THE ROAD TO THE GEYSERS.
It was ten o'clock at night when I reached the parsonage. In addition
to my rough ride from Reykjavik, and the various trying adventures on
the way, I had walked over nearly the whole range of the Almannajau,
sketched the principal points of interest, visited the Logberg, and
made some sketches and diagrams of that, besides accomplishing a
considerable amount of work about the premises of the good pastor, all
of which is now submitted to the kind indulgence of the reader. Surely
if there is a country upon earth abounding in obstacles to the pursuit
of the fine arts, it is Iceland. The climate is the most variable in
existence--warm and cold, wet and dry by turns, seldom the same thing
for half a day. Such, at least, was my experience in June. Wild and
desolate scenery there is in abundance, and no lack of interesting
objects any where for the pencil of an artist; but it is difficult to
conceive the amount of physical discomfort that must be endured by one
who faithfully adheres to his purpose. Only think of sitting down on a
jagged piece of lava, wet to the skin and shivering with cold; a raw,
drizzling rain running down your back and dropping from the brim of
your hat, making rivers on your paper where none are intended to be;
hints of rheumatism shooting through your bones, and visions of a
solitary grave in the wilderness crossing your mind; then, of a
sudden, a wind that scatters your papers far and wide, and sends your
only hat whirling into an abyss from which it is doubtful whether you
will ever recover it--think of these, ye summer tourists who wander,
sketch-book in hand, through the "warbling woodland" and along "the
resounding shore," and talk about being enterprising followers of the
fine arts! Try it in Iceland a while, and see how long your
inspiration will last! Take my word for it, unless you be terribly in
earnest, you will postpone your labors till the next day, and then the
next, and so on to the day that never comes.
Not the least of my troubles was the difficulty of getting a good
night's rest after the fatiguing adventures of the day. There was no
fault to be found with the bed, save that it was made for somebody who
had never attained the average growth of an American; and one might do
without a night-cap, but how in the world could any body be expected
to sleep when there was no night? At twelve o'clock, when it ought to
be midnight and the ghosts stirring about, I looked out, and it was
broad day; at half past one I looked out again, and the sun was
shining; at two I got up and tried to read some of the pastor's books,
which were written in Icelandic, and therefore not very entertaining;
at three I went to work and finished some of my sketches; and at four
I gave up all farther hope of sleeping, and sallied forth to take
another look at the Almannajau.
[Illustration: AN ARTIST AT HOME.]
On my return Zoega was saddling up the horses. A cup of coffee and a
dry biscuit put me in traveling order, and we were soon on our way up
the valley.
For the first few miles we followed the range of the "Jau," from which
we then diverged across the great lava-beds of Thingvalla. It was not
long before we struck into a region of such blasted and barren aspect
that the imagination was bewildered with the dreary desolation of the
scene. The whole country, as far as the eye could reach, was torn up
and rent to pieces. Great masses of lava seemed to have been wrested
forcibly from the original bed, and hurled at random over the face of
the country. Prodigious fissures opened on every side, and for miles
the trail wound through a maze of sharp points and brittle crusts of
lava, with no indication of the course save at occasional intervals a
pile of stones on some prominent point, erected by the peasants as a
way-mark for travelers. Sometimes our hardy little horses climbed like
goats up the rugged sides of a slope, where it seemed utterly
impossible to find a foothold, so tortured and chaotic was the face of
the earth; and not unfrequently we became involved in a labyrinth of
fearful sinks, where the upper stratum had given way and fallen into
the yawning depths below. Between these terrible traps the trail was
often not over a few feet wide. It was no pleasant thing to
contemplate the results of a probable slip or a misstep. The whole
country bore the aspect of baffled rage--as if imbued with a demoniac
spirit, it had received a crushing stroke from the Almighty hand that
blasted and shivered it to fragments.
[Illustration: LAVA-FJELDS.]
There were masses that looked as if they had turned cold while running
in a fiery flood from the crater--wavy, serrated, frothy, like tar
congealed or stiffened on a flat surface. One piece that I sketched
was of the shape of a large leaf, upon which all the fibres were
marked. It measured ten feet by four. Another bore a resemblance to a
great conch-shell. Many were impressed with the roots of shrubs and
the images of various surrounding objects--snail-shells, pebbles,
twigs, and the like. On a larger scale, bubbling brooks, waterfalls,
and whirlpools were represented--now no longer a burning flood, but
stiff, stark, and motionless. One sketch, which is reproduced, bore a
startling resemblance to some of the marble effigies on the tombs of
medieval knights.
[Illustration: EFFIGY IN LAVA.]
The distant mountains were covered with their perpetual mantles of
snow. Nearer, on the verge of the valley, were the red peaks of the
foot-hills. To the right lay the quiet waters of the lake glistening
in the sunbeams. In front, a great black fissure stretched from the
shores of the lake to the base of the mountains, presenting to the eye
an impassable barrier. This was the famous Hrafnajau--the uncouth and
terrible twin-brother of the Almannajau.
A toilsome ride of eight miles brought us to the edge of the Pass,
which in point of rugged grandeur far surpasses the Almannajau, though
it lacks the extent and symmetry which give the latter such a
remarkable effect. Here was a tremendous gap in the earth, over a
hundred feet deep, hacked and shivered into a thousand fantastic
shapes; the sides a succession of the wildest accidents; the bottom a
chaos of broken lava, all tossed about in the most terrific confusion.
It is not, however, the extraordinary desolation of the scene that
constitutes its principal interest. The resistless power which had
rent the great lava-bed asunder, as if touched with pity at the ruin,
had also flung from the tottering cliffs a causeway across the gap,
which now forms the only means of passing over the great Hrafnajau. No
human hands could have created such a colossal work as this; the
imagination is lost in its massive grandeur; and when we reflect that
miles of an almost impassable country would otherwise have to be
traversed in order to reach the opposite side of the gap, the
conclusion is irresistible that in the battle of the elements Nature
still had a kindly remembrance of man.
[Illustration: THE HRAFNAJAU.]
Five or six miles beyond the Hrafnajau, near the summit of a
dividing ridge, we came upon a very singular volcanic formation called
the Tintron. It stands, a little to the right of the trail, on a rise
of scoria and burned earth, from which it juts up in rugged relief to
the height of twenty or thirty feet. This is, strictly speaking, a
huge clinker not unlike what comes out of a grate--hard, glassy in
spots, and scraggy all over. The top part is shaped like a shell; in
the centre is a hole about three feet in diameter, which opens into a
vast subterranean cavity of unknown depth. Whether the Tintron is an
extinct crater, through which fires shot out of the earth in by-gone
times, or an isolated mass of lava, whirled through the air out of
some distant volcano, is a question that geologists must determine.
The probability is that it is one of those natural curiosities so
common in Iceland which defy research. The whole country is full of
anomalies--bogs where one would expect to find dry land, and parched
deserts where it would not seem strange to see bogs; fire where water
ought to be, and water in the place of fire.
While the pack-train followed the trail, Zoega suggested that the
Tintron had never been sketched, and if I felt disposed to "take it
down"--as he expressed it--he would wait for me in the valley below;
so I took it down.
During this day's journey we crossed many small rivers which had been
much swollen by the recent rains. The fording-places, however, were
generally good, and we got over them without being obliged to swim our
horses. One river, the Bruara, gave me some uneasiness. When we
arrived at the banks it presented a very formidable obstacle. At the
only place where it was practicable to reach the water it was a raging
torrent over fifty yards wide, dashing furiously over a bed of lava
with a velocity and volume that bade apparent defiance to any attempt
at crossing. In the middle was a great fissure running parallel with
the course of the water, into which the current converged from each
side, forming a series of cataracts that shook the earth, and made a
loud reverberation from the depths below.
[Illustration: THE TINTRON ROCK.]
I stopped on an elevated bank to survey the route before us. There
seemed to be no possible way of getting over. It was all a wild
roaring flood plunging madly down among the rocks. While I was
thinking what was to be done, Zoega, with a crack of his whip, drove
the animals into the water and made a bold dash after them. It then
occurred to me that there was a good deal of prudence in the advice
given by an Icelandic traveler: "_Never go into a river till your
guide has tried it._" Should Zoega be swept down over the cataract, as
appeared quite probable, there would be no necessity for me to follow
him. I had a genuine regard for the poor fellow, and it would pain me
greatly to lose him; but then he was paid so much per day for risking
his life, and how could I help it if he chose to pursue such a
perilous career? Doubtless he had come near being drowned many a time
before; he seemed to be used to it. All I could do for him in the
present instance would be to break the melancholy intelligence to his
wife as tenderly as possible. While thus philosophizing, Zoega plunged
in deeper and deeper till he was surrounded by the raging torrent on
the very verge of the great fissure. Was it possible he was going to
force his horse into it? Surely the man must be crazy.
"Stop, Zoega! stop!" I shouted, at the top of my voice; "you'll be
swept over the precipice. There's a great gap in the river just before
you."
"All right, sir!" cried Zoega. "Come on, sir!"
Again and again I called to him to stop but he seemed to lose my voice
in the roar of the falling waters. Dashing about after the scattered
animals, he whipped them all up to the brink of the precipice, and
then quietly walked his own horse across on what looked to me like a
streak of foam. The others followed, and in a few minutes they all
stood safely on the opposite bank. I thought this was very strange. A
remote suspicion flashed across my mind that Zoega was in league with
some of those water-spirits which are said to infest the rivers of
Iceland. Wondering what they would say to a live Californian, I
plunged in and followed the route taken by my guide. Upon approaching
the middle of the river I discovered that what appeared to be a streak
of foam was in reality a wooden platform stretched across the chasm
and covered by a thin sheet of water. It was pinned down to the rocks
at each end, and was well braced with rafters underneath. From this
the river derives its name--Bruara, or the Bridge.
The general aspect of the country differed but little from what I have
already attempted to describe. Vast deserts of lava, snow-capped
mountains in the distance, a few green spots here and there, and no
apparent sign of habitation--these were its principal features. Below
the falls the scene was peculiarly wild and characteristic. Tremendous
masses of lava cast at random amid the roaring waters; great fissures
splitting the earth asunder in all directions; every where marks of
violent convulsion. In the following sketch I have endeavored to
depict some of these salient points. When it is taken into
consideration that the wind blew like a hurricane through the craggy
ravines; that the rain and spray whirled over, and under, and almost
through me; that it was difficult to stand on any elevated spot
without danger of being blown over, I hope some allowance will be made
for the imperfections of the performance.
[Illustration: BRIDGE RIVER.]
About midway between Thingvalla and the Geysers we descended into a
beautiful little valley, covered with a fine growth of grass, where we
stopped to change horses and refresh ourselves with a lunch. While
Zoega busied himself arranging the packs and saddles, our
indefatigable little dog Brusa availed himself of the opportunity to
give chase to a flock of sheep. Zoega shouted at him as usual, and as
usual Brusa only barked the louder and ran the faster. The sheep
scattered over the valley, Brusa pursuing all the loose members of the
flock with a degree of energy and enthusiasm that would have done
credit to a better cause. Upon the lambs he was particularly severe.
Many of them must have been stunted in their growth for life by the
fright they received; and it was not until he had tumbled half a dozen
of them heels over head, and totally dispersed the remainder, that he
saw fit to return to head-quarters. The excitement once over, he of
course began to consider the consequences, and I must say he looked as
mean as it was possible for an intelligent dog to look. Zoega took him
by the nape of the neck with a relentless hand, and heaving a profound
sigh, addressed a pathetic remonstrance to him in the Icelandic
language, giving it weight and emphasis by a sharp cut of his whip
after every sentence. This solemn duty performed to his satisfaction,
and greatly to Brusa's satisfaction when it was over, we mounted our
horses once more and proceeded on our journey.
A considerable portion of this day's ride was over a rolling country,
somewhat resembling the foot-hills in certain parts of California. On
the right was an extensive plain, generally barren, but showing
occasional green patches; and on the left a rugged range of mountains,
not very high, but strongly marked by volcanic signs. We passed
several lonely little huts, the occupants of which rarely made their
appearance. Sheep, goats, and sometimes horses, dotted the
pasture-lands. There was not much vegetation of any kind save patches
of grass and brushwood. A species of white moss covered the rocks in
places, presenting the appearance of hoar-frost at a short distance.