prism
about a mile broad, lying almost upon a meridian (215° mag.), and
continuing the heights of Thríhyrningr, Dalfjall, and Námafjall. At some
distance to the north-west rises the snowy buttress, Gæsadalsfjöll
(geese-dale hills), almost concealing the Kinnarfjall (cheek or jaw
mountain). Nearer lies a chain of cones and craters, with sundry
outliers; they seem to have discharged a torrent nine miles long by
three of maximum breadth, which inundated the north-eastern corner of
the Mý-vatn with veins and arteries of fire; and the scatter of hornitos
and fumaroles to the north has also aided in the work of destruction, or
rather reconstruction. The map shows only a patch of lava reaching from
Leirhnúkr to the Hlíðarfjall cone south-west.
The Leirhnúkr proper is composed of two hillocks trending north and
south; the southern is larger than the northern, and the whole, a long
oval extending some 2000 paces, is one vast outcrop. The lowland to the
east is far broader than the western, a mere slip; here frequent
splotches of sulphur and anaphysemata, or gas vents, lead to the Krafla
springs. The aneroid showed the summit of the Mud-Knoll to be about 2000
feet above sea-level. Henderson (i., p. 167) calls it a volcano, and
connects it with his other volcano, Krafla, by a non-existing ridge;
but with him, _omne ignotum_, etc.--Hrossaborg and even Herðubreið are
volcanoes. When he compares the scenery with that of the Dead Sea, one
of the fairest of salt-water lakes, we must remember that his idea of
“Asphaltites” was borrowed from that lively modern writer, Strabo.
We then remounted and rode over the dwarf Phlegræan fields to the Námar
of Krafla,[161] the _immense soufrière_ of M. Robert. The lowland is
here studded with many inverted cones of cold, blue water; the principal
feature being Helvíti Stærra (Greater Hell). It is an irregular circle,
with little projections at the longest diameter, north-west to
south-east, a large, tawny funnel of burnt clay and bolus, the
degradation of trachyte and Palagonite, about 800 yards across. This is
the famous “mud-caldron of Krabla,” a “natural phenomenon hardly
inferior to the Geyser;” but Henderson’s Hell of 1815 was greatly
changed in 1872; and we shall see far larger features at the Hverfjall
and the Námarkoll. Instead of that “terrific scene,” the “jetting pool”
of wild illustrations, a lakelet smiling in the bright sun, which burst
the clouds about two P.M., a placid expanse of green-blue water, cold,
and said to be deep, occupied the bottom of the hole, and the only
movement was a shudder as the wind passed over it. I could not help
thinking of “La belle vision d’Élie, ou un Dieu passe sous la figure
d’un vent léger.” Despite the “abrupt and precipitous descent, 200 feet
deep,” there is no difficulty in descending the sides of “Olla Vulcani,”
now the mere dregs of a volcano.
After inspecting this poor, “abolished Hell,” we rode round it
northwards, crossing sundry snow-wreaths, which on the Libanus would be
called Talláját, and left our cards upon “Little Hell.” The latter is
composed of two smaller lakes on a higher plane, one bearing
east-south-east and the other south-east. Between the pair lie some
half-dozen slimy-bordered “leir-hverar,”[162] mud-boilers of fetid
smell: the ejections bubbled and spluttered, falling into their own
basins, and the fumes did not prevent the growth of Fífa and bright
lichens.
After seeing what you may see in almost any solfatara, we rode to the
north-east, and in twenty minutes we ascended the turfy and muddy
northern cone of Krafla mountain; a mass of Palagonite, pierced, to
judge from the surface scatters, with white trachyte. An isolated cone
appears in the map; I found that the northerly part sweeps round to the
north-north-east, connecting with the Hágaung (high-goer), a long,
meridional buttress of similar formation; whilst the south-eastern
prolongation anastomoses with the black mass called the Hraftinnuhryggr
or “Obsidian mountain.” I utterly failed to discover any sign of crater:
we are told that Krafla was torn in half during the last century, and
Henderson apparently makes Great Helvíti the remains of the bowl. From
the apex, where the aneroid showed 27·30, we could trace the course of
the Laxá; and a gleam in the north was pronounced by the farmer to be
the Axarfjörð, a corner of the house where dwells _Le Père Arctique_.
Upon the black summit, where we
“Toil and sweat, and yet be freezing cold,”
Dryas was still in bloom, and violets and buttercups were scattered over
the lower slopes. I looked in vain for specimens of the plumbago or
black lead, reported to be found on Krafla. There is no objection to its
presence in this katakekaumene; “graphitical carbon” was found by M.
Alibert in the volcanic formations of Siberian Meninski, so it is not
confined, as at Borrowdale, to the “primitives.”
As we were descending the hill, my guide inspected a flock of his own
sheep, and I vainly attempted to lay in a store of fresh mutton. These
people would probably sell, if they could get $8 to $9 per head, some
2000 of their 3000 animals, and greed of gain would leave them almost
destitute. Yet here, as at other farms, it is impossible, even with a
week’s work and offering treble price, to buy a single head; excuses are
never wanting, “There is no one to send! All the ewes have lambs! The
lambs are not fit for food!” The latter probably means that the lamb
will in time become a sheep; the wild negro of the African interior,
equally logical, expects a chicken to bring the price of a hen. In
Tenerife I should have shot a wether, and have left the price upon its
skin.
A shallow valley led to the Hraftinnuhryggr, where previous accounts
would induce you to expect a “mountain of broken wine-bottles,” all
“shining with their jetty colouring.” The thin strew upon the streamlet
sides and about the feet was of small fragments, which became larger as
I ascended. Mostly it was black and regular, that is, not banded, and
the outer coating was a reddish paste: in places it forms a conglomerate
with sandstone, and on the eastern summit, where trachyte also crops
out, it seems to be _in situ_. M. Cordier (p. 278) translates the word
“_pierre de Corbeau_,” thus robbing the raven: he proposes “_gallinace_”
(_i.e._, turkey-buzzard), for the glassy material of pyroxenic base,
reserving “obsidian” for the felspathic. From this place, I believe,
came the specimens lately studied by Dr Kennott of Zurich: one of them
exhibited under the microscope, “numerous small, brown, hollow bodies,
of globular and cylindrical shape, regularly arranged in definite
series.” Obsidian has been found north-east of Hekla, passing into
pumice, and old Icelandic travellers seem to confound it with
pitchstone, asphalte, or bitumen of Judea, a vegetable produce. Many of
the obsidians are remarkably acid. “Iceland agate” (why?) must be
handled with care, as Metcalfe found to the cost of his bridle-hand.
Iceland ignores the pure “stone age” of Tenerife and Easter Island; and
though strangers pick up specimens, the “volcanic glass” here has never
been worked, as by the natives of the Lipari group. I observed that
Ravenflint ridge, which prolongs the Krafla, is itself prolonged by the
Sandabotnafjöll, and by the Jörundr, which the map makes an isolated
cone. The classical name of the latter suggests memories of the old
anchorite of Garðar.
The day ended pleasantly. After finding what there was and what there
was not to be seen, I galloped back in a fine sun and warm evening, and
after seven hours thirty minutes of total
[Illustration: REYKJAHLID CHURCH--(miraculously preserved).]
work, found my companions busy in pitching the tent, despite the cold
threats of night. They complained of the stranger’s room, although it
rejoiced in such luxuries as two windows, a bed and curtains,
looking-glass, commode, map, thermometer, and a photograph of Jón
Sigurðsson. The house, with five gables, fronts west-south-west to
“Wind-bellows hill;” here the south wind is fair and warm, the norther
brings rain, the easter is wet, and the wester dry and tepid. As in
England, the south-wester is the most prevalent, and flowers thrive best
where best sheltered from it. The house has the usual appurtenances,
workshop and carpenter’s bench; smithy and furnace; byre and sheep-fold.
The shabby little windmill, with three ragged sails, goes of itself,
like Miss K.’s leg; there is an adjacent Laug, of course never used, and
the nearness of the lake renders a Lavapés (rivulet) unnecessary.
Plough, harrows, watering-pot, and hay-cart are also evidences of
civilisation, but the kail-yard is nude of potatoes--probably they
require too much hard labour. Shabbier than the windmill, the church,
bearing date 1825, lacks cross, and wants tarring; it has no windows to
speak of, and the turf walls are built after an ancient fashion, now
rare, the herring-bone of Roman brickwork. The cemetery around it is
indecently neglected, and bones, which should be buried, strew the
ground. Baring-Gould (1863) gives an account of its chasubles and other
ecclesiastical frippery, which may still be there, unless sold to some
traveller. It is a lineal descendant of that “church which in an almost
miraculous manner escaped the general conflagration” of 1724-30.
Henderson adds the question, “Who knows but the effectual fervent prayer
of some pious individual, or some designs of mercy, may have been the
cause fixed in the eternal purpose of Jehovah for the preservation of
this edifice?” I may simply remark that lava does not flow up hill; the
stream split into two at the base of the mound, without “being inspired
with reverence for the consecrated ground,” and united in the hollow
farther down. Yet travellers of that age derided the Neapolitan who
placed his Madonna in front of the flowing lava; and when she taught him
the lesson of Knútr (Canute) the Dane,[163] tossed her into the fire
with a _‘naccia l’anima tua_, etc., etc., etc. Superstition differs not
in kind, but only in degree.
The reason for the tent-pitching soon appeared. The burly farmer has a
lot of lubberly sons, and two surly daughters; “Cross-patch” and
“Crumpled-horn” being attended by half-a-dozen suitors and women
friends, _bouches inutiles_ all. If we look into the kitchen, these
Lucretias make a general bolt. There is extra difficulty in getting
hot-water, although Nature, as “Reykjahlíð” shows, has laid it on hard
by; and even the cold element is brought to us in tumblers. The coffee
is copiously flooded; this is feminine economy, which looks forward to
the same pay for the bad as for the good; and cups, which suggest “take
a ’poon, pig,” poorly supply the place of the pot. One of the sons
speaks a little English: we tried him upon the lake, and after two
hours’ rowing he was utterly exhausted. Besides, there are lots of
loafers, jolter-headed, crop-eared youngsters,
“With no baird to the face
Nor a snap to the eyes,”
who are mighty at doing nothing: they peep into, and attempt to enter,
the tent; when driven off they lounge away to the smithy, or to the
carpenter’s bench, and satisfied with this amount of exercise, they
lounge back into the house, where we hear them chattering and wrangling,
cursing and swearing, like a nest of young parrots. They remind me of
the Maori proverb, “Your people are such lazy rogues, that if every
dirt-heap were a lizard, no one would take the trouble to touch its tail
and make it run away.” They cannot even serve themselves: the harder
work is done by a pauper couple, a blind man and his wife, who sleep in
the hay-loft. The only sign of activity is shown by the carpenter,
Arngrímr, a surly fellow, wearing a fur cap, like a man from the
Principalities, and with mustachioes meeting his whiskers, like those of
the Spanish Torero. “He is Nature’s artist,” says the student, meaning
that he has taught himself to paint, and _hélas!_ to play flute and
fiddle. So the evening ends with ditties, dolefully sung, and the
Icelandic national hymn, the latter suggesting Rule (or rather be Ruled)
Britannia. We are curious to know how all these sturdy idlers live. They
fish; they eat rye-bread and Skýr; they rob the nests, and at times they
kill a few birds: the best thing that could happen to them would be
shipment to Milwaukee, where they would learn industry under a Yankee
taskmaster. I have drawn this unpleasant interior with Dutch minuteness:
it is the worst known to me in Iceland.
The old farmer, Pètur Jónsson, lost no time in deserving the character
which he has gained from a generation of travellers; his excuse is that
he must plunder the passing stranger in order to fill the enormous gapes
which characterise his happy home. Yet he makes money as a blacksmith;
he owns a hundred sheep, and he is proprietor of a good farm. In his old
billycock, his frock-coat and short waistcoat, he looks from head to
foot the lower order of Jew; we almost expect to hear “ole clo’” start
spontaneously from his mouth. He began by asking $3, to be paid down,
for the Krafla trip, and $4, the hire of four labouring men, for
trinkgeld to the Fremrinámar; and the manner was more offensive than the
matter of the demand. His parting bill was a fine specimen of its kind.
It is only fair to state that he bears a very bad name throughout the
island.
Next day the north wind still blew; the heavy downpour at five A.M.
became a drizzle two hours later; and at ten A.M. there was a blending
of sunshine and mistcloud, which showed that we had nought to fear save
a shower or two of rain and sleet. Mr Lock (_fils_) and I determined
upon a ride to the Fremrinámar; “a field of sulphur and boiling mud,”
says Baring-Gould, “not visited by travellers, as it is difficult of
access, and inferior in interest to the Námar-fjall springs.” After
breakfast, we set out, each provided with two nags, which we drove over
the lava-field to the Vogar farm, about half-an-hour distant on the
other side of the grassy point, Höfði. This “oasis in the lava”--a
description which applies to all the farms of Eastern Mý-vatn--was the
parsonage in Ólafsson’s day (1772); we expected to find the Jón Jónsson
mentioned by Shepherd, who had learned English in Scotland--he had,
however, joined _il numero dei più_. As sometimes happens to the
over-clever, we notably “did” ourselves; the owner, Hjálmar Helgason, a
very civil man over a tass of brandy, was, we afterwards found out, a
son-in-law of old Pètur; he also, doubtless informed of the _rixe_,
demanded $4, which we had to pay; he kept us waiting a whole hour whilst
the horses were being driven in, and he sent with us a raw laddie, whose
only anxiety was to finish the job.
Shortly after noon we rode forward, crossing the unimportant Gjá, which
the map stretches in a zigzag south of Reykjahlíð; we passed the “horrid
lava-track” of Ólafsson, a mild mixture of clinker and sand, and in
twenty minutes we reached Hverfjall, lying to the south-east. From afar
the huge black decapitated cone, symmetrically shaped and quaquaversally
streaked, has a sinister and menacing look. It is not mentioned by
Henderson, whose account of the Mý-vatn is very perfunctory. According
to Baring-Gould, it is “built up of shale and dust, and has never
erupted lava:” as the name shows, it contained a Hver, or mudspring. We
mounted it in ten minutes, and found the big bowl to consist of volcanic
cinder and ashes based upon Palagonite and mud: the shape was somewhat
like that of the Hauranic “Gharáreh” which supplied the lava of the
Lejá. The aneroid (28·70; thermometer, 83°) showed some 800 feet above
Reykjahlíð; and the vantage-ground gave an excellent view of the lake,
with its low black holms and long green islets, of which the longest and
the greenest is Miklaey (mickle isle). This _Monte nuovo_ was erupted in
1748-52; and a plaited black mound in the easily-reached centre shows
where the mud was formerly ejected. Almost due south of it lies a
precisely similar feature, the Villíngafjall. These formations are
technically called Sand-gýgr, “sand craters,” opposed to Eld-gýgr, the
“fire abyss;” and their outbreaks form the “sand summers” and the “sand
winters” of arenaceous Iceland and its neighbourhood. I look upon the
Hverfjall as the typical pseudo-volcanic formation of the island.
The real start was at one P.M., when, having rounded the western wall of
the Hverfjall, we passed east of a broken line of craters based upon
thin-growing grass. The whole can be galloped over, but ’ware holes! Nor
did I find the skirt of a lava-flood always an “unsurmountable barrier
to Iceland ponies,” although in new places it may be. On the east was
Búrfell (“byre” hill), the name is frequently given to steep, circular,
and flat-topped mounds; south-west of it lay the Hvannfell, long and
box-shaped. Farther to the south-west, and nearly due south of the lake,
rose Sellandarfjall, apparently based on flat and sandy ground; patches
of snow streaked the hogsback, which distinguished itself from the
horizontal lines of its neighbours. Far ahead towered the steely heights
of Bláfjall, which from the east had appeared successively a cone and a
bluff: it still showed the snows which, according to travellers, denote
that the Sprengisandur is impassable; the last night had added to them,
but the lower coating soon melted in the fiery sun-bursts. The line of
path was fresh lava overlying Palagonite; and in the hollows dwarf
pillars of black clay were drawn up from the snow by solar heat: their
regular and polygonal forms again suggested doubts about the igneous
origin of basalt, which may simply result from shrinking and pressure.
This columnar disposal of dried clay, and even of starch desiccated in
cup or basin, was noticed by Uno Von Troil as far back as 1770.
After an hour’s sharp ride, during which my little mare often rested on
her nose, we struck a cindery divide, a scene of desolation with sandy
nullahs, great gashes, down whose sharp slopes we were accompanied
bodily by a fair proportion of the side: of course the ascents were made
on foot. The material is all volcanic and Palagonitic; here trap and
trachyte _in situ_ apparently do not exist: as we made for a _Brèche de
Roland_, east of Bláfjall, we passed a sloping wall of white clay; and
at half-past three we halted and changed nags at the Afréttr
(_compascuum_), to which the neighbouring farmers drive their sheep in
July and August. The lad called it the Laufflesjar, leafy green spots in
the barren waste. We saw little of the willow which he had led us to
expect; but the dark sand abounded in flowers and gramens; the former
represented by the white bloom of the milfoil (_Achillea millefolium_),
which the people term Vallhumall,[164] or “Welsh,” that is, “foreign,”
hop; and the latter by the Korn-Súra (_Polygonum viviparum_), viviparous
Alpine buckwheat. A snow-patch at the western end of the plainlet gave
us drink; and thus water, forage, and fuel were all to be found within a
few hundred yards. The guide said it was half-way, whereas it is nearly
two-thirds, and we rode back to it from Bláfjall, which bears 100°
(mag.), in an hour.
Resuming our road we rounded the sides of the hillocks, and presently we
attacked a Hraun unmarked by Varðas. Discharged by a multitude of little
vents, the upper and the lower portions are the most degraded; the
middle flood looks quite new, and ropy like twisted straw. We now
sighted and smelt the smoke pouring from the yellow lip, which looks as
if the sun were ever shining upon its golden surface, and which stands
out conspicuous from the slaggy, cindery, and stony hills. At five P.M.,
after a ride of four hours and a half, we reached the northern or
smaller vent, an oval opening to the north-north-west, and we placed our
nags under shelter from the wind. The hair was frozen on their backs
into “_lamellæ niveæ et glaciales spiculæ_;” they had no forage beyond a
bite at the Afréttr, and we were on a high, bleak level, the aneroid
showing 27·10, and the thermometer 40°.
When the sun had doffed his turban of clouds, we sat upon the edge of
the Little “Ketill” and studied the site of the Fremrinámar, the
“further springs,” because supposed to be most distant from the lake.
From the Öræfi the pools seem to cluster about the yellow crater; now we
see that they occupy all the eastern slope of the raised ground, the
section of the Mý-vatns Sveit extending from Búrfell to Bláfjall. The
northern vent is merely one of the dependencies of Hvannfell; the
southern or Great Crater belongs to the “Blue Mountain.” We presently
turned southwards and ascended the Great Kettle, which Paijkull declares
to be “probably the largest in Iceland.” This Námakoll, “head” or “crown
of the springs,” is an oval, with the longer diameter disposed
north-east to south-west (true), and measuring nearly double the shorter
axis (600:350 yards).[165] The outer wall, raised 150 to 200 feet, is
one mass of soft sulphur covered by black sand; every footstep gives
vent to a curl of smoke, and we do not attempt to count the hissing
fumaroles, which are of every size from the thickness of a
knitting-needle upwards. With the least pressure a walking-stick sinks
two feet. We pick up fragments of gypsum; alum, fibrous and
efflorescent; and crystals of lime, white and red, all the produce of
the Palagonite, which still forms the inner crust; and we read that sal
ammoniac and rock-salt have also been found. The rim is unbroken, for no
discharge of lava has taken place; the interior walls are brick-red and
saffron-yellow, and where snow does not veil the sole, lies a solid
black pudding, the memorial cairn of the defunct Hver or Makkaluber.
From the west end no sulphur fumes arise; south-eastward the ruddy
_suffioni_ extend to a considerable distance.
The Appendix will describe the old working of these diggings, which did
not pay, although the hundredweight cost only ten shillings. At the
southern end a staff planted in the ground amongst the hissing hot
coppers still shows the labourers’ refuge, a shed built with dry lava
blocks. If Professor Henchel characterised them correctly as “bad,
because all the sulphur was taken away last year” (1775), they have
wonderfully recovered in the course of a century: evidently “all the
sulphur” means only the pure yellow flowers lying on the surface. The
mass of mineral is now enormous. The road to the lake is a regular and
easy slope, and working upon a large scale would give different results
from those obtained by filling and selling basketfuls.
From the summit of the Námakoll we had an extensive view of the unknown
region to the south. Upon the near ridge stood the Sighvatr rock, the
landmark of the Öræfi, from which it appears a regular pyramid: here it
assumes the shape of a _Beco de papagaio_. I now ascertained that there
are no northern Dýngjufjöll, or rather that they are wrongly disposed
upon the map. I wonder also how that queer elongated horse-shoe farther
south, the “Askja” or “Dýngjufjöll hin Syðri,” came to be laid out; but
my knowledge of the ground does not enable me to correct the shape.
North of Herðubreið lay the Herðubreiðarfell, all blue and snow-white.
To the south-west stretched far beyond the visible horizon the Ódáða
Hraun, which most travellers translate the “Horrible Lava,” and some
“Malefactors’ Desert” or “Lava of Evil Deed.” The area is usually
estimated at 1160 square miles, more than one-third the extent of the
Vatnajökull, which it prolongs to the north-west. Viewed from the
Námakoll it by no means appears a “fearful tract, with mountains
standing up almost like islands above a wild, black sea.” I imagine that
most of the _contes bleues_ about this great and terrible wilderness
take their rise in the legendary fancies of the people touching the
Útilegumenn, or outlaws who are supposed to haunt it. I observed that Hr
Gíslason prepared a pair of revolvers in case we met them upon the Öxi;
and I found to my cost that even educated men believe in them. Previous
travellers may be consulted about the Happy Valleys in the stone-desert,
the men dressed in red Wadmal, the beautiful women, and the hornshod
horses. I can only observe that such a society has now no _raison
d’être_; it might have had reasons to fly its kind, but a few sheep
lost during the year are not sufficient proofs of such an anomaly still
existing.
All I saw of the Ódáða Hraun was a common lava-field, probably based
upon Palagonite. It seemed of old date, judging from the long dust-lines
and the stripes tonguing out into ashes and cindery sand. The surface
was uneven, but not mountainous; long dorsa striped the ejected matter,
and the latter abounded in hollows and ravines, caverns and boilers.
Many parts retained the snow even at a low level, and thus water cannot
be wholly wanting even in the driest season. Here and there were tracts
of greenish tint, probably grass and willows, lichens and mosses;
possibly of the lava with bottle-like glaze over which I afterwards
rode. The prospect to the south-south-west ended with a blue and white
buttress, an outlier of the Vatnajökull, which might be the (Eastern)
Skjaldbreið.
We proposed to return by the eastern road _viâ_ the Búrfell, but our
guide declared that the lava was almost impassable, and that the hardest
work would not take us to Reykjahlíð before the morning. Having neither
food, tobacco, nor liquor, and being half frozen by the cold, we
returned _viâ_ the Afréttr; we passed to the east of Hverfjall, not
gaining by the change of path; and after a ride of eight hours and a
half we found ourselves “at home” shortly before eleven P.M. My feet did
not recover warmth till three _A.M._
August 9th was an idle day for the horses, which required rest before a
long march to the wilderness; the weather also was rainy, and more
threatening than ever. I proceeded to examine the Hlíðarnámar, or
Ledge-springs, and to see what boring work had been done by my
companions.[166] The “smell of rotten eggs,” the effects of “suffocating
fumes” upon “respiratory organs,” which by the by can only benefit from
them, and the chance of being “snatched from a yawning abyss by the
stalwart arms of the guide”--we were our own guides--had now scanty
terrors for our daring souls. They have been weighty considerations with
some travellers; their attitude reminds me of two Alpine climbers who,
instead of crossing it, sat down and debated whether, as fathers of
families, they would be justified in attempting that snow-bridge.
Perhaps the conviction that the “abyss” here rarely exceeds in depth
three feet, where it meets with the ground-rock, Palagonite, may account
for our exceptional calmness. The reader will note that I speak only of
the Hlíðarnámar: in 1874 they tell me a traveller was severely scalded
at some hot spring.
The Hlíðarnámar west of the Námafjall, which Henderson calls the
“Sulphur Mountain,” are on a lower plane than the Námar proper, east of
the divide. They are bounded on the north by the double lava-stream
which, during the last century, issued from the north-east, near the
base of the Hlíðarfjall: to the south stretch independent
“stone-floods,” studded with a multitude of hornitos, little vents, and
foci. The area of our fragment of the great solfatara extending from the
mountain, where it is richest, to the lava which has burnt it out, may
be one square mile. It is not pretty scenery save to the capitalist’s
eye, this speckled slope of yellow splotches, set in dark red and
chocolate-coloured bolus, here and there covered with brown gravel, all
fuming and puffing, and making the delicate and tender-hued Icelandic
flora look dingy as a S’a Leone mulatto.