We began with the lowlands, where the spade, deftly plied by the handy

Bowers, threw up in many places flowers of sulphur, and almost pure

mineral. Below the gold-tinted surface we generally found a white layer,

soft, acid, and mixed with alum; under this again occurred the bright

red, the chocolate, and other intermediate colours, produced either by

molecular change, the result of high temperature; or by oxygen, which

the steam and sulphur have no longer power to modify. Here the material

was heavy and viscid, clogging the spade. Between the yellow outcrops

stretched gravelly tracts, which proved to be as rich as those of more

specious appearance. Many of the issues were alive, and the dead vents

were easily resuscitated by shallow boring; in places a puff and fizz

immediately followed the removal of the altered lava blocks which

cumbered the surface. In places we crushed through the upper crust, and

thus “falling in” merely means dirtying the boots. Mr Augustus Völlker,

I am told, has determined the bright yellow matter to be almost pure

(95·68:100). The supply, which has now been idle for thirty years, grows

without artificial aid, but the vast quantities which now waste their

sourness on the desert air, and which deposit only a thin superficial

layer, might be collected by roofing the vents with pans, as in Mexico,

or by building plank sheds upon the lava blocks, which appear already

cut for masonry. According to the old traveller, Ólafsson, the supply is

readily renewed; and Dr Mouat (“The Andaman Islanders”) covers all the

waste in two or three years.

Leaving our nags in a patch of wild oats, which, they say, the Devil

planted to delude man, we walked up the Námafjall, whose white, pink,

and yellow stripes proved to be sulphur-stones and sand washed down by

the rain so as to colour the red oxidised clay. Here we picked up

crystals of alum and lime, and fragments of selenite and gypsum

converted by heat into a stone-like substance. The several crests,

looking like ruined towers from below, proved to be box-shaped masses of

Palagonite and altered lava; the summits, not very trustworthy to the

tread, gave comprehensive prospects of the lowlands and the lake. Upon

the chine we also found mud-springs, blubbering, gurgling, spluttering,

plop-plopping, and mud-flinging, as though they had been bits of the

Inferno: the feature is therefore not confined, as some writers assert,

to the hill-feet facing the Öræfi. The richest diggings begin east of

the crest, and here the vapour escapes with a treble of fizz and a bass

of sumph, which the vivid fancy of the Icelandic traveller has converted

into a “roar.” My companions were much excited by the spectacle of the

great _soufrière_, and by the thought of so much wealth lying dormant in

these days of “labour activised by capital,” when sulphur, “the

mainstay,” says Mr Crookes, “of our present industrial chemistry,” has

risen from £4, 10s. to £7 a ton, when 15 to 20 per cent. is a paying

yield in the Sicilian mines, and when the expensive old system of

working the ore has been rendered simple and economical as

charcoal-burning. And we should have looked rather surprised if informed

that all these mines were shortly to be extinguished by a scientific

member of the Society of Arts.

In the evening, which unexpectedly proved the last when we three met in

Iceland, the conversation naturally fell upon sulphur and

sulphur-digging. The opinion expressed by Professor Jönstrüp, who in

1871 had used the six-inch boards, was also duly discussed. He was

undoubtedly right in believing that for exploitation foreigners can do

more than natives, and that money spent by the Danish Government would

only weight the Icelander’s pocket. But he gave a flourishing account to

Mr Alfred G. Lock, who, after wooing the coy party since 1866, has

obtained a concession for fifty years; the only limiting condition being

that he is not to wash in running waters, an absurdity demanded by local

prejudices. For many years the Iceland diggings were a “bone of

contention” between England and France. In 1845, M. Robert, the same who

quietly proposed robbing the Iceland spar, wrote, “Aussi doît-il bien se

garder de jamais accorder aux Anglais qui l’ont sollicitée, la faculté

d’exploiter ces soufrières; comme on l’a fait en Laponie a l’égard des

mines de cuivre.” Let us hope that under the enlightened rule of

philanthropic Liberal Governments, nations have improved in 1874. But as

the Iceland fisheries prove, the French rulers have ably and

substantially supported their fellow-subjects, whereas ours find it

easier and more dignified to do nothing, and to “let all slide.” Nothing

proves England to be a great nation more conclusively than what she does

despite the incubus from above. Nothing is more surprising than to see

the man whom you have known for years to be well born, well bred, and

well worthy of respect, suddenly, under the influence of office or of

public life, degenerating into the timid Conservative, or the rampant,

turbulent Radical. But the do-nothing policy of late years must give way

the moment pressure is put upon it, and popular opinion requires only

more light for seeing the way to a complete change.

I did not visit the House-wich of old Garðar Svafarson nor the road by

which the Mý-vatn sulphur has been shipped in small quantities to

Copenhagen, but Mr Charles Lock kindly sent me a sober and sensible

description, which is given in his own words.

“The Húsavík line is very good, being for the most part over gently

undulating downs, with basalt a few feet below the surface; crossing no

streams of importance, and having a fall of 1500 feet in a distance of

45 miles.[167] It is wrongly shown in Gunnlaugsson’s map, for instead of

being on the eastern side of Lángavatn it skirts the western shore of

that lake, and it likewise passes on the western side of Uxahver.

“Húsavík harbour is a very good one, judging from the description given

us by Captain Thrupp, R.N., of H.M.S. ‘Valorous,’ who spent some time

there this summer. An old Danish skipper said it was perfectly safe when

proper moorings were laid down, no vessel having been lost in it during

the last thirty years. He has been trading between Copenhagen, Hull, and

Húsavík for twenty-five years past, reaching the latter port each year

about the end of February, and making his last voyage home in October.

Between October and February there is generally a quantity of ice

floating off the coast, which hinders vessels entering the

harbour.”[168]

I also asked my young _compagnon de voyage_ to collect for me, upon the

spot, certain details of the earthquake which occurred in the

north-eastern part of the island, and which, as was noticed in the

Introduction, did some damage at Húsavík. On the afternoon of April 16,

three shocks were felt; two others followed during the afternoon of

April 17; the second was remarkably violent, and throughout the night

the ground continued, with short intervals of repose, to show lively

agitation, which on the 18th reached its culmination. All the wooden

huts were thrown down, and the stone houses were more or less shaken,

the factory alone remaining in any measure habitable. Some cattle were

killed; there was no loss of human life, but from twenty to thirty

families were compelled to seek shelter in the outskirts. Nobody

remained in the dilapidated little market-town except the Sýslumaðr,

whose family left for Copenhagen in the steamer “Harriet,” bringing the

news to Europe--I met them on their return to Reykjavik, and they

confessed having been terribly startled and shaken. During the three

days after the 18th, the vibrations continued with diminished violence;

they were unimportant in the immediate neighbourhood of Húsavík; they

were insignificant about Krafla, and when the vessel sailed they had

wholly ceased. There was also a report that the crater in the icy depths

of the Vatnajökull had begun to “vomit fire.”

This much the _Norddeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung_ had informed me: Mr

Charles Lock added the following details: “During the eight days of

earthquake the thermometer (R.), during the night, fell as low as-8°.

The direction of the shocks was from east to west, and some of them were

very severe. The inhabitants were so much frightened that they crowded

on board a vessel which chanced to be in port. I was not told that the

effects were at all felt in the harbour. The Sýslumaðr slept in one of

the streets for several nights. Many small cracks were left in the

ground when the shocks had subsided; but these have since been filled

up: some naturally, others by the peasants.”

Let us now “hark back” to Mý-vatn.

As a wandering son of Israel once said to me, in my green and salad

days, “Gold may be bought too dear.” The question is not whether sulphur

exists in Iceland; it is simply “Can we import sulphur from Iceland

cheaper than from elsewhere?” Calculations as to profit will evidently

hinge upon the cost of melting the ore at the pit’s mouth, and of

conveying it to a port of shipment: however cheap and abundant it may be

in the interior, if fuel be scarce and roads and carriage wanting, it

cannot be expected to pay. My opinion is that we can, if science and

capital be applied to the mines. The digging season would be the hot

season; and the quantity is so great that many a summer will come and go

before the thousands of tons which compose every separate patch can be

exhausted. But this part of the work need not be confined to the fine

weather: it is evident, even if experience of the past did not teach us,

that little snow can rest upon the hot and steaming soil. As one place

fails, or rather rests to recover vigour, the road can be pushed forward

to another--I am persuaded that the whole range, wherever Palagonite is

found, will yield more or less of the mineral.

The first produce could be sent down in winter to Húsavík by the Sleði

(sledge). When income justifies the outlay, a tramroad on the Haddan

system would cheapen transit. The ships which export the sulphur can

import coal to supply heat where the boiling springs do not suffice,

together with pressed hay and oats for the horses and cattle used in the

works. As appears in the Appendix, turf and peat have been burned, and

the quantity of this fuel is literally inexhaustible. It will be

advisable to buy sundry of the farms, and those about Mý-vatn range in

value between £300 and a maximum of £800. The waste lands to the east

will carry sheep sufficient for any number of workmen. The hands might

be Icelanders, trained to regular work, and superintended by English

overseers, or, if judged advisable, all might be British miners. Good

stone houses and stoves will enable the foreigner to weather a winter

which the native, in his wretched shanty of peat and boards, regards

with apprehension. Of the general salubrity of the climate I have no

doubt.

The sulphur trade will prove the most legitimate that the island can

afford. Exploitation of these deposits, which become more valuable every

year, promises a source of wealth to a poor and struggling country; free

from the inconveniences of the pony traffic, and from the danger of

exporting the sheep and cattle required for home supply. And the

foreigner may expect to enrich, not only the native, but himself, as

long at least as he works honestly and economically, and he avoids the

errors which, in the Brazil and elsewhere, have too often justified the

old Spanish proverb, “A silver mine brings wretchedness; a gold mine,

ruin.”

These statements, printed in the _Standard_ (November 1, 1872), have

lately been criticised by a certain “Brimstone” (_Mining Journal_,

August 29, and September 19, 1874). He is kind enough to say, “I have

the greatest respect for Captain Burton as a traveller, but none

whatever as an inspector of mining properties”--where, however, a little

candour and common sense go a long way. And he is honest enough to own,

despite all interests in pyrites or Sicilian mines, that the “working of

the sulphur deposits in question may possibly, with great care and

economy, give moderate returns on capital.” His letters have been

satisfactorily answered by Dr C. Carter Blake and Mr Jón A. Hjaltalín.

It only remains for me to remark that nothing is easier than to draw

depreciatory conclusions from one’s own peculiar premises. “Brimstone,”

for instance, reduces the working days to 150, when the road would be

open all the year round to carts and sledges; he considers the use of

sledges upon snow a “fantastic idea,” and he condemns the horses to

“eat, month after month, the oats of idleness,” whereas they can be

profitably employed throughout the twelve months either at the diggings

or in transporting the ore. The statistics of Iceland emigration prove

that even during the fine season a sufficiency of hands might, if well

and regularly paid, be “withdrawn into the desert from fishing and

agricultural operations,” which, after all, are confined to the

Heyannir, or hay-making season, and which take up but a small fraction

of the year, between the middle of July to the half of September.

Moreover, there is little, if any, fishing on the coasts near the

northern mines. The report of the Althing shows that ten, and sometimes

twenty, labourers worked at the Krísuvík diggings, where fishing is

busiest, during almost the whole winter of 1868-69, and the silica

mining of Reykjanes was not interrupted during December and January

1872-73. The spell is from five to six hours during the darkest months,

the shortest day in Iceland being five hours. About mid-March the island

night is not longer than in England, and from early May there is

continual daylight till August, when the nights begin to “close in.” The

hands in the southern mines were paid from 3½d. to 6d. per hour.

Professor Paijkull made the northern sulphur cost 3 marks per cwt., and

the horses carried 3 to 3½ cwts. in two days to the trading station:

Metcalfe also declares that 200 cwts. per annum were melted at Húsavík,

and that the price was half that of Sicilian. “Brimstone” complains that

the distance from the coast is variously laid down at 25 (direct

geographical), 28⅘, 40, and 45 (statute) miles, when the map and the

itineraries of many travellers are ready to set him right. He need

hardly own that he has no personal knowledge of Húsavík, Krísuvík, or

any part of Iceland, when he sets down “such necessary little items as

loading, lighterage, harbour-dues, improving Husavik, brokerage, et

cætera,” confounding the ideas of Snowland and England. After a startled

glance at the cost of British labour, “and, worse still, of idleness

during the greater part of the year”--a phantom of his own raising--he

asks, “What about the demoralisation consequent on the latter, and on

the inevitable use and abuse of the spirits of the country, in order to

while away the time?” The Brazil is surely as thirsty a land as Iceland,

yet my host, Mr Gordon, of the gold mines in Minas Geraes, would be

somewhat surprised, and perhaps not a little scandalised, to hear that

his white, brown, and black hands cannot be kept from drink. Briefly the

objector’s cavils may be answered in the “untranslatable poetry” of the

American backwoodsman, “T’aint no squar’ game; he’s jest put up the

keerds on that chap (Sicily) from the start.” I have no idea who Mr

“Brimstone” is, but I must say that he deserves a touch of his own

mineral, hot withal, for so notably despising the Englishman’s especial

virtue--Fair Play.

On the other hand, my notes on the Mý-vatn mines drew from a Brazilian

acquaintance, Mr Arthur Rowbottom, the following note, containing an

inquiry which unfortunately I could not answer:

“I read your account of the sulphur mines of Myvatn with great interest

and pleasure; and from your report I should feel disposed to believe

that boracic acid exists in the same district. You will, no doubt,

remember the conversation we had on board the ‘Douro,’ returning from

Brazil, about the very large fortune made by Count Larderel out of the

boracic acid produced in the Tuscan lagoons situated near Castelnuovo.

Wherever native alum and brimstone are found, there are always traces of

borate of soda in one form or another. Boracic acid exists at the Torre

del Greco, and in Volcano of the Lipari Islands.[169] The locality where

the ‘Tincal’ is found in Thibet is reported to be plutonic; in fact,

nearly all the countries from whence the borate of soda is drawn are

somewhat similar to the sulphur districts of Iceland; and I should feel

greatly obliged if you could inform me if boracic acid or borate of lime

exists in the island.”

CHAPTER XV.

RETURN TO DJÚPIVOGR AND END OF JOURNEY.

SECTION I.--RIDE TO HERÐUBREIÐ.

_August_ 10.

We were humanly threatened with rain on the fourth day, but my aneroid

gave me better news. The principal difficulty was to find a guide for

the southern Öræfi. Hr Pètur’s sons shrugged their shoulders and pleaded

illness--“_pituitam habent_” explains the student--they swore that the

farm horses were not strong enough to traverse the grassless waste.

After a three days’ search, I managed to secure a _dummer junger_, named

Kristián Bjarnason of Eilífr, who had once almost reached the base of

Herðubreið; and old Shylock lent him, for a consideration, two lean

nags, with orders to go so far and no farther. My own stud consisted of

eight, and only one of these carried the little tent and provisions--a

loaf of brown rye-bread, two tins of potted meat, a diminutive keg of

schnapps, and rations for my companions, the student Stefán and Gísli

Skulk. The latter showed some alacrity in preparing to return home; as

he had a grudge against Mr Lock, so he contrived to nobble all the

ropes, and tried furtively to drive off all the baggage-horses. I looked

carefully to the tethers of my nags, and personally saw them shod with

good irons and new-made nails: I strongly suspect my henchman of having

stolen a march upon me; he could not smash my hammer, but he managed to

lose the extra nails. More than one shoe proved to be broken on the

second day, and several were found fastened with only three mere

“tacks,” the best contrivance in the world for permanently injuring a

hoof.

The start was, as usual, painfully slow; although I rose at five A.M.,

the journey did not begin before 10.30. The Messrs Lock accompanied me

part of the way; we were all to meet at Djúpivogr on the seventh day,

but that meeting was not written in the Book of Fate. After shaking

hands with the good Bowers, I pricked sharply over the plain, glad to

escape the reeking valley of Mý-vatn; the cool and clear north-easter at

once swept away the mournful _grisaille_ of the charged sky; presently

the sun came out, afflicting the horses, and the dust rose, troubling

the riders. About half-way to the river we turned off south-eastward,

and rode over the usual mounds, which resemble

“The grassy barrows of the happier dead.”

After this rough, tussocky ground came black sand, bordering black and

ropy lava; the former was grown with oat-clumps seven to eight feet

high, many of them dead at this season: they sheltered the normal

vegetation, and extended immense roots to collect nutriment from the

barren soil. The path was pitted, especially on the outskirts of the

various stone-floods, with blind holes (Gjá), wearying, and even

dangerous, to horses--I soon preferred the rougher riding. The

floor-rock again was yellow Palagonite, barred with white waves, soda

and potash. At four P.M. we crossed the Fjallagjá, a yellow wady, which

might have been in the heart of Arabia Deserta; we were approaching its

recipient, the foul Jökulsá. Finally, after entering broken ground of

deep sand, and crossing a black hill, Gleðahús, the gled’s house, we

come to our halting-ground, Valhumall-lá,[170] the “low land of

milfoil,” another wady, but black with sand, and showing lava-streams to

the south. The guide declared that we were on the parallel of Víðidalr,

which, however, could not be seen.

The day’s work had been thirty-two miles, in six hours twenty minutes,

and I was much pleased with it; no better proof was wanted to show the

feasibility of travelling in the wilderness, at least wherever a river

is found. All the features have names given during the annual

sheep-hunts. We found tracks of the flocks and the ponies which had

followed them, extending up to the Vatnajökull. To the south-west, and

apparently close at hand, rose Herðubreið: viewed from the north, its

summit, which is tilted a few degrees to westward, appears like a

cornice perpendicular, and in places even leaning forward, whilst a

solid conical cap of silvery snow ends the whole. In the evening air the

idea of an ascent looked much like mounting upon a cloud; the more you

craned at it, as the phrase is, the less you liked it; but I trusted

that a nearer approach would level difficulties, and that the sides must

be striped by drainage _couloirs_. The cold became biting before eight

P.M., another reminiscence of the Asiatic desert, in which you perspire

and freeze, with the regularity of the tides, every twenty-four hours:

in both cases the cause is the exceeding clearness and dryness of the

atmosphere, so favourable to the radiation of heat and to the deposit of

dew. I slept comfortably in the tent pitched upon the sands, disturbed

only by Stefán’s hearty snores.

* * * * *

_August_ 11.

The day broke badly indeed: at early dawn (aner., 28·55; therm., 41°) a

white fog lay like wool-pack on the ground, making the guide despair of

finding his path: at nine A.M. it began to lift, promising a fiery noon,

which, however, was tempered by a cool north breeze. The men persuaded

me to leave the tent; there are no thieves in the Icelandic desert, in

this point mightily different from that of Syria: they declared that we

should easily reach Herðubreið in two to three hours. We presently

crossed a new lava-stream, the usual twisted, curled, “tumbled

together,” and contorted surface, in places metallic and vitrified by

fire; here and there it was streaked with level, wind-blown lines of

dust and ashes. Thence we passed into the usual sand, black and cindery,

based upon tawny Palagonite, and curiously beached with pebble-beds; the

rounded stones had been scattered on the path by ponies’ hoofs. This

sand was deeply cracked, and our nags, panting with heat, sank in it to

the fetlock. The maximum of caloric at certain hours of a summer’s day

during a long series of years is far more equally distributed over earth

than men generally suppose. Some have gone so far as to assert that it

is “the same in all regions from the Neva to the banks of the Senegal,

the Ganges and the Orinoco;” and the range has been placed “between 93°

and 104° (F.) in the shade. In this island we are preserved from

extremes by the neighbourhood of the sea, yet the power of the sun at

times still astonishes me. The “Ramleh” (arenaceous tract) ended in a

pleasant change, a shallow, grassy depression, with willows, red and

grey, equisetum, “blood-thyme,” wild oats, which abhor the stone tracts,

and the normal northern flora. Here, as I afterwards found, we should

have skirted the Jökulsá, made for the mouth of the Grafarlandsá, and

ridden up the valley of the dwarf stream. The guide preferred a short

cut, which saved distance and which lost double time.

To the right or north-west we could trace distinctly the golden crater,

the Sighvatr pyramid, and the familiar features of the Fremrinámar. I

again ascertained that a line of high ground, a blue range streaked with

snow, trending from north-west to south-east (mag.), and representing

the fanciful Trölladýngjur (_Gigantum cubilia_) of the map, also

connects Bláfjall with the Herðubreiðarfell. The latter, separated by

“Grave-land Water,” a common name for deeply encased streams, from the

“Broad-Shouldered” proper, is a brown wall with frequent discolorations,

a line of domes and crater cones, now regular, then broken into the

wildest shapes; in one place I remarked the quaint head and foot pillars

of a Moslem tomb. A single glance explained to me the ash-eruption from

the Trölladýngjur recorded in 1862, and the many stone-streams supposed

to have been ejected from Herðubreið; they extended to the very base of

the latter, and all the “Hraunards” (lava-veins) which we crossed that

day had evidently been emitted by these craters.

At noon, after four hours fifteen minutes (= fifteen very devious

miles), we entered a line of deep, chocolate-coloured slag and cinder,

unusually bad riding. It presently led to the soft and soppy, the grassy

and willowy valley of Grafarlönd, which is excellently supplied with

water. I naturally expected to find a drain from the upper snow-field of

the Great Cone; the whole line is composed of a succession of springs

dividing into two branches, a northern, comparatively narrow, and a

southern, showing a goodly girth of saddle-deep water. The weeds of the

bed and the luxuriant pasture amid the barrenest lava, “Beauty sleeping

in the lap of Terror,” suggested that in this veritable oasis, if

anywhere, birds would be found. A single snipe and three

Stein-depill[171] (wheat-ear) showed how systematic throughout this part

of the country had been the depopulation of the avi-fauna. A few

grey-winged midges hovered about, but I looked in vain for shells. The

spring showed only a difference of + 0·5 from our sleeping-place. And

now my error began to dawn upon me: the ride to Herðubreið would be

seven hours instead of two to three; the tent had been left behind; the

men had no rations, and “alimentary substances” were confined to a few

cigars and a pocket-pistol full of schnapps.

But regret was now of no avail; and time was precious. After giving the

nags time to bite, I shifted my saddle, and, at two P.M., leaving Gísli

Skulk in charge of the remounts, I pushed on south, accompanied by

Stefán and Kristián. We crossed the two streamlets, each of which has

its deeper cunette, luckily a vein of hard black sand. Beyond the right

bank of the Grafarlandsá we at once entered the wildest lava-tract,

distinguished mainly by its green glaze, fresh as if laid on yesterday.

It was like riding over domes of cast-iron, a system of boilers, these

smooth or corrugated, those split by Gjás and showing by saw-like edges

where the imprisoned gases had burst the bubbles: near the broken cairns

we found lines of dust which allowed the shortest spurts; the direct

distance to Herðubreið was not more than two miles, but the devious path

had doubled it. Again we had been led by the worst line; on our return,

Kristián, having recovered his good temper, showed us a tolerable

course. He frequently halted, declaring that his master had forbidden

him to risk the nags where the Útilegumenn might at any moment pounce

upon them.

At 4.30 P.M. I reached the base of Herðubreið, and found it, as was to

be expected, encircled by a smooth, sandy, and pebbly moat, a kind of

Bergschrund, whose outer sides were the lava-field, and whose inner

flanks formed in places high cliffs and precipices. The formation at

once revealed itself. The Broad-Shouldered mountain is evidently only

the core of what it was. Its lower part is composed of stratified

Palagonite clay, which higher up becomes a friable conglomerate,

embedding compact and cellular basalt, mostly in small fragments. The

heaps at the base are simply slippings, disposed at the natural angle,

and they are garnished with many blocks the size of an Iceland room.

Above them rise the organs, buttresses, and flying buttresses,

resembling pillars of mud, several exceeding 300 feet; the material

assumes the most fantastic shapes: in one place I found a perfect

natural arch resting upon heat-altered basalt. The heads of the columns

form a cornice, and from the summit of the cylinder an unbroken cone of

virgin snow sweeps grandly up to the apex. Evidently the Herðubreið is

not the normal volcano: it may be a Sand-gýgr after the fashion of

Hverfjall, but of this we cannot be assured until the cap is examined.

The chief objection would be the shape, the reverse of the usual hollow.

Leaving Kristián in charge of the horses, I attacked the slope in

company with Stefán, from the north-east, and we gradually wound round

to the east of the cone. The slopes were clothed with small and loose

fragments of basalt, making the ascent difficult. Here rain-gullies

radiated down the incline; to the south-east yawned a great _marmite_, a

breach probably formed by a long succession of clay-slips and

avalanches. The adhesive snow clinging to the rough conglomerate lay in

fans and wreaths even against perpendicular walls, whereas in Europe

large masses cannot accumulate at an angle of 45°, and the meteor is

unstable and apt to break away when the angle exceeds 30°; here it seems

plastered upon the steepest sides, looking from afar like glistening

torrents. After seeing the huge _névé_ which clothes the mountain from

the shoulders upwards, I was surprised to find that, although the ascent

was broken by huge gullies which in spring must discharge torrents, the

flanks are absolutely waterless; as on Western Snæfell, the drainage

sinks through the porous matter and, passing underground, reappears in

springs upon the plain, a familiar feature to the traveller in Syria.

Yet the slopes carried the usual Iceland flora, of course shrunk and

stunted by the cold thin air. I picked up the vermiform earths of some

wild animal, which crumbled to pieces in my pocket: the farmers

recognised the description, declared that they knew them well, but could

not tell me what the creature was. None would believe me when I assured

them that Herðubreið was a formation of “Mó-berg.”

As we approached the upper pillars the lowlands lay like a map before

us. Hard by the south-eastern foot sat the little tarn Herðubreiðarvatn,

surrounded by soft mud, instead of rush and reed: the Vatn has no

outlet, but it is perfectly sweet. Farther north there is a streamlet

flowing, like the Grafarlandsá, through patches and streaks of green: it

rejoices in the name of Herðubreiðarlindá, the “river of the spring of

the Broad-Shouldered.” Beyond the blue cone Jökullsclidá--I am not sure

of my orthography--which rises to the south-east, the Great Jökulsá,

after broadening into apparently a shallow bed, forks, divided by a

lumpy ridge, the Fagradalsfjall, which we had seen like a blue cloud

from Möðrudalr. It has the appearance of a ford, but Stefán assured me

that the farmers are deterred from crossing it by quicksands: this was

afterwards contradicted. The eastern branch, lying upon a higher plane,

again splits, enclosing the Fagridalr. On the “Fair Hill,” and in the

“Fair Dale,” where outlaws are said formerly to have mustered strong,

sheep from the eastern farms are fed upon the very edge of the Ódáða

Hraun. We had an admirable study of the Kverk and the (Eastern) Snæfell,

making the student remark that he was close to his home at Bessastaðir.

As the sun sank, the peak projected a gnomon-like shadow on the plain,

an affecting reminiscence of the Jebel el Mintar, which acts dial to

“Tadmor in the Wilderness.”

After an hour and a half of very hard work, for we had scrambled up

nearly 2000 feet (aneroid, 26·60; thermometer, 35°), we reached the

mud-pillars, and serious difficulties began. My _camaro_, who walked

pluckily enough, could mount no more. I had taught him the rule of

volcano-climbing on stones and descending on cinders; of using the toes

when going up and the heel when going down; and the consequence was that

his Iceland slippers and stockings were clean worn away, and in a few

minutes his feet would be cut. I left him and sought a _couloir_, which

by careful “swarming,” might have opened a passage. But here a new

difficulty was added to ever-increasing darkness and to numbing cold. In

Switzerland the rock cannonades are most frequent between midnight and

dawn: here the blocks of basalt, detached by the leverage of sun and

frost, begin to fall as soon as the temperature lowers. The _couloir_

was too narrow for swarming up the sides, which are less risky than the

centres. After three narrow escapes, in one of them my right hand saving

my head, I judged that the game was not worth the candle. Though close

to the snow (aneroid, 26·55), it would have been impossible to reach the

summit alone, in the night and over an unknown field.

Descending in double-quick time--“devouring space,” as Belmontel

says--we soon reached the moat which separates the castle from its

outworks of lava, and refreshed ourselves at the little tarn. During the

descent I observed a feature, before hidden from view; a lumpy tail with

two main bulges prolonging Herðubreið to the south-west: perhaps the

next attempt might succeed if this line be followed. From the

Heröubreiðarvatn we took the south-eastern line, where the

lava-field was by no means so horrid. After an hour, striking the

Herðubreiðarlindá, also an influent of the Jökulsá, we hurried down the

right bank, frequently crossing when the soft and rotten ground

threatened to admit the ponies. Finally, we traversed in fifteen minutes

a divide of lava, we forded the double channel of the Grafarlandsá, and

at 9.45 we were received with effusion by the solitary Gísli. Those who

follow me will do well to ascend the left bank of the Jökulsá, to trace

the Grave-land Water to its source, to pass over the lava-breach, and to

follow the Lindá where it rises from the plain.

The day’s ride had occupied nine hours thirty minutes, and the

unfortunate “tattoos” were not prepared for some four more: moreover,

_les genous m’entraient dans le corps_, as the _gamin_ says. The

blood-red sunset promised a fair night, free from wind and fog, and,

although we were some 1400 feet above sea-level, a bivouac in the

glorious air of the desert under

“Cette obscure clarté qui tombe des étoiles,”

could not be considered a hardship. No one thought of a fire till I set

the example of collecting willow-roots, and then all, beasts as well as

men, were greatly comforted by the short, sharp bursts of blaze. The

poor fellows offered me a share of their only viaticum, a bit of bread

and sausage, but I saw by their longing, hungry eyes that their

necessities were greater than mine. A blanket instead of the oilskin

from my saddle-bag would have been a comfort; but even without it I

slept like _un bienheureux_, and awoke lively as a lark. What a

different matter was my night in the open below Fernando Po peak!

That morning I had set out to “plant a lance in Iceland,” by mastering

the Herðubreið; for once utterly deceived by the clearness of the air, I

had despised my enemy, and he got the better of me--the general verdict

will be, “Serve you right.” My consolation was that, though beaten, I

had hardly been fairly beaten; the fog was not to be controlled; the

guide led us by the worst paths, and we crept over lava after expecting

to move fast. The altitude is laid down at 5447 English feet above

sea-level; and as we rode up to the base, about 1500 feet high, there

remained only 4000 feet, which would not have taken more than five

hours. Such was my calculation, and it erred by being drawn too fine.

Nor could the attempt be renewed next day. I had promised to send back

to Mr Lock my only companion, Stefán, whose foot-gear was in tatters;

Gísli and Kristián would have seen me in Ná-strönd, the shores of the

ignoble “straw-dead,” rather than accompany me over an unknown

snow-field, and such climbing must not be done single-handed.

SECTION II.--RETURN TO VALTHIÓFSTAÐIR AND STAY THERE.

_August_ 12-16.

There is little to say concerning these five days, which were spent in

returning to Valthiófstaðir by devious ways. On August 12th the world,

according to local belief, was to have been destroyed; knowledge has

increased since A.D. 1000, so no one made preparation, spiritual or

material, for what Hindus call the Pralaya, hourly expected by primitive

Christianity. _Je m’en moque comme de l’an quarante_ (1740). At three

A.M. we rode down the cold valley of the Grafarlandsá, picked up the

tent, and bidding adieu to the good Stefan and the miserable Kristián,

we reached the Jökulsá ferry after a total of six hours forty-five

minutes. The blood-red sunset had kept its promise till clouds rolled up

from the south, and I have seldom had a more thorough dusting.

At early nightfall suddenly appeared Mr Pow and his guide, Jón

Pètursson, son of the old priest of Valthiófstaðir: they had been paying

a visit to Mý-vatn, and now they were hastening home for a wedding. The

former had been making inquiries about sheep-farming; he believed that,

in that line, something might be done whilst the pony traffic was

thoroughly worked out. Farms ranging from $3000 to $6000 are readily

bought throughout this part of the country. As the snow begins upon the

Heiðis in November, lies deep in December and January, and lasts till

May, it would be necessary to allow one ton of hay per thousand head,

and the import price, excluding freight, must be computed at £2,10s.

rising to £4. He was sanguine enough to expect a cent. per cent. profit:

I never heard that the project had any results.

Next day we started betimes in the cool east wind, which presently

chopped round to the south, and gave us a taste of Sind and the

Panjáb--all the sand of the Arabian desert seemed to be in the air, and

it was the sharpest of its kind. We enjoyed a headlong gallop not

unworthy of the Argentine Pampas, halted a few minutes at the Möðrudalr

oasis, and pressed on to Vetur-hús: here we parted as I wished to

examine the lake region, and to inspect the Brú of the Jökulsá.

On the next morning, which, after the stillness of dawn, also obliged me

with a dust-storm, I set out at eight, rounded the swamps and black

bogs, and, after crossing a marshy divide, entered the valley between

the Eiríkr and Thríhyrning hills. The land is poor, but it manages to

support two little Sels. At last we came upon the Thverárvatn, the

southernmost of the tarns, and following the right bank of its drain,

the Thverá,[172] we reached the Brú after an hour and a half’s hard

riding. It still preserves the traditional name although the natural

arch of rock fell in 1750: in Henderson’s day it was succeeded by a

wooden bridge, and now there is only a cradle. Horses are forded about a

mile up stream, where the break becomes a broad, split by holms and

sand-banks. The seedy little chapel of Brú wants cross and steeple: it

is built of turf, like that of Mý-vatn.

We left the river at 10.30 _A.M._, and resolved to inspect the

Aðalbólsvegr, the southernmost road across the Heiði. It begins by

crossing a divide, after which, rounding the Vaðbrekka, or ford-ledge

hill, it ascends the dusty valley of the Hrafnkelsá. Two farmlets,

Vaðbrekka and Aðalból,[173] the latter with four gables of wood and

turf, and backed by Laugs of warm water, hug the left bank. After

fording the stream thrice we walked up another divide, where the path

was cobwebbed and all in holes--these “dead roads” are by no means

pleasant travelling. The upper plateau was, like the northern line, the

usual scene of standing waters and flowing waters, especially the Höllná

and the Heiðará; all these soppy black beds are named, but none appear

in the map. The list of this day’s birds comprised a few snippets, three

ravens, and a couple of whoopers (_C. ferus_ or _C. Bewickii_?) which

travellers often mistake for sheep. It was not my fate in Iceland ever

to hear the sweet song of the swan, which borrows an additional charm on

dark wintry nights from the popular belief that it promises a thaw; the

poetical fancy of its being a death-lay seems here unknown. The descent

to the Fljótsdalr occupied half-an-hour, and after seven hours

forty-five minutes of rough riding from the Brú I reached

Valthiófstaðir, where they did not expect me before nightfall.

There was revelling at the parsonage, and though I missed the howling of

hymns and hollaing of anthems, the splendid “upholstering” of the girls,

and the starry veil which takes the place of orange-flowers, I was in

time for the feast. The daughter of the house, a notably good manager,

was the bride; the bridegroom was a well-to-do widower of eighteen

months’ standing. Hr Nikólás Jónsson had learnt joinery at Copenhagen,

and found his handicraft pay well at Seyðisfjörð. Ponies, with all

manner of gear, including the “handsome brass woman’s saddle” of a

certain English traveller, filled the stables, or browsed about the tún,

showing a goodly gathering of relatives and friends; even Seyðisfjörð

sent forth its contingent. Those who had dined were chatting and

“touching pipes” on the green: despite my garb being the reverse of a

wedding garment, I was hospitably pressed to join the second detachment.

After we had satisfied hyperborean appetites, the speeches began,

prefaced by loud cries of “Silentium!” As many of the orators were

priests and students training for the priesthood, few could plead

“unaccustomed to public speaking,” and most of them acquitted themselves

remarkably well. Mr Pow, after delivering his sentiments in English,

sprang out of the window to prepare for a wild ride; I aired my Latin,

concluding with an effective sentence, “Deus sit propitius his

potatoribus”--of course ignoring Walter de Mapes. Having talked

ourselves “dry,” we installed a “magister bibendi,” and fell to with a

will; we were loud in our mirth “as the Ritur (tarrock-gull) on the

rocks,” and the bottles of Cognac and rye-brandy required repeated

replenishing, till the small hours sent us to bed. The newly-married

couple slept at home, and next morning, after coming to breakfast, they

took horse and went their ways.

At Valthiófstaðir I was fortunate enough to meet Prófastr Sigurður

Gunnarson of Hallormstaðir, whose name has already been mentioned. A

portly, good-looking man of sixty, hardly showing fifty, he is a good

Latinist, and his genial manners make him a general favourite. He first

accompanied Professor Gunnlaugsson in 1832 to the Vatnajökullsvegr, and

since that time he has made three trips to the northern edge. He gave me

the position of the volcano (N. lat. 64° 20´, and W. long. G. 30° 20´),

which appears upon the map. When told that Herðubreið was a mass of

Palagonite, he declared that he had seen Mó-berg at Lomagnúpr and other

hills of Sera and Floskeldar; moreover, that he suspected it to be the

constituent of the Kistufell and the Kverk, which he had passed in the

dark. He assured me that he had found the Western Jökulsá easily

fordable after its fork, where it is called Kreppa, or the

Squeezer.[174] Among other places which

[Illustration:

M^c.Farlane & Erskine Lithrs. Edin^r.

William P. Nimmo, London & Edinburgh]

are shown by the map, he mentioned the Lindákeilir (fountain-pyramid)

with its two springs, the northern cold, the southern hot; the

Hvannalindir, rich, as the name shows, in Angelica; and the Kringilsá,

or encircling water.

The morning after the feast was spent in breakfasting, in chess-playing,

and at cards, with coffee-beans for counters: on this occasion the men

ate first, and after them the women, somewhat after the fashion of the

Druses: the parson’s wife also waited, like an “Oriental,” upon her

younger brothers. The friends mounted their stout nags, and disappeared

after the normal salutations: amongst them was the Prófastr, with coarse

woollen stockings sensibly drawn over his shoes. The kith and kin waited

till two P.M. on the next day, and, when the heartiest and smackingest

of busses had been duly planted upon projecting lips, all rode off,

escorting the bride and bridegroom, and escorted by the family _honoris

causâ_ as far as the next farm. Mr Pow had agreed to join me in

attempting the Vatnajökull; but, whilst I remained to collect provaunt

and to avoid the heavy weather which threatened, he resolved upon a

preliminary trip, with the prime object of shooting a reindeer. He hired

for $2 an old round-ball Enfield from the farmer-ferryman of

Bessastaðir, who, apparently convinced of the Enskimaður’s insanity,

snatched it three times out of his hands, till he received a watch in

pledge. The solitary march was hardly to be recommended. About the

Vatnajökull fog or snow may cover the world at any moment, even in July,

the best month; and dozens of sheep are often killed by a single violent

storm. Mr Pow set out early on the 15th, missed the road, and returned

at eleven A.M. on the next day, thoroughly dazed, and apparently unable

to give any account of his march--Jón Pètursson’s eyes filled with tears

at the sight. That trial proved sufficient for my intended companion,

who, as soon as his two nags could move, set out for Seyðisfjörð.

The weather, which had been surly and wrathy for some time, could no

longer restrain its rage: the afternoon (August 16) was bad, and the

evening was very bad. The day sped wearily watching the cloud-battalions

as they scaled the seaward hills: here this easter and deflected norther

brings heavy rains and thick raw mists; the souther and the south-wester

are little better, and men rely only upon the western wind, which comes

from the arid lavas and sands of the Ódáða. The night was one long howl

of storm; “drip-drip” resounded from the church floor, and the wind

flung itself against the building, threatening to bear away the frail

steeple into space. Huge black nimbi, parted by pale and sickly gleams,

ever greeted my sight as I gazed in sorrow from the casement of my

ecclesiastical lodging. But joy came in the morning: first a glimpse of

blue sky between the flirts of rain, then a sign of the sun. The river

was reported to be rapidly filling--never mind, unlucky Friday has

passed by, and we may look for better things on Saturday.

The provisions, bread, meat, and cheese ($3), with the unfinished keg of

schnapps, were awaiting our departure. But Stefán Pètursson, who was to

accompany me, had fallen ill, the malady being probably that popularly

called in India a “squiffy quotidian:” so I engaged as guide the student

Thorsteinn, who had led us to Thorskagerði, paying for him and his nag

$3, 3m. Osk. per diem. Gísli, the “coal-biter,” when drawn badger-like

from the kitchen, again tried to shirk, pleading the weakness of the

ponies, but a threat to withhold wages reduced all opposition to a

slackness of the knees, a settled melancholy, and a hurt-feeling

expression of countenance. This time he was never left alone with the

horses after they had been shod: he presently revenged himself by

displaying an amount of appetite which threatened the party with

starvation, if it lingered in the wilderness a day longer than he liked.

SECTION III.--THE RIDE TO SNÆFELL: VIEW OF THE VATNAJÖKULL.

_Saturday, August 17._

I managed to draw the sleep-thorn from Gísli’s ears and, after the usual

silly delays, to set off at 9.45 along the left bank of the Fljótsdalr,

_alias_ the Norðurdalr: the wind was still southerly, clouds came from

the east, but the aneroid was rising and the sun was taking the master’s

place. The broad trap valley supports, on either side, many farms and

Sels; Glúmstaðir, Hóll, Thuriðarstaðir; the large Egilstaðir, highest on

the map, reached in two _orette_; and Kleif, with its Sætur and backing

of western hill. The angry stream is crossed in many places by ropes and

cradles; gradually it becomes a torrent-gorge, and the whole length

receives a least a dozen rain-bred cataracts: everywhere we saw their

smokes and heard the dull charge of cavalry, whilst the rattling of

stones upon the sandy beds sounded like the distant pattering of

musketry. There was, however, no difficulty in crossing the mouths and,

after three hours fifteen minutes of mild work, we rested the nags and

changed saddles at the sheep-house of Kleif.

Beyond this point the torrent-gorge is impracticable, and we ascended

the rough, steep left bank, whose lower levels were garnished with

stunted birches: it led to the monotonous Heiði, which I had now passed

thrice. The streams on this line were more troublesome, owing to the

slippery crossings of sheet-rock. We forded the Stóri-lækr (big rivulet)

four times, and twice the upper waters of the Öxará above its ugly

little cataract in a dwarf valley. A short tract of sandy, willow-grown

ground led to the Laugará, which was girth-deep. Riding down its right

bank, we came to the Laug, which much resembles that of Reykjavik: the

waters show boiling point at the source, and 115° (F.) a few yards

below. It lies on the north-eastern slope of Laugarfell, and nearly due

east (mag.) of the pointed black cone Hafrsfell: these two detached

hills, disposed upon a meridian, are mere outliers of Snæfell. Fifteen

yards west of the Laug is the Laugarkofi, or the Warm-spring-cell, a hut

some 7 feet by 6, with dry stone walls sunk two feet in the ground: the

raftered roof is supported by a central post, and made tight with turfs.

We were happy to find it in repair. The weather again broke, and a

Scotch mist settled stubbornly upon the dreary landscape; the aneroid

showing 27·60, and the thermometer 38°. Our day’s march had lasted only

five hours fifteen minutes, and on return we easily covered it in three

hours fifty minutes. The night in a warm and (comparatively) clean nest,

with the howling wind outside, would have been delightful, but for

misgivings about the morrow.

_August 18._

I rose at dawn with no little anxiety; in these altitudes man is wholly

dependent upon weather: it is like a Polar expedition on a small scale.

The rainy and windy night had cleared the air, and the sun rose bright,

bringing with him a stinging and intensely dry[175] south wind from off

the Jökulls. The baggage pony was loaded, and all preparations were made

by 8.45. We began with the rotten and boggy ground, draining the Snæfell

and its north-eastern outliers to the Jökulsá. Here began the trouble

which lasted more or less throughout the morning. The surface is cut by

gullies and earth-cracks, often twenty feet deep, and varying from a

yard to ten yards in breadth. Few could be leaped by untrained animals,

and the many which could not be crossed caused detours either up or

down, often a furlong to cover a perch. The smaller sort were the most

troublesome, owing to the badness of the take off and landing: the nags

made themselves ridiculous in attempting to scramble over, with their

hind legs in the hollows, whilst the forehand was holding on the farther

bank. In the worst places, at least one of the caravan was sure to be

sprawling upon the ground. The best parts were the stony spots, and the

medium were the swamps, especially where Fífa and bright mosses spangled

the ground.

The wind now veered to the south-west, and after two hours we easily

forded the Hafrsá, a drain rising in the south-east of its “fell.” The

latter, seen from the eastward, proves not to be a single cone, as the

map shows; behind the knob lie a jagged, saw-toothed ridge and sundry

outliers. At a distance, it appears to be lava, but when riding over it

in the afternoon I noticed that such form of erupted rock is wholly

absent from this line. The material, like that of Herðubreið, is

Palagonite, which doubtless forms the base of the northern Vatnajökull.

Unlike the basaltic conglomerate of the Broad-Shouldered, however, it is

puddinged with cinders reddened and charred by the flames. The colours

are ruddy, black-brown, chalky-white, green, and yellow, the two latter

extending in a band through Snæfell from

[Illustration: R. F. B. _delt._ VIEW OF THE VATNAJÖKULL FROM THE

SOUTHERN SLOPE OF (EASTERN) SNÆFELL.]

south-west to north-east. Scoriæ also are scattered upon the sand, and

these, with a strew of basalt, make up the sum of the surface rocks.

At noon we forded the Thjófagilsá (water of the thief’s gil) below the

little waterfall dashing down columnar basalt, and we halted near the

Hálskofi, a hut like the nest near the Laug. After half-an-hour we

resumed our ride along the eastern flank of Snæfell, which greatly

altered in shape. The first view (August 2) from the heights above

Hallormstaðir showed a Háls or _col_ to the north, in fact the

Snæfellsháls of the map, which should be countermarched to the south:

“Snowfell” also seemed attached to the Vatnajökull by a long Rani, or

tongue of raised ground, to which it acts tip: this must be changed for

lowland and lake; and the shape suggested climbing on the western side,

where it is almost perpendicular. Viewed from the north-west (August

14), Snæfell hill assumed a sphinx shape, the hindquarters being like

those of Herðubreið to the south.

Snæfell projects to the north-north-east, or above our path, a long

clean _arête_ of yellow Palagonite, flanking a great fissure: the lower

parts are here snowy, the upper are revetted with dark conglomerate.

Behind, or to the west of this ridge, is a large snow-field, one of the

many buttresses, extending to the flat-topped summit. We ascended stony

ground when working to the south; and here an unpleasant surprise

awaited me. Instead of the clear course of the little Jökulsá draining

the peaks and pins of the Snæfellsjökull, a northern section of the

Vatnajökull, the whole expanse lying between the glacier and the height

upon which we stood formed a broad and apparently shallow lake, in part

composed of clear pools, and the rest of muddy veins. At its head is a

great depression in the Jökull, marked eastward by Eyjarbakki (island

bank), a black cone, which may be a crater. The delta-shaped mass of

water projects its point to the north, where we can distinctly see it

falling over the Eyjarbakka-foss into the Jökulsá gorge. This formation

may be temporary, dry ground flooded by the late rains: the farmers,

however, know it by the name of Eyjarbakka-vatn. Permanent or not, it

was utterly impassable without boats, whilst the Jökulsá was too full to

be forded.

A near view of the Vatnajökull, from the south of Snæfell, confirmed my

previous impressions. The snowy base-line is formed by the descending

angle of the wind: this must explain how all is congealed at a height

where Snæfell is free from frost (aneroid, 27·75): perhaps the thrust

from behind may perpetuate the _névé_. Beyond the long white wave, pure

ermine above, and below spotty like a Danish dog, stretching far to the

west, rose the quaint form of Kverk, the throat or angle beneath the

chin,[176] with two big, blue buttresses to the east: the black outlier

of conical shape has a deep gullet to the north, vomiting a light-blue

glacier upon the snow-fields lying at the base; it is prolonged north by

the Kverkhnúkrrani (snout of the gullet-knoll), apparently containing

two distinct patches of volcanic aspect.

Resuming our ride to the west over the true Snæfellsháls, whose stony

flanks delivered us from bog and earth-crack, we found that even here

the summer pasturages are not unused. The dandelion and the violet, dead

elsewhere, still enjoyed the autumn of life; sign of reindeer was seen

in two places, and we flushed sundry coveys of ptarmigan. A couple of

ravens and a snow-tit composed the remnant of animal life; happily for

us the midges were absent.

At two P.M. we reached our farthest southern point, the long dorsum

which prolongs Snæfell southwards to the Snæfellsháls. On the far side

of the _col_ rose Thjófahnúkr, a big, black, cindery cone, like the

rest. Between it and the northern hypothenuse of the Vatnajökull lay a

dark saddleback, with all the appearance of a volcanic crater; the

absence of lava may be explained by its vomiting, like Hverfjall and

Herðubreið, cinder and ashes. As we turned up the Thjófadalr, between

the Thieves’ Knoll and the Snæfell proper, the ice-wind struck full on

our backs. The amphitheatre was girt on both sides by jagged, rocky

peaks, like the edges of bursten bubbles and blisters; and the shoulders

of Snæfell projected to the south-west, a sharp ridge and a cone of

warm-yellow Palagonite--here the ascent would have offered no

difficulties. This part of the valley discharges to the south many

streamlets of melted snow, some clear, others of white water. Crossing

the divide, we struck the Hrafnkelsá, which is prolonged by the

Jökulkvisl and the Sauðará (sheep-water) to “Jökulsá of the Bridge.” The

line presently became a deep and grisly gorge of black and

copper-coloured Palagonite; and we passed sundry long bridges of hard

snow which were excellent riding. So far I can confirm the experience of

the French naval officers, who assured me that in Iceland these

formations, so redoubtable farther south, offer no risk.

At four P.M. we halted for an hour at the head of the Eastern Jökulsá,

quietly enjoying the warm western exposure. From this point there was an

extensive view of the river-drained plain which, broken by detached

lumps of hill and broken ridges, separates Snæfell from the eastern edge

of the Ódáða Hraun. When the nags had enjoyed a bite we resumed the

descent of the deep and broken river-valley that passes between the

Hafrsfell and its western outliers: the buttresses and banks of loose

wind-blown sand descended bodily with our weight. Again we saw a spine

of Palagonite, showing a fair ascent to the upper snow-field; and we

looked in vain for the delicate ripple-marks which from a distance

betray hidden crevasses. Here the surface material melting in the sun

sinks into the lower strata, making the whole a solid mass--hence the

glacier growth which exists in Greenland, and which is suspected in

Iceland. As we rode under the precipices of North-western Snæfell, the

snow, sliced off as if by a razor, forms a wall some fifty feet thick,

soft above, and below pale-blue, like the Blaabreen of Norway, where

hardened to ice by excessive pressure. This fine “snout” showed a few

thin ribbons, but nothing like “veined structure,” that vexed subject of

the glacialists. The whole “snow-fond” for perfect beauty wanted only

the lovely background of mazarine-coloured skies to be seen in more

southern latitudes.

At six P.M. we forded the Hauká (hawk-water), one amidst a score of

shallow, bubbling, pebbly streams, random rivulets, which the afternoon

heat was setting free from the vast sheets of snow. Beyond Hafrsfell we

recognised with disgust the sodden, rotten ground of the morning, and

the weary ponies so lost their tempers that they seemed unwilling to

rise after the frequent falls. Yet I could not but admire the pathos,

the strange double nature of the wild prospect. Here it was a hard and

uncompromising photograph, a weird etching by Rembrandt or Doré, in

which, from the vivid whiteness of the snow and the blackness of the

rocks, the far appeared near: amongst the chaotic rubbish heaps there

was no shadow within shadow, no dark as opposed to a light side. There,

beyond a middle ground of steely blue plain, lay a “lovely Claude,” a

dream-landscape of distant Jökull. The delicate tints, cool azure-white

and snow warm with ethereal rose-pink, seemed to flush and fade, to

shift and change places, as though ghostly mists, unseen by the eye of

sense, were sailing in the pale beryl-coloured sky. Anon the sun sinking

towards the hilly horizon rained almost horizontal floods of light,

transfiguring the scene with golden glory as every feature kindled and

lit up with a peculiar freshness of expression--a region so calm and

bright did not seem to be of this world. Yet a few moments more and its

rare spiritual loveliness, passing through gradations of matchless

tenderness, began to fade; the pale-grey shadow came, “stealing like

serious thought o’er joyous face,” and all disappeared in the dark

nothingness of night. These splendours of the Trolls’ home were well

worth a journey to the “Brumous Isle,” but the long search and the short

fruition almost tempt me to “point a moral.”

After some ten hours’ hard work for man and beast, we were cheered by

the steam rising from the Laug, and we again thanked Iceland for laying

on such plenteous supplies of hot water. The memory of the last touching

view, with its “wild beauty of colouring,” moved me to issue, about

midnight, from the nest and to compare the dark with the light hours.

But the moon and stars seemed to count for nothing in that “inspissated

gloom.” The scene was

“All ruined, desolate, forlorn, and savage.”

The deepening glooms made the silence something more oppressive--τῆς

σιγῆς βάρος--than the mere negative of sound; it became an indescribably

awful presence, weighing on and deadening to the spirit as the sense of

utter solitude--even the nasal music within the Laugarkofi was a

positive relief. I can easily imagine a man lost in this utter

stillness and swoon of Nature finding the horror and oppression

unendurable.

SECTION IV.--FROM THE SNÆFELL TO DJÚPIVOGR.

To Gísli’s infinite satisfaction, a vile sea-fog crept up the Jökulsá

valley, slowly, but persistently, and, meeting scant opposition in the

air, which the falling aneroid showed to be unusually deficient in

weight, it spread, like the magical “Foka” of folk-lore, over the face

of the upper world. Below us, we afterwards heard, all was merry as a

fine May-day. I had intended to make the Kverk direct from “Snowdon,”

and from that vantage-ground to prospect the Kistufell and the

Skjaldbreið, with “Trölladyngja,” the bower of the Troll-Carline. But in

the words of Wordsworth’s happy warrior, I did not see what I foresaw,

and had only the cold comfort of reflecting--

“Est quiddam prodire tenus, si non datur ultra.”

Icelandic exploration is “chancy” as Central African, and the traveller

must expect to be the sport of circumstances far beyond his control,

unless, at least, he can afford unlimited time.

The next morning (August 20) was also foggy: I waited till 8.45 A.M.,

and then all the _munitions de bouche_ being thoroughly exhausted, the

word was given for a retreat. The approach to Valthiófstaðir was

perfumed, after the rancid moss and the hard snow-wind, by the fragrant

crop of newly-mown hay. I bade friendly adieu to the family which had

shown me so much kindness; to Stefán, who was still abed, and to Björn,

the eldest son. A man of forty-six, and suffering from rheumatism, for

which the parsonage is famous, he was the only Icelander who in physique

realised my idea of a Saga-hero. The gentlemanly old-fashion parson put

into my hands, when parting, an appeal which touched me, “Opto ubi de

Islandiâ locutus estis, benè rem referere.”

My return-ride need not be described: it was over the same path, the

only difference being the last half of the last day, which is noticed

in Chapter XIII. At Hallormstaðir I again missed Síra Sigurðr, who

appears not to be of a very domestic turn. Reaching the Berufjörð

parsonage at 4.45 P.M. on August 21, I found the ponies far too much

fagged by a day’s work of 5500 feet, up and down, for riding another

twelve miles round the firth. The Reverend was absent from the

Prestagarð, but his wife kindly found me a boat and a boat-boy, the

student Thorsteinn taking the other oar. Progress was painfully slow,

and the tall ghostly loom of Búlandstindr seemed to follow us like a

“Fylgja,” or fetch. We enjoyed all the pleasures of _l’humidité spéciale

de l’eau de mer pulverisée_; the bright phosphoric lights of the

tropical seas were absent--indeed, I never saw them in Iceland. At this

season the nights become real nights; the smooths in the water,

alternating with ripple-lines, had no worse effect than to persuade the

inexperienced lads that they were approaching land, and, as the skerries

and drongs are thickly ranged along the southern shore, we were

fortunate that there was no gale--

“Only the sea-fogs to and fro

Skipped like the ghosts of the streams below.”

After six hours of mortal weariness, I landed with feet dead from

sitting in cold water, and awoke Captain Tvede. My good friend turned

out of his bunk; the cooper put the kettle on; sundry glasses of red-hot

toddy were administered medicinally; and I went to my old quarters, well

satisfied with having ridden, from under the very shadow of the

Vatnajökull, in two days to the eastern coast.

The “balance” of my stay at Djúpivogr would not have been pleasant

without the Ancient Mariner, who energetically assisted in preparing my

diary and in paying off the guides, a matter of $49. Hospitable Hr

Weÿvadt’s son, the acting Syslumaðr, presently joined us from Eskifjörð,

and lectured me upon taxation in Iceland which, as the reader has seen,

is “no joke.” The only drawback was a certain nervousness touching the

movements of the “Diana,” which was to touch at Deep Bay for the last

time this season. Alternate fog and rain, with faint attempts at

clearing about mid-day, had lasted for a week, and on August 24 the

“Postdampskibet” was due. The seamist rolled thick as a bolster up the

narrow line of Fjörð; I had almost abandoned hope, when suddenly we

received the glad tidings of her being anchored at the mouth of the voe.

Hurried adieux were exchanged, and we steamed for Reykjavik the same

evening.

Rain and fog accompanied us the whole way; fortunately for me, Dr

Hjaltalín was on board, returning from a visit to Denmark, or the lively

“Diana” would have been a very purgatory of dullness. The rest of my

tale is soon told. We made Reykjavik on the 26th. On September 1, I

embarked on board an old friend, the “Jón Sigurðsson;” and steaming

southwards cast a farewell view, while Iceland faded into the past, at

the palegold and glittering silver of the Öræfajökull.

On September 15, I landed at Granton.

CONCLUSION.

The past has been very short-lived of late, says the Duc de Noailles:

the world moves fast, and even

“the naked, melancholy isles

Of farthest Thule.”

have felt the civilising influence of the nineteenth century. During the

two short years which have followed my visit, Iceland, after a

generation-long struggle for political liberty and self-government, has

conquered, by inscribing her name on the European list of constitutional

countries. The “Annus Jubilæus Millesimus” has been an “Annus

Mirabilis:” the Present has met the Past: the “living antiquarian

museum” has been honoured with a royal visit, which highly gratified the

loyal, and which gave the disloyal an opportunity of declaring that

“Iceland has laws.” The Millenary festival drew a host of tourists and

“Own Correspondents,” even Hungary being represented, and a dozen

octavos will presently be the result. The practical Americans brought

with them a gift of some 2000 volumes which will, when room is found

for housing them, change the face of the Reykjavik library. As regards

physical matters, Iceland has witnessed a new eruption of the Skaptár;

and, as the map shows, the north-eastern side of the island is at this

moment (July 1875) in violent volcanic action. The Kötlu-gjá, or Katla’s

Rift of many terrors, has been visited and found to be another “humbug;”

and, last but not least, the Vatna-, or more probably the Klofa-, jökull

has been penetrated by the enterprising Mr Watts and his party, who are

reported to have planted the Union Jack upon the highest peak. I may

conclude with the lines of the Millennial Memorial:

“Ages thou numberest ten, unconquered and long-biding Thule!

Hardy mother of men, Thorr grant thee life through the ages;

After thy sad, sad past, may Happiness smile on thy future,

And Liberty, won so late, crown every blessing with glory.”

[Illustration: STONE AXE IN MUSEUM, REYKJAVIK.]

APPENDIX.

SULPHUR IN ICELAND.

SECTION I.

Let us begin this subject with an extract from Hr O. Henchel’s Report on

the Icelandic Sulphur Mines, and on the Refining of the Sulphur. January

30, 1776. (Translated from the Danish).

I arrived at Krísuvík the 24th of June 1775, and immediately after my

arrival I made preparations for examining the mountain of Krísuvík, with

its mines and the surrounding neighbourhood. This mountain is situated

two miles from the sea, the intervening space all the way from the

sulphur mines being a tolerably level field, with only a few diminutive

hills. The mountain stretches from north-east to south-west, and about

two miles south-west from the mines it terminates in a plain, three

miles of which are covered with lava. To north-east I did not examine

the mountain more than three miles from the mines, because I found that

in this direction the whole of it consisted of the same stuff, viz., of

a very loose sandstone (Palagonite), except where the mines and the hot

springs are to be found; there it consists of gypsum, and partly also of

a red and blue “bolus,” which, in my opinion, has been sublimated by

acid vapours, and partly thrown up by the hot springs. In some places

these soft earths have become a hard stone, the cause, being, no doubt,

that the access of the water has been stopped in these places, and when

the acid vapours could not any more penetrate through this soft earth,

it became hard by degrees.

In some places the above-mentioned gypsum is found to be tough and

sticky, and when it is dried slowly it has a greasy touch; sometimes it

is perfectly white, sometimes with red streaks, and one might take it

for pipe-clay. One may therefore conclude, that by the acid, the effects

of the rain and the sun and the rising heat, a fermentation has been

brought about in this earth, and that it has thus become tough. Besides

the already-mentioned variation, another kind of gypsum earth is found

on the top of the mountain in hard sheets irregularly formed; here we

probably see the effects of strong heat combined with absence of

sufficient water, after the fermentation has taken place. In other

places where this earth is saturated with sufficient acid, and partly

dissolved by the same, and has, besides, a suitable or a natural degree

of heat, so to speak, it is found in loose, reddish, and prismatic

crystals. There is a considerable quantity of it, but it is never found

deeper than from one foot to a foot and a half; the deeper you go the

less solid it becomes, and at a depth of one foot it becomes quite

fluid, because the heat is so strong, and the ground penetrated by warm

vapours to such a degree that it cannot attain any solidity; in fire it

loses its red colour. In short, this earth goes through so many changes,

partly through the greater or lesser degree of heat, partly through a

greater or less abundance of acids and water, and through the admixture

of foreign substances, that it can almost bewilder one.

The blue “bolus” is found everywhere beside the boiling springs, and

some of them are filled with it in such quantities that they are like a

pot full of thick gruel. When the “bolus” has become hard it cannot be

melted by the blow-pipe, but, in its natural condition, it attracts

vapours from the air, and forms very fine white crystals, and at a

distance they look like hoar-frost. This seems to show that this kind of

stone must be impregnated with calcareous earth which has been saturated

with vitriolic acid. That it must be this kind of earth in a hardened

state is seen both from its form and from the flowers of pyrites that

are mixed with it; for when one breaks off a piece of these earths in

their soft and half-solid condition, the broken pieces have the same

form, and are also interspersed with pyrites.

The red “bolus” is always found on the surface of the ground like the

white gypseous earth, and is never covered by a bed of another kind; it

is never mixed with the water of the boiling springs; there is no

sublimated sulphur where it is found, although the subterranean heat in

some such places is quite as strong as where that process actually takes

place.

Several hot springs are to be found here, and most of them contain the

blue “bolus,” but one contains white earth. These springs often

disappear in one place, and break out again in another place where no

spring has been before; the probable cause is that the narrow pipes

under the ground, through which the spring is supplied with water, fill

up by degrees; the strong heat transforms the water into very elastic

vapours, which break through the ground where they find the least

resistance, and thus a new hot spring is formed.

On a hill between the southernmost hot spring, called the Bath-room, and

the more northerly springs, a hardened “bolus” is found; it is so

brittle that it can easily be broken between the fingers; it is porous,

and its holes are filled with hardened lime. At first I assumed this

“bolus” to be a kind of lava partly dissolved by the atmosphere and the

slow heat rising from the ground; the lime I took for a kind of salt,

which had been embedded in the lava, and let loose by its solution, and

then settled down into the holes of the “bolus.” But, upon closer

examination of the solid state of this lime, and, after having tested it

by aquafortis, by which it was brought to a high state of effervescence,

I saw plainly it must be lime. I had tried to dissolve it in water, but

without success; if it had been a salt let loose by the dissolution of

the molten lava, it must have been more loose and in a somewhat

crystallised state. My idea is that the lime must have been sublimated

by the hot vapours when the lava was already thrown out; then it

subsided into the holes of the lava and became hard. When I compared

this earth with the lava of other places where volcanoes had been, from

which the lava had spread far and wide, without undergoing any

perceptible change or dissolution, I saw that this could never have been

a lava. Although the lava of volcanic mountains is often confounded with

slag produced by burning of the ground, I saw that this had never been

melted to real slag; and it seemed to me therefore probable, that it

must be a kind of hardened clay. I did not, however, find anything to

confirm my conjecture until I came to Mývatn, where I found specimens of

it in a soft and crude state.

The loose sandstone (Palagonite) already mentioned, which is found

besides the most northern hot springs, is there much finer than in other

places; it is of a slaty structure, and between the plates gypsum is

found, so one might almost take it for alum plates. On the top of the

mountain another kind of sandstone (trachyte?) is found; it is a good

deal harder and burnt; it looks like millstone rocks from the Rhine, yet

it is more porous; it is in irregular heaps, and never makes a whole

mountain, as if it had been thrown over by earthquakes.

Near the boiling springs, where the ground is loose and porous, but

especially where the heat has free ventilation through the

above-mentioned gypseous earth, the sulphur is to be found. At the

bottom it is dissolved and mixed with acid vapours; and when the

sublimation has taken place, it becomes fixed in the outermost crust

where there is a colder bed; and here it is found either in the shape of

crystals, powder, or flowers; it is never deeper than one, two, or three

inches under the surface, according to the greater or lesser degree of

heat, or the greater or lesser porosity of the earth which forms the

uppermost bed, as the sulphur bed itself, when it is in the shape of

powder, is never more than three to six inches; and when in a

crystallised form, never thicker than two to two and a half-inch, and

three inches at the very highest.

These mines are not many, and do not cover a large space of ground;

there are indeed a few spots here and there where sulphur is sublimated,

but these spots are very small. The most important as well as the

largest are the two mines highest up in the mountain; one of them is 120

yards long, and from 16 to 20 yards broad; the other is from 140 to 160

yards long, and from 20 to 40 yards broad. In these two mines the finest

and best sulphur is found in the largest quantities. The bed covering

the sulphur contains a great deal more of acids than the layer

immediately below it, because the hot acid vapours rising from the

depths below must keep the lower bed permanently acid and damp; the

surplus acids are driven up through the sulphur, and that portion of

them which does not unite with the sulphur, comes to the uppermost

crust, where it is dried by the combined efforts of the sun, the air,

and the wind. Here the acids are therefore more concentrated, and

consequently able to dissolve some portions of the gypseous earth with

which it has become united; in this condition it makes a kind of flowers

of alum, which, however, are partly vitriolic or blended with iron. I

tried to examine the purity of this salt by dissolving it in water. When

the water had been filtered it had a green colour; thereupon

precipitated with alkali, it gave a white precipitate; and when this was

separated from the water, the latter became after a while quite yellow,

as if it had been coloured with iron rust. This salt cannot really be

called alum unless we should call it _lime-alum_. Like alum it has a

nauseous taste, but more pungent and almost caustic. When, after

dissolution, it has become solid by evaporation, it is not nearly as

close as alum, and no crystallisation can be perceived in it.

As the sulphur is sublimated in the manner above stated, and by

condensation becomes fixed in the cold earth at the surface, it will be

seen that the opinion is erroneous, that sulphur is generated in earth

penetrated and made porous by the air. My instructions were to find out,

by blasting the rocks, whether any traces of sulphur were to be found in

them; but blasting was out of the question on account of the softness of

the ground, the great heat, and the large quantity of hot vapours. The

rocks must, moreover, be at a great depth, since all attempts to find

them with the earth-borer, which was fifteen feet in length, proved

unsuccessful.

Close to the mines on the south side heat is seen to have been in the

mountain formerly. Here the same kinds of stone are found as at the hot

spring, and the yellowish gypseous earth as well. By some cause or

another the heat has been removed somewhere else. I was convinced that

sulphur must be found here, as it might have been covered with earth

after the heat left; but all my diggings, both with the earth-borer and

otherwise, proved unsuccessful.

With the earth-borer I tried to ascertain the difference of the beds

where sulphur is sublimated, and of those where it is not, and where

only a slight heat is felt. The first experiment was made in the

northernmost mine. Below the sulphur I found a one-foot thick bed of the

white gypseous earth; then there was a bed of fine blue “bolus,” or an

earth impregnated with flowers of pyrites here and there. In this bed

the heat began to increase, and when I came to a depth of three feet the

bed became a little harder, but, at the same time, warmer and coarser,

as if it were mixed with gravel; and thus it continued to the depth of

fourteen feet, when it became a little softer.

I examined another place where no considerable heat was felt. The white

gypseous earth continued to the depth of a foot and a half; and in this

place it was harder and more solid than where the heat had a free

egress. Then came the blue earth; uppermost it was somewhat loose, but

farther down it became so hard and close that the earth-borer could

hardly penetrate it; the lower down the more it became mixed with

pyrites, and was filled with gravel, as it were. At the depth of twelve

to thirteen feet it became a little looser as I thought. It was the same

kind of earth all the way through; the heat was intense.

The third place which I examined was at the most northern point, beside

a small hot spring, thick with blue earth. Uppermost there was red

“bolus” to the depth of one foot; then a bed of purple and a yellowish

one, three feet thick; then a purple and bluish one, one foot thick. The

heat increased with the depth; here the bed became very hard, and I

found the blue earth impregnated with pyrites. This bed was ten feet

deep; at this depth the heat was so intense that the water trickling

down from the upper beds boiled violently, and prevented all further

progress.

By these experiments I found that the conditions necessary for the

sublimation of the sulphur are: _Firstly_, A sufficient quantity of

water to keep the soil loose and porous, that the sulphur may pass

through it, and to drive the sulphur vapours upwards. _Secondly_, That

the water must come from below; for when it comes from above, it cannot

penetrate through the blue bed in the absence of the rising hot vapours

which keep the bed porous; and in that case the bed becomes harder and

harder, and prevents the sublimation of the sulphur.

I tried in several places, both with the earth-borer and otherwise, to

discover some of the so-called dead mines, but without success. From the

many experiments I made, I concluded that the volcanic mountains of

Iceland must have been sulphur mountains or sulphur mines in the

beginning; the blue bed became hard, and the sulphur vapours were thus

prevented from being sublimated. Thus they became more condensed, and,

at the same time, more elastic in the ground; then there arose in them a

“heat-forming movement,” by which the whole ground, which is very

sulphureous, became violently shaken, and subsequently ignited, causing

tremendous destruction.

MÝVATN.

_Fremri-námar._

At Húsavík I obtained horses and workmen from the sheriff, and left that

place the 9th of August, and arrived the 12th in the evening at the

so-called Fremri-námar. At a distance of about one mile from the mines,

there is a valley called Hellaksdalur, where there is a little grass,

just so much as to give the ground a green colour, and this is the only

green spot that is to be found here within a distance of many miles; yet

there was not grass sufficient for the horses, but I had to bring with

me hay for them, and water for the men. In this valley I spent the

night, and the next morning, the 13th, I went to the mines, which are

about ten Icelandic miles (11 indirect, 40 geographical) south-east from

Húsavík, situated on the west side of a mountain called Herðubreið. On

the top of the mountain there is a ridge or an eminence, from which

there is an extensive view; but as far as the eye can reach in every

direction, nothing can be seen but lava. This eminence is 1500 paces

long, and equally broad, and about 120 feet high. On the top of the

eminence there is a deep hollow completely round, and about 200 paces in

diameter. From its shape it is called by the inhabitants a _kettle_. The

south and west sides of this eminence, as well as the hollow itself,

consist of lava, and it may therefore be concluded that the mountain has

been an active volcano in olden times. On the north and east side the

mines are found, and where these are the mountain consists of gypseous

earth like that at Krísuvík. A large quantity of sulphur is said to

have been dug from the dead mines here; but now they are rarely found,

because they have been worked annually, and the sulphur is not generated

afresh in these as in the live ones. Thirty paces from the end of the

valley, and also on the side of the mountain, the first live mines are

found. In the valley they are about 60 paces long, and from 20 to 30

broad. On the side of the mountain they are 200 paces long, and from 20

to 30 broad. On the east side of the mountain, 40 paces lower than the

mines above mentioned, other live mines are found 220 paces long, and 40

to 50 paces broad. From all these the sulphur has been completely

cleared away, because the sulphur found here was very good and pure. The

soil is moderately damp, and the sulphur has just as much water as (when

converted into steam by the heat) is sufficient to raise it up, and to

keep the ground in a loose and porous condition, so the sulphur can be

sublimated through it without hindrance. Yet it does not make the soil

too loose; in that case, small particles of earth would rise along with

the sulphur, become mixed with it, and thus make it impure. In the

mines, which, according to my guide’s information, had been completely

cleared of sulphur, there was already a new bed of sulphur one to two

inches in thickness, but very impure. There are others which formerly

yielded sulphur, now quite cold, and ruined. The destruction of the

mines, as well as the impurity of the sulphur, arises from careless

digging. When the peasants dig the sulphur out of a mine, and particles

of earth and impurities are sticking to it, they clear away the largest

lumps; but they do not take care not to let the impurities fall down

where they had taken the sulphur, where some flowers of sulphur always

remain. For although the uppermost sulphur is tolerably compact and

crystallised, the lowest is loose. The reason is that the uppermost bed

is made more and more compact by the sulphur rising from below, and the

acid phlegm surrounding the sulphur vapours cannot evaporate; the small

sulphur particles are thus prevented from immediate contact with each

other, but are enveloped in the superfluous phlegm. This is the reason

why the lowermost sulphur must remain in the shape of flowers until the

hard crust is removed; then the phlegm is exposed to the air and

evaporates, until the surface has become hard again. It will therefore

be seen, that when the impurities fall into these loose flowers, and the

fine sulphur is subsequently sublimated among them, the impurities will

be imbedded in the sulphur, and must be taken out with it at a second

digging.

Another reason for the impurity of the sulphur is this, that a man,

coming to a mine to see how the sulphur is, thrusts his spade into the

ground in various places, without first carefully removing the upper

earth, whereby the sulphur and the earth become mixed together. If he

does not think the sulphur good or abundant enough to be dug out at that

time, he leaves the mine thus disturbed; and the rising sulphur is

sublimated among the disturbed lumps of earth and sulphur, and the whole

becomes a compact mass; it often looks quite pure, but turns out

altogether different at the refinery. Thus a single man may in one hour

destroy a great many mines that might have been excellent if more

carefully handled.

One more cause of the impurity of the sulphur may be found, I think, in

the following circumstance. When the peasants come to a good mine they

take out all the sulphur that is to be found there, and do not take care

how they tread down the loose earth below the sulphur; the down-trodden

earth, over which the wind sweeps freely, becomes tough and hard when

the heat from below is not strong enough to break through it, and thus

keep it porous; thus the mine becomes cold and useless. In other places

where the heat is strong enough to force the steam through the trodden

earth, there is, however, this disadvantage: _Firstly_, It takes a

longer time for the sulphur to arrive at a state of perfect sublimation

than if the earth had remained in its porous condition. _Secondly_, The

fresh sublimation will be impure. When one steps into the loose earth,

deep holes, separated by thin ridges, will be formed. When the sulphur

is formed in these holes, covering the ridges as well, it is evident

that all these ridges must come out with the sulphur at a subsequent

digging.

Those that work the mines must therefore be ordered: _Firstly_, To

remove the earth before they dig up any mine, so that nothing shall fall

into the sulphur. _Secondly_, When they remove lumps of earth from the

sulphur, they must carry them outside the mine. _Thirdly_, When they

work a mine, they must first remove the uppermost earth; they must not

completely empty any mine of its sulphur: they should leave the utmost

border standing; then run a trench along the whole length of the mine,

then leave a ridge standing, and run another trench, and so on until

they have reached the utmost border, which they are to leave standing.

Thus the wind will be prevented from having a full sweep of the mine,

and thus making it cold. These trenches ought therefore to run across

the course of the most frequent winds; these are here, in my opinion, a

north-wester and south-easter. After one year the ridges left standing

might be taken with the same precaution as mentioned above. The workmen

ought therefore to be as much as possible prohibited from stepping into

the mines; every digger should take with him a board to stand on while

he digs, and this he should move with him as he proceeds. By these means

the mines might be saved from being unequally trodden down, and the

digger might escape from burning his feet, which he now frequently does,

by sinking through the loose and hot soil.

On the east side of the mountain, below the above-mentioned mines, a red

“bolus” begins, stretching round the mountain from south to north until

it meets with a sandstone mountain; between the mountain and this ridge

of “bolus” there is a little sulphur mine, and here the gypseous earth

is found below the sulphur as usual. Digging up the real “bolus,” I

found it to be very loose and soft; it was full of holes, like the

hardened one at Krísuvík, and the holes were filled with lime, very

loose and gelatinous, and slimy to the touch. Under the “bolus” the

earth was in many places hollow, and one hardly dared to tread there.

Very hot vapours arise from the bottom, by which these earths are

sublimated, for it is quite as hot here as in the sulphur mines. This is

a very interesting circumstance, and well worth observing, that there

are two places lying side by side, and presenting such a difference in

the stuffs driven up from the bottom by the heat, which is equally great

in both places. In one, however, sulphur is sublimated along with a

strong acid, and in the other the above said lime is sublimated, and not

the least acid is found in it.

_Hliðar-námar._

The 15th I went to the so-called Hliðar-námar, which are about eighteen

miles distant from the former ones. These are the largest of all the

mines, and here too is the greatest heat; the sulphur is consequently

sublimated in less time than in any of the others. At present there is a

large quantity of sulphur here, but it is all in powder, or in the form

of flowers; most of them are found in the mountains, as in the former

places; and the sulphur bed is in many places six inches and more in

thickness. The reason why the heat drives up greater quantities of

sulphur here than in the former places is to be found in the looseness

of the soil; it is not only much looser than in the former ones, but in

some places even too loose and damp, which both makes the spot difficult

to approach in order to dig, and fills the sulphur with earth and

impurities, so as to make it useless. The reason why these mines are in

such a good condition now is, that the sulphur brought from here to the

refinery was not so well received as that which came from the

Fremri-námar, or the so-called Theystarreykja-námar nearest to Húsavík.

I admit that the sulphur found here is more mixed with earth and acids

than in the other places; not, however, in such a degree as to offer any

serious difficulties. But as the whole of the sulphur is in the form of

flowers, and the earth immediately below it has nearly the same

appearance, and cannot therefore be easily distinguished from the

sulphur, the peasants do not, therefore, I think, separate the sulphur

from the earth with as much care as where it is found in a more solid

condition, and where the earth is more easily detected.

The mountain where these mines are situated stretches from north to

south, and on the north side it goes a considerable distance beyond the

mines. The same kinds of earth are found here as at Krísuvík, except the

grey slate, of which there is none here, neither are there any

variations in the gypseous earth; and very little of gypsum is to be

found, which probably is owing to the higher degree of heat, or it may

be because the heat has less interrupted egress, and consequently keeps

the earth constantly porous. There is a larger quantity of the vitriolic

alum. For the rest, the mountain consists of common sandstone. That

even these mines have not been worked carefully is evident from the

considerable number of ruined and cold mines.

Below the sulphur mountain on the east side there are three boiling

springs; it is evident that the two farthest to the south, and situated

close to each other, have been produced by an earthquake, because they

are found in a rift in the mountain, and boil with such awful noise,

especially the most southern one, that it can be heard 200 yards off,

and the ground, which consists of bluish “bolus,” is shaken. Close to

these hot springs is a large lava-tract, which spreads to the north to a

considerable distance; it also winds round the southern point of the

mountain, and crosses the path that leads to Fremri-námar, and spreads

almost down to Reykjahlið. The ground is hot everywhere, and the hot

vapours rise through the lava, and the whole is therefore continually

steaming. About nine miles north of these mines is the mountain Krabla,

where excellent mines are said to have been, but when the eruption of

1724 took place, it caused great destruction. One branch of the

lava-stream coming from this mountain passed close by the mines on the

west side and through the farm of Reykjahlið, the whole of which was

destroyed, and at last the current flowed into the lake Mývatn. The lava

thus produced was in various places hollow, as if the uppermost crust

had been hardened by the air, and the still liquid lava which was under

it flowed away. As the outmost crust cooled down by degrees, it

contracted, and thus rifts were formed; in some places also it was not

strong enough to support its own weight, and fell down. Crawling into

these caves, I found a kind of salt which had been sublimated from the

earth, and become fixed there. It had a bitter taste, and after being

dissolved and dried again it formed square crystals, with a square

point. It was easily melted by the blow-pipe.

_Theystarreykja Mines._

The 31st of August I came to the Theystarreykja mines, which are about

two miles from the refinery. A large quantity of sulphur is said to have

been brought from these mines to the refinery, as they were very

important ones, but now they are almost all cold, and it is only in a

few of them that sufficient heat is found. Therefore, although four

years are said to have passed since sulphur was taken herefrom, there

are only four or five where it might be taken again. Nevertheless the

heat seems in some of the cold mines to be breaking through so far that

the vitriolic acid can be sublimated through the ground, as it has in

combination with the dissolved lime formed the above-mentioned vitriolic

salt. It is therefore to be hoped that many of these ruined mines may

recover after a time, yet this is not certain. Here is again a clear

instance of how the very best mines may be ruined in a short time by

careless treatment. If, therefore, the still remaining mines, either

here or in other places, are to be preserved, the peasants must be

prevented from digging the sulphur.

The home-field of Theystarreykir is good though small, and has a fine

situation; and to the north there is a large piece of uncultivated

ground which might be made useful. Close to the farm is a hill called

Bæarfell, where some of the mines are situated. It begins on the south

side of the most southern mines, and continues in a northerly direction,

then it takes a turn to the east and then again to the north. In the

corner between the eastern and southern arms of the Bæarfell the best

mines are found at present. There have been a great number of mines on

the west side of the mountain, but these are now cold, except a few in

the middle, where the earth is tolerably loose, and the heat can

therefore sublimate the sulphur. Those, however, that are on the east

side of the hill are quite cold, except two small ones high up in the

hill, but there is sufficient heat in all these mines; and I am

therefore of opinion that sulphur may be sublimated in them for the

future. Some of the western ones are also found to be considerably hot,

and it may therefore be expected that these ruined mines may recover in

time. On the west side of these mines there is a large tract of lava. On

the north side of the Bæarfell the home-field begins, and north of that

again a piece of uncultivated ground; when beyond that, the lava

reappears and takes an easterly turn. On the top of the Bæarfell there

is a great deal of red “bolus,” and a strong heat under it. But sulphur

is never sublimated with or through the red “bolus,” therefore it is

not found here. Very little of gypsum is found in these mines. The warm

springs are neither deep nor very hot, and the minerals are either

sandstone, or hardened like those at Krísuvík.

All the sulphur mines which I visited in the north are in the following

condition: _Fremri-námar_ bad, because all the sulphur was taken away

last year. _Hliðar-námar_ good, because they have been saved the most.

_Theystarreykja-námar_ are worst, because the largest quantity has been

taken from them. My advice is, therefore, to let _Fremri-námar_ and

_Theystarreykja-námar_ rest for some time, and to work the

_Hliðar-námar_ only. When these have been emptied, the former two may be

worked in their turn.

_The Refining of the Sulphur._

The refinery is situated a few hundred paces from the factory of

Húsavík, and consists of a sulphur hut; two store-houses, one for the

raw sulphur, the other for the melted, or refined ore; a dwelling-house,

with kitchen and outhouses, all built of turf according to the Icelandic

fashion. The hut is about 20 feet long and 12 to 14 feet broad. In the

middle of it is a small chimney, and on both sides of it two iron

boilers are walled in; one is quite small, and holds only 1 cwt. of

melted sulphur, the other holds 3 cwts.; the smaller one is very little

used. Above the boiler a small board is inserted in the chimney, which

reaches over the middle of the boiler; it has a hole at one end, through

which a stick is put to stir up the sulphur; when its lowermost end

reaches the bottom of the boiler, the uppermost is supported by the

board, and he who stirs the sulphur can therefore move the stick more

easily than if its upper end were loose. The other instruments are, an

iron spade with holes, which is used for taking off the impurities

floating on the molten sulphur. Then there are some wooden forms, into

which the molten sulphur is poured. They are made of oak planks 3 inches

thick, 12 inches broad, and 3 feet long. On one side of the two

outermost planks, and on both sides of the two middle ones, three

cylinder-shaped grooves are made, so that every half-cylinder groove of

the two outermost corresponds with those on the middle ones, and those

on the middle ones with each other. The planks are laid one on the top

of the other, and kept together with an iron ring; in such a form nine

bars can be made at the same time. A small iron sieve with narrow holes

is put in the top of each hole, through which the sulphur is sifted when

poured out from the boiler with a large iron ladle. When not used the

forms are put into a tank filled with water, in order that the hot

sulphur may not stick to the sides of the holes. This is completely

prevented by soaking the forms in water. These are all the instruments

used in the refining of the sulphur. The fuel used is some little wood

sent by the Government, and for the rest peat, of which there is a good

supply close by.

When the sulphur is to be purified, a slow fire is made under the

boiler, and when it grows hot a small quantity, about two pounds, of raw

sulphur is put in; this is stirred till it becomes hot; the fire must be

slow, in order not to burn the sulphur, which might easily happen on

account of the quantity of earth mixed with it. When the portion is

quite dry and begins to melt, a little train-oil is poured in and

stirred quickly, by which the earth unites with the oil, and floats on

the top. As soon as this is melted, another portion of raw sulphur is

put in; and when this is melted, another portion of oil, if required:

this is easily seen; if the earth absorbed by the oil falls to pieces

like ashes, it falls again into the sulphur, and oil must be poured in

immediately. Thus the work is continued until the boiler is full. When

the boiler is nearly filled with molten sulphur, a quantity of train-oil

is poured on the top of it, and heated sufficiently. Then the fire is

removed and the stirring discontinued. The impurities absorbed by the

oil are removed with the iron spade described above. The forms are taken

out of the water, put together, and raised on one end. The iron sieve

described above is placed over the first form, and the sulphur poured

over it from the boiler. When it is full the sieve is placed over the

second one, then over the third, and so on.

SECTION II.

The next account that we have of the Krísuvík diggings will be found in

the following extracts from “Travels in the Island of Iceland during the

Summer of the Year 1810,” by Sir George Steuart Mackenzie, Bart., etc.,

etc., second edition, 1812.

Pp. 113, 114.--We set out towards the Sulphur Mountain, which is about

three miles distant from Krisuvik. At the foot of the mountain was a

small bank, composed chiefly of white clay and some sulphur, from all

parts of which steam issued. Ascending it, we got upon a ridge

immediately above a deep hollow, from which a profusion of vapour arose,

and heard a confused noise of boiling and splashing, joined to the roar

of steam escaping from narrow crevices in the rock. This hollow,

together with the whole side of the mountain opposite, as far up as we

could see, was covered with sulphur and clay, chiefly of a white or

yellowish colour. Walking over this soft and steaming surface we found

to be very hazardous, and we were frequently very uneasy when the vapour

concealed us from each other. The day, however, being dry and warm, the

surface was not so slippery as to occasion much risk of our falling. The

chance of the crust of sulphur breaking, or the clay sinking with us,

was great; and we were several times in danger of being much scalded. Mr

Bright ran at one time a great hazard, and suffered considerable pain

from accidentally plunging one of his legs into the hot clay. From

whatever spot the sulphur is removed, steam instantly escapes; and, in

many places, the sulphur was so hot that we could scarcely handle it.

From the smell we perceived that the steam was mixed with a small

quantity of sulphuretted hydrogen gas. When the thermometer was sunk a

few inches into the clay it rose generally to within a few degrees of

the boiling point....

Pp. 115, 116.--At the foot of the hill, in a hollow formed by a bank of

clay and sulphur, steam rushed with great force and noise from among the

loose fragments of rock.

Farther up the mountain we met with a spring of cold water, a

circumstance little expected in a place like this. Ascending still

higher, we came to a ridge composed entirely of sulphur and clay,

joining two summits of the mountain. Here we found a much greater

quantity of sulphur than on any other part of the surface we had gone

over. It formed a smooth crust from a quarter of an inch to several

inches in thickness. The crust was beautifully crystallised, and

immediately beneath it we found a quantity of loose granular sulphur,

which appeared to be collecting and crystallising as it was sublimed

along with the steam. Sometimes we met with clay of different colours,

white, red, and blue, under the crust; but we could not examine this

place to any depth, as the moment the crust was removed steam came

forth, and proved extremely annoying. We found several pieces of wood,

which were probably the remains of planks that had been formerly used in

collecting the sulphur, small crystals of which partially covered them.

There appears to be a constant sublimation of this substance; and were

artificial chambers constructed for the reception and condensation of

the vapours, much of it might probably be collected. As it is, there is

a large quantity on the surface; and, by searching, there is little

doubt that great stores may be found. The inconvenience proceeding from

the steam issuing on every side, and from the heat, is certainly

considerable; but, by proper precautions, neither would be felt so much

as to render the collection of the sulphur a matter of any great

difficulty. The chief obstacle to working these mines is their distance

from a port whence the produce could be shipped. But there are so many

horses in the country, whose original price is trifling, and whose

maintenance during the summer costs nothing, that the conveyance of

sulphur to Reikiavik presents no difficulties which might not probably

be surmounted.

Below the ridge on the farther side of this great bed of sulphur we saw

a great deal of vapour escaping with much noise.

SECTION III.

Mr Consul Crowe’s Report (1871-72) supplies the following notices of

mineral prospects in Iceland:

Mineral deposits, showing the presence of copper, iron, lead, and

silver, are found in many parts of the island, but either from their

poorness or the want of fuel, no attempt has been made to utilise them.

Calcareous stone, marbles(?), and feldspath are also found; and large

deposits of sulphur likewise exist in some districts, which at different

times have been the object of commercial speculation. The sulphur mines

at Krisuvik, in the south, are at present worked for foreign account,

but, I believe, owing to their partial inaccessibility, and difficulty

of transport, without much success.

The right of working sulphur mines at Myvatn, in the northern portion of

the island, has recently been conceded by the Danish Government to an

Englishman on a fifty years’ lease. They were worked some years ago for

account of a Copenhagen house, but were abandoned in 1851, since which

time they have remained closed. Many causes contributed to this result;

the chief of which, doubtless, were, ignorance of the proper method of

mining the sulphur, the cost of transport on horseback to the sea-board,

and the want of remunerative demand.

Since then these conditions have changed, and there exists no reason why

these mines should not be worked profitably. They extend over a large

tract of country, and their position is most advantageous, in the midst

of a flat country, within an easy distance of Husavik, a convenient

shipping port; and, during the many years they have been closed, the

deposits must have very greatly accumulated, and should yield

abundantly. Indeed, so strong was this conviction in the minds of the

natives that they long opposed the leasing except on very onerous terms,

although quite unable themselves to work them.

As these mines are now likely to remain in English hands for many years,

a short account of their former history may be read with some interest.

They are situated between 65° 20´ north latitude and the Arctic Sea, or

more definitely speaking, lying in the tract between Myvatn on the east,

and Jökulsá (glacier river) on the west.

The right of working them was bought from private owners by the Danish

king, Frederick the Second, in 1563, and this right has ever since been

in the possession of the Danish Crown (now the State). During the reign

of this king a considerable quantity of sulphur was extracted, amounting

to as much as 400 tons annually. In the reign of his son and successor,

Christian the Fourth, the produce appears to have fallen off, and his

Majesty was unsuccessful in his endeavours to lease them to foreigners.

To the falling-off of their supply of sulphur in this reign, and the

consequent scarcity of gunpowder, the Danes attribute their defeat by

the Swedes in Holstein (1644).

In 1665 we are informed that the Crown granted a concession for “digging

sulphur” to a foreigner, who is stated to have exported large quantities

up to the year 1676; since which date no special mention appears to have

been made of them until the early part of the eighteenth century, when

two foreigners, apparently Germans, acquired in 1724 the right of

exporting sulphur from Iceland. They also shipped considerable

quantities during the succeeding five years, when the death of the

lessees put a stop to this commerce.

After this date, and up to the beginning of the present century, the

Danish Government worked the mines for their own account, at times, it

appears, with considerable profit, until 1806, when they were again

leased to a foreigner. Subsequently, they have at times been worked by

private speculators up to 1851, since which date, as already mentioned,

they have remained untouched.

In 1840 they were visited by some scientific travellers, who calculated

that these northern mines might easily yield an annual net profit of

£1000 or £1200. Ten years later they were specially examined by a Danish

mineralogist, who discredited this statement, and reported them to be

less valuable;[177] but in speaking of the Krisuvik mines in the south,

he says, “These might be easily made to yield 200 tons annually,” and

yet they have always been considered inferior to the northern mines. A

French geologist, Eugène Robert, who visited Iceland in 1835, and

afterwards published a treatise on its geology, calls the attention of

the Danes to the value of the Myvatn mines, and advises them not to

lease them to the Englishmen (who were then applying for them), as the

property might become of great consequence in the event of the sulphur

mines of Sicily falling off, of which, he affirmed, symptoms had shown

themselves.

It will thus be seen that opinions are divided as to the productiveness

and present richness of these mines; but so much is certain, that they

have for several centuries been worked at intervals with varying

results; at times with considerable profit: the history of the country,

and the experience of so many years, point to the conclusion that, if

properly worked, they would become valuable property.

The mines, for instance, at Reykjahlidar-námar are the richest to be

found in all Iceland, and produce large quantities of the purest

sulphur.

The reproduction is incessantly going on from upwards of a thousand

small eminences, called solfataras, which are found on the ridge along

the sides and at the foot of Námarfjall. Rich sulphur deposits are also

found at the Ketill Crater (called Fremri-námar), while the least rich

are the Krafla-námar, but at all these there is a continual deposition

of sulphur going on. They all have the great advantage of lying in the

track of one of the few practicable roads in the island, leading to an

accessible shipping port.

SECTION IV.

HÔTEL DE LA VILLE (AU TROISIÈME), TRIESTE,

_16th February 1873._

The following are the notes which I made, for the use of Mr Lock, upon

Mr Vincent’s able and instructive paper.

“Holding sulphur-export to be the most legitimate trade in which Iceland

can engage, I rejoice to see the paper by Mr C. W. Vincent, F.C.E.

“The writer’s theory upon the formation of the mineral, by the by, the

action of water upon pyrites, is not new, nor am I certain that it is

true: perhaps it may be provisionally accepted, until we have a better.

He has done good service to students by noticing the similarity of the

Icelandic diggings with those of Central Sicily and of the Yellowstone

River sources. On the other hand, after actual inspection of the

Icelandic sulphur mines, I must differ upon many details with Mr

Vincent, who has derived his information from hearsay. He nowhere

notices the interesting combination of the Palagonitic groundwork of the

island with lavas of modern date, which seems to me a constant feature

of these solfataras. The venerable Sir Henry Holland recorded in 1810,

that the Krísuvík formation occupied high ground ‘composed principally

of the conglomerate or volcanic tufa which has before been noticed:’

this palpable reference to Palagonite has not been worked out as it

deserved to be. The ‘vivid word-pictures’ of older travellers are either

written in the fine style of former days, or the subjects of description

have lost youth and vigour. The ‘tremendous proofs of what is going on

beneath us’ are now, or have become, phenomena on a very mild scale;

while the ‘thundering noises’ which ‘stunned the ears’ of a former

generation, have learned to ‘roar gently,’ and to avoid shaking weak

nerves.

“As regards the authorities quoted, I may notice Commander (now Admiral

Sir) J. E. Commerell, who in the Vincent lecture appears enthusiastic

upon the capabilities of the Krísuvík mines. But that able officer’s

more dubious views do not come forth: he expressly states in the same

report that ‘a tramway might also be laid down; but, as there are two

hills to cross, with other difficulties, I could not positively state

whether this were possible or not.’ Mr Seymour (_fils_) has spent many

months in Iceland, but that does not mean Krísuvík. Captain Forbes is

also quoted, although it is well known that my friend has not a high

opinion of the south-western solfatara, and the sketch of travel over

that part of Iceland given in his lively volume (p. 103) suggests

anything but facility of transit. When a tramway has to cross a

hill-range, and a lava-tract some twelve indirect miles broad, we

already expect difficulties. Here, however, I must confess not to have

seen the plan and estimates drawn up by Messrs Shields and Gale, who set

out for Krísuvík a few days before my departure from Iceland.

“Also Mr Vincent appears to extend the solfatara district of Krísuvík

over a space of twenty-five miles, along a fancied volcanic diagonal.

This may be the case, but on July 9-10 Mr Chapman and I rode from

‘Krísa’s Bay’ eastward to the Reykir, _alias_ the ‘Little Geysir,’ and,

although we looked curiously for the enormous area theoretically

assigned to the sulphur formation, we failed to see any sign of it. Our

path ran over the normal quaking bogs, over large spills of modern lava

poured down the walls of the high interior plateau, and occasionally

over a strip of sea-sand. The apparently indispensable Palagonite was

also missing till near the end of the second march. Gunnlaugsson’s and

Olsen’s large map of Iceland, hereabouts so minute in all its details,

does not show a single hot spring between Krísuvík and Reykir; on the

contrary, all is coloured red-yellow, as a Hraun (lava-tract). Even the

‘western mine’ of Krísuvík has been described to me by authorities who

know the country well, as containing very little sulphur; and a passing

visit induces me to believe them.

“All these are minor objections to Mr Vincent’s paper. But when speaking

of, or rather alluding to, your concession, he has fallen into grievous

error. If he has studied the subject, he simply misrepresents it; if

not, he should have avoided all depreciatory notice of the Mý-vatn

mines.

“And now for the proofs.

“I read (p. 137) with unpleasant surprise, ‘a violent eruption of the

mud-volcano Krabla to a great extent buried the then active strata

beneath enormous masses of volcanic mud and ashes, so that the energy

has been probably transferred along the line’ (viz., the great volcanic

diagonal stretching, or supposed to stretch, from Cape Reykjanes to the

Mý-vatn lake) ‘southwards,’ that is to say, to Krísuvík.

“Without dwelling upon the fact that Mr Vincent’s theory about the local

production of sulphur renders such ‘transfer of energy’ impossible, I

remark that, firstly, the Hlíðarnámar, the nearest deposits of the

Mý-vatn sulphur, are at least two miles removed from the extremest

influence of Krafla, whilst the Fremrinámar are four times that

distance, and the latter are situated upon a much higher plane. To those

who have breathed the live sulphur tainting the air for mile after

mile, this ‘transfer of energy’ becomes a mere matter of fancy.

Secondly, on the very flank of Krafla, the hollow called Great Hell

(Helvíti Stærra) shows an abundance of sulphur, which extends right

across the valley westwards to Leirhnúkr (mud knoll). In this small

section of your concession Gunnlaugsson gives no less than seven Hverar

(boiling springs) lying close together. I need hardly pursue this part

of the subject: to one who has seen the country the assertion that any

eruption from Krafla has effected either the Hlíðar or the Fremri

diggings appears inconceivable. Suffice it to say that your six square

miles of live sulphur contrast wonderfully well with the two at the

south-western end of the island. Krafla alone contains as many

solfataras, boiling springs, and ‘makkalubers’ (mud caldrons), as exist

in the whole district of Krísuvík, and Krafla is only a part, a very

small part also, of the north-eastern deposits.

“Again I see with astonishment (p. 143), that ‘the sulphur at Myvatn,

though great in quantity, is at too great a distance from the port of

embarkation to permit its extraction being carried on with any chance of

competing with that from the Krisuvik mines.’

“It is true that your concession lies some twenty-five direct

geographical miles from Húsavík, the nearest available port, whilst

those of Krísuvík are only ten distant from Hafnafjörð. But a simple

statement of this kind is fallacious, because it conveys the wrong

impression. It is known to every Icelander that the northern line is one

of the best, the southern one of the worst, if not the worst, in the

island. The Húsavík road has the immense advantage of an easy and

regular incline from 900 feet high to sea-level, and in the depths of a

protracted winter your sledges can always carry down the material dug up

during the long summer days. There is nothing to prevent your having

your tramway, when such expensive article becomes advisable.

“You are at liberty to make any use you please of these short and

hurried notes. Pray understand that my object is by no means to

disparage the sulphur mines of Krísuvík; on the contrary, I hope soon to

see a company formed, and a stout-hearted attempt made to benefit both

the island and ourselves. M. Robert’s opinion upon the capability of

Iceland generally to supply an article which every year grows in

request, and his truly Gallican horror of the trade falling into English

hands, are too well known, and have too often been quoted, to justify

repetition. But I can truthfully say, that the Mý-vatn concession will

be found preferable to that of Krísuvík, and I regret that Mr Vincent

has adopted, without personal acquaintance with Iceland, information

which seems to come from suspected sources.

“Why do you not render justice to the Mý-vatn mines by a lecture, with

the assistance of maps, plans, and other requisites? Mr Vincent, I see,

proposes to continue writing upon the highly interesting sulphur supply

of Iceland: pray remember that in these wild solitudes I am wholly

dependent upon the piety of my friends and the pity of those who

remember me.

“Ever yours truly,

“RICHARD F. BURTON, F.R.G.S.

“Alfred G. Lock, Esq.”

SECTION V.

SULPHUR IN ICELAND. By C. CARTER BLAKE, Doc. Sci., Hon. For. Sec.

Lond. Anth. Soc. London: E. & F. N. Spon, 48 Charing Cross. 1873.

The fact that sulphur, one of the most useful substances known, and, in

the words of Mr Crookes, “the mainstay of present industrial chemistry,”

has been an article of commerce throughout all time, and that a ready

market has always existed for it, is familiar to all. Like the famous

electrum of the ancients, its origin has been comparatively unknown. We

shall briefly consider the conditions under which sulphur is found; its

geographical distribution over the face of the globe; the method of its

preparation for the market, and the circumstances which may lead

capitalists to seek for the productive mineral at a shorter distance

from our own shores than the Mediterranean or Mexico.