faithfully to convey my own impressions, without hoping to succeed
better than others who have gone before me.
Let the reader imagine himself, standing on the stony plateau; below him
stretches a beautiful verdant valley, say about five miles broad, and
about 100 feet below the level on which he is standing; to the right
before him also lies the lake which we have been skirting for some miles
in riding along. It is in size about ten miles each way, and is bounded
by picturesque ranges of bare volcanic hills. This whole valley has
evidently sunk down in one mass to its present level, leaving exposed a
section of the rent rocks on either side of the vale. These exposed
edges of the stony plateau running in irregular basaltic strata, and
with fantastic shapes on the top like chimneys and ruined towers,
stretch away like black ramparts for miles, nearly parallel to each
other, with the whole valley between them, and are precipitous as walls,
especially that on the left.
The top of the mural precipice, overlooking the gorge at our feet, is
the original uniform level of the ground before the sinking of the
valley. It forms the edge of the plateau which stretches away behind and
also before us to the left of the precipice; for we look down the chasm
lengthways, along the front of the rock-wall, and not at right angles
from it. A mere slice of the rock has been severed and is piled up on
our right, like a Cyclopian wall. It runs parallel with the face of the
rent rock to which it formerly belonged, for, say, about the eighth of a
mile N.E. from where we stand, and then terminates abruptly there in
irregular crumbling blocks like a heap of ruins; while the trench or gjá
itself also runs back in a straight line S.W. for about two miles, and
terminates at the brink of the lake.
The N.E. side of the valley is the highest, and the S.W. the
lowest—shelving beneath the blue water, and forming the bottom of the
lake. The river Oxerá, which thunders over the rock-wall on the right,
forms a magnificent waterfall, and then flows peacefully across the
south-west corner of the valley to the lake.
Between these two rock-walls—the left forming the real boundary of the
valley on that side, but the right wall being only a slice severed from
the left, and not the other boundary of the valley, which is situated
about five miles distant—a long narrow passage descends, leading to the
plain below. The flat bottom of this passage 100 feet deep is strewn
with debris, but otherwise covered with tender green sward. The bottom
is reached from the elevated waste where we stand by a very rough
irregular winding incline plane—for although the descent is full of
great blocks of stones, dreadfully steep, and liker a deranged staircase
than anything else, we still call it a steep incline plane from the
level of the plateau to the passage beneath which leads into the
valley—high rock-walls rising on either side as we descend. Entering the
defile and moving along on level ground, the wall on the right,
evidently rent from the other side as if sliced down with some giant’s
sword from the edge of the plateau, soon terminates in the valley; but
that on the left runs on for many miles like a fire-scathed rampart. The
stony plateau stretches back from the edge or level of the summit of
this rock-wall, and the lovely green valley of Thingvalla extends from
its base to the Hrafna Gjá or Raven’s Chasm—the corresponding wall and
fissure, like rampart and fosse—which bounds the other side of the
valley.
I am thus particular, because certain descriptions led me to suppose
that here we would encounter a precipice at right angles to our path,
and have to descend the face of it, instead of descending an incline
_parallel to its face_, from where the _stair_ begins on the old level.
As it is, however, it seemed quite steep enough, with the rock-walled
incline reaching from the valley to our feet. This wild chasm is called
the Almanna Gjá—all men’s or main chasm; while the one on the other side
of the vale of Thingvalla is called the Hrafna Gjá or Raven’s Chasm. The
whole character of the scene, whether viewed by the mere tourist, or
dwelt upon by the man of science, is intensely interesting, and in
several respects quite unique; hence I have tried to describe it so
minutely.
When Professor Chadbourne and I came up to it, we gazed down in awe and
wonder. We knew that our companions must have descended somehow, for
there was no other way: but how, we could not tell. Were we to dismount
and let the horses go first, they might escape and leave us; if we
attempted to lead them down they might fall on the top of us; to descend
on foot would be extremely difficult at any time, and dismounting and
mounting again at this stage of our proceedings, was rather a formidable
undertaking. “How shall we set about it?” I asked my friend. “You may do
as you please,” said he, “but I must keep my seat if I can.” “So shall
I, for the horse is surer footed than I can hope to be to-day.” “Lead on
then” said the Professor, “and I’ll follow!”
So leaving my pony to choose its steps, it slowly picked its way down
the steep gorge; zig-zagging from point to point and crag to crag, or
stepping from one great block of stone to another. I was repeatedly
compelled to lean back, touching the pony’s tail with the back of my
head, in order to maintain the perpendicular, and avoid being shot
forward, feet first, over its head, among the rocks. Sometimes at steep
places it drew up its hind legs and slid down on its hams, many loose
stones rattling down along with us as the pony kicked out right and left
to keep its balance, and made the sparks fly from its heels. Descending
in silence, at last we reached the bottom in safety, thinking it rather
a wild adventure in the way of riding, and one not to be attempted
elsewhere.
[Illustration: DESCENT INTO THE ALMANNA GJÁ.]
Looking back with awe and increasing wonder at the gorge we had
descended, for it certainly was terrifically steep, we both remarked the
cool indifference and utter absence of fear with which we had ridden
down such a break-neck place. The fresh air and excitement prevent one
from thinking anything about such adventures till they are over.
[Illustration: ALMANNA GJÁ.]
The high rock-walls, now hemming us in on either side, bore a
considerable resemblance to the pictures of Petra—Wady Mousa—in Arabia,
and here we could fancy mounted Bedouins riding up with their long
matchlocks. All was silent as the grave. The ground was green with
tender herbage; great blocks of stone lay about, and others seemed ready
to topple over and fall down upon us. Riding along, the rocks on the
right soon terminated like a gigantic heap of burned ruins, and allowed
us to gaze across the vale of Thingvalla, with the river Oxerá in the
foreground. Here we overtook our friends who told us that they had all
dismounted and led their horses down the chasm, and would scarcely
believe that we had ridden down. All of us were lost in wonder and
struck with awe at the scenes we had witnessed. We forded the river in a
row, following Zöga’s guidance; and at 5 o’clock in the afternoon rode
up to the priest’s house on the other side. It was simply a farm, like
others we had seen, consisting of a group of separate erections with
wooden gables, green sod on the roof and the whole surrounded with a low
stone wall coped with turf. Beside it was the silent churchyard with its
simple grassy graves of all sizes. Immediately behind the house were
piles of sawn timber, and several carpenters at work rebuilding the
little church, which having become old and frail had been taken down.
Its site was only about 25 feet by 10.
[Illustration: FORDING THE OXERÁ.]
Zöga went in to tell the pastor of our arrival, leaving us to dismount
in a deep miry lane between two rough stone walls leading to the house.
He had been busy with his hay, but speedily appeared and hospitably
offered us what shelter he could afford.
Zöga arranged for the grazing of the ponies; we were to dine in the
largest room of the house, and he was to have the use of the kitchen
fire to cook our dinner—the preserved meats, soups, &c.—which of course
we had brought with us. The pastor provided a splendid trout from the
river, to the great delectation of half a dozen travellers all as hungry
as hawks.
[Illustration: PRIEST’S HOUSE AT THINGVALLA.]
Now commenced the unstrapping and unpacking, presided over by the
indefatigable Zöga; boxes, bags, and packages, bespattered with mud, lay
about singly and in piles. Everybody seemed to want something or other
which was stowed away somewhere, and forthwith the patient obliging
Zöga, in a most miraculous manner, never failed to produce the
desiderated articles. Taking a rough towel and soap, I performed my
ablutions in the river close by, while dinner was getting ready and felt
quite refreshed. “Time and the hour runs through the roughest day,” and
this was certainly one to be marked in our calender. Shortly after 6
o’clock we dined and attempted some conversation in Latin with the
priest, Mr. S. D. Beck. He is a pastor literally and metaphorically,
farming and fishing as well as preaching. Hay, however, is the only crop
which is raised here; and the Icelanders are consequently very dependent
upon the hay-harvest. With their short summer they might not
inappropriately quote Shakspere’s lines,
“The sun shines hot; and if we use delay
Cold biting winter mars our hoped for hay.”
The scythe used by the Icelanders is quite straight and not half the
length of ours. The numerous little hummocks, with which pasture land is
covered, necessitate the use of a short implement, so that it may mow
between and around them; the hillocks are from one to two feet high, and
from one to four feet across. In some places the ground presents quite
the appearance of a churchyard or an old battle-field. These elevations
are occasioned by the winter’s frost acting on the wet subsoil. If
levelled they would rise again to the same height in about 7 or 8 years;
but the farmers let them alone, because they fancy they get a larger
crop from the greater superficial area of the field, and this old
let-alone custom certainly saves them much labour. The primitive state
of their agriculture, as well as the peculiar nature of the Icelandic
soil, may be inferred from the fact, that there are only two ploughs in
the whole island and no carts. A spade, a scythe two feet long, a small
rake with teeth about an inch and a half deep, and ropes made of grass
or hair to bind the hay, which is carried on men’s backs or conveyed by
horses to be stacked, are all that the farmer requires for his simple
operations. The hay, especially that which grows in the túns, is of fine
quality, tender and nutritive; and, with even any ordinary attention to
drainage, many a fertile vale could be made to yield much more than is
now obtained from it. Latin was our only mode of communicating directly
with the priest; but having had little colloquial practice of that kind,
we blundered on, feeling that, in appropriating the stately language of
Cicero and Virgil to creature comforts and the vulgar ongoings of daily
life, we were almost committing a species of desecration: yet the
ludicrous combinations and circumlocutions, grasped at in desperation to
express modern things in a dead language, afforded us no little
amusement. Professor Chadbourne, Mr. Murray, and myself got most of the
work to do, and were often greeted with the pastor’s goodnatured “Ita,”
or “Intelligo,” when our propositions could not have been particularly
remarkable for perspicacity. Amongst foreigners, charity covers a
multitude of sins of this kind. We cannot however apply the same remark
to our own countrymen, who are often more inclined to laugh at a
foreigner’s mistakes than to help him.
The fragrant tedded hay and the green vale of Thingvalla stretching
before us were peculiarly refreshing to the eye, after the dreary rugged
lava-wastes through which we had passed—where tracks of flat rocks were
corrugated and shrivelled up like pitch, having been left so when the
lava set; and where other rock-surfaces appeared ground and polished in
grooves by the ice-drift; or where all was covered with a pack of lava
blocks and slabs, of all sizes and lying in every conceivable direction.
After tea I walked out alone a little way north-west of the church to
examine the Althing, on the upper part of which stands the Lögberg or
sacred law hill, where, when the Parliament or Althing was assembled,
the judges sat; and where justice was administered to the Icelanders for
nearly 900 years; thus rendering Thingvalla, with its numerous
associations and stirring memories, to speak historically, by far the
most interesting spot in the island.
[Illustration: ALTHING AND LÖGBERG FROM BEHIND THE CHURCH.]
The Althing is a long sloping ridge of lava, about 200 feet long and
from 30 to 50 broad, covered on the top with the most tender herbage and
flowers. At the end next the church it is low and approachable, by
climbing over a few stones among and below which one can see water, but
it is entirely separated from the surrounding plain by two deep
perpendicular rocky fissures or chasms running parallel on either side
and joining at the further end. Only at one place is the chasm so
narrow—16 feet—that, once on a time, Flosi, leader of the burners of
Njal’s house, made his escape from justice by taking a desperate leap.
These chasms contain clear water, so that the Althing is in fact a
narrow peninsula, which with the entrance guarded was as secure as a
fortress. One looks sheer down, say 20 or 30 feet, to the surface of the
water in the chasms; while the water itself is from 80 to 90 feet deep,
and in some places said to be unfathomable. These fissures run S.W. to
the lake which is about a mile distant. Through the water, one sees huge
blocks of lava of a whitish blue colour and dark masses of basalt
gleaming from the green depths. Beautiful tender fairy-like ferns grow
on the edges and in the sheltered crevices of the rocks; and I gathered
specimens of grasses, mosses, violets, butter-cups and forget-me-nots,
from the soft verdant carpet which covered the surface. Here, the
Icelandic Parliament, such as it was, continued to meet, down to the
year 1800, when the seat of government was finally removed to Reykjavik.
In the old palmy days, prior to A.D. 1261 when the island became subject
to Norway, the Althing was the scene of many a spirited debate; affairs
of the greatest import were here freely discussed, and finally disposed
of, in open assembly. Thus, in the year A.D. 1000, after a stormy
debate, it was determined that Christianity should be introduced as the
religion of the island. Here, measures of general interest were
proposed, taxes levied, law-suits conducted, the judgments of inferior
courts revised, subordinate magistrates impeached for dereliction of
duty and dismissed from their office; while criminals were tried, and if
found guilty of capital offences were summarily executed. Criminals were
beheaded on the little Island of Thorlevsholm in the Oxerá; in a pool of
the same river, female offenders, sewed in a sack, were drowned; and
those condemned for witchcraft were precipitated from the top of a high
rock on the east side of the Almannagjá.
The Althing commonly met in the middle of May and sat for 14 days. Every
freeholder had a right to attend and express his opinion on measures
under consideration: thus, at Thingvalla, friends and acquaintances from
distant parts of the island—members and friends of both sexes—annually
availed themselves of this opportunity of meeting each other. The people
pitched their tents on the banks of the Oxerá and in the plain around
the Althing; so that a wild lone scene usually silent as the grave, for
the time became quite a busy one, enlivened by the presence of nearly
all the elite of the island.
[Illustration: LAKE OF THINGVALLA FROM THE LÖGBERG.]
Gazing from the Althing, so as to take in the general aspect of the
wondrous scene around us, the whole valley seems obviously to have sunk
down en masse to its present level. The tops of the two extreme
wall-like boundaries, with chasms at their base, on either side of the
vale, respectively called the Almannagjá and the Hrafnagjá, show the
original height of the whole, and also exhibit a section of the rock.
This view of the matter is proved by the fact, that the numerous cracks,
rents, or fissures, such as those around the Althing, with which the
valley is intersected, when examined are found exactly to correspond in
their sections—trahytic trap capped by lava—with the edges left standing
as they were before the subsidence of the valley and now bounding it
like a black rampart. The pastor’s dwelling, from where I stand,
presents the appearance of a few grass hillocks or potato-pits. The site
of each erection is partly excavated from the side of a little slope, to
protect it from the storm. Grass-turf covers the roofs, and the whole
group of buildings is surrounded by a three-foot turf-wall;
consequently, like many other Icelandic farms we have seen, little more
than the roofs appear above ground. At midnight I made several sketches
of the lake of Thingvalla; the river Oxerá as it fell thundering over
the dark rock-wall in a sheet of white foam; and the bare heights to the
north-east, purple in the evening glow and mottled with snow patches.
[Illustration: WATERFALL OF THE OXERÁ, AS SEEN FROM THE LÖGBERG.]
On returning to the pastor’s, I found my companions fast asleep on the
floor. The canvas tent which had been left by the French expedition
served them for a bed, portmanteaus or packages were appropriated for
pillows, and plaids and wrappers spread over them for blankets. They lay
packed like herrings in a barrel. I stepped over them as quietly as I
could, found an unoccupied space near the open window, speedily
ensconced myself for the night, and in a few minutes sank into a
well-earned and blessed state of obliviousness.
_Saturday Morning, July 30._—Breakfasted and left Thingvalla at 9 A.M.
The first five miles or so of our journey across the valley lay through
low green brushwood, where the vegetation was fresh and luxuriant. This
in Iceland is called a forest; but the trees, chiefly birches and
willows, are all dwarfs. The birches were about 3 feet high, very few of
them attaining to the height of 4 or 5 feet; the willows were of three
kinds; one with a leaf resembling bog myrtle; the leaves of another
white, green, and flossy—both these varieties only 10 to 12 inches high;
while the third, although Professor Chadbourne assured me it was a
genuine willow, was only about one and a half inches; we observed
catkins on them all. Wild geraniums, forget-me-nots, butter-cups, the
beautiful rose-coloured sedum so common in Iceland, clover, sea-pinks,
&c., grew in profusion, and imparted to the whole the appearance of a
rich fresh green coppice. When the ponies could snatch at a stray bite
of grass as they passed along, in doing so, they would often at the same
time take up a tree by the roots and carry it off in their mouths.
We came upon yawning chasms, every little way, where the rocks had been
rent asunder; the cracks or fissures about 100 feet deep, 10 or 20 wide,
dry, and all running in the same direction from the lake. These we
either avoided, or crossed at places where blocks of stone had fallen
in, so as to fill up part with debris, or form natural bridges which
afforded as good footing as the most of the track we had ridden over.
The lake of Thingvalla lay peacefully behind us on our right, fair as a
silver mirror. Ascending a green bosky hill, where numerous hillocks
around were clothed with low brushwood to the very top, we came to the
Hrafnagjá, or Raven’s chasm, which forms the eastern boundary of
Thingvalla. It is a deep broad irregular abyss, several miles in length,
and on the further side, high like a rampart. We got across it, and up
to the level of the plateau, by picking our way over the ridge of an
avalanche of rock and stones, which had fallen in, leaving gaps, rude
arches, and frightful openings into the darkness beneath us; while,
right and left, the chasm itself stretched away like the dry fosse of a
giant’s castle which, through successive ages, had withstood the
assaults of all the rock-jötuns. Up this perilous way, steeper than a
stair, winding, zig-zagging, doubling, leaping like cats from block to
block, or standing for a second like goats with four feet on one stone
to consider their next move, our patient ponies toiled upwards and took
us safely across. Looking back, we bade adieu for a time to the lovely
green vale of Thingvalla beneath us, and were lost in wonder, both at
the wild savage grandeur of the chasm we had just crossed and at the
sure-footedness and pluck of our trusty little steeds.
The plateau now attained was of the same level as that over which we had
passed before descending into Thingvalla, but here, it did not extend
very far, being bounded by irregular heights and bare hills.
Vegetation disappeared, everything seemed blasted. Plovers again sat
quite close to us, or flitted past, uttering their shrill plaintive
whistle; passing so near that we could distinctly observe the tremulous
motion of their mandibles. The ponies stepped aside from holes in our
very track, opening into hollow darkness, where stones thrown in were
long heard striking against the sides. At one place, we came to a black
cave 20 or 30 feet in size, arched right into and under great blocks of
stone. It appeared to be a huge lava-blister which had taken its present
shape in cooling. The bottom of the cave, protected from the warm rays
of the sun, was covered with snow; and, for the same reason, white
patches of snow lay in crevices of the bare rocky hills around us. The
path now ascended flanking the sides of the hills on the left, while the
whole region seemed fire-scathed and blasted. The hills and slopes were
covered with dark volcanic sand, pulverized ashes, and slag, out of
which abruptly rose irregular masses of rock. Here, leaving our horses,
we turned aside to examine a small extinct crater or vent, called
Tintron, crowning a little eminence to the right. In ascending it, we
were up to the ancles in fine black sand or slag, which, yielding
beneath the feet at every step, made walking extremely awkward, if not
difficult. The crater itself was composed of great blocks of red and
black vitrified lava, over which we looked down into the darkness as
into Pluto’s chimney. We threw in some large stones, but could not from
their sound form an estimate of the depth. Perhaps this vent may be only
a lava-blister which has burst on the top, instead of forming a cave
like the other we lately saw. However, though small, it presented the
appearance of a regular crater. From it, we saw, on the one side, the
beautiful Lake of Thingvalla; and, on the other, the near hills
opposite, with the slope between them and us all covered with black
scoriæ.
[Illustration: VENT OF TINTRON.]
After pocketing a few specimens of the lava, I made a rough sketch of
the crater and gathered a sprig of wild thyme, and a little white flower
(_parnassia_), which was blooming all alone on its very brink. Mounting
our ponies and descending for about an hour, on clearing the hill-side
we came in sight of a level plain of green meadow land, lying below us,
shaped like a horse shoe, and occupying an area of 3 or 4 miles. It
appeared to have been submerged at no very distant period, and, like
other Icelandic valleys, was sadly in want of drainage.