CHAPTER XIII.

TO EASTERN ICELAND--WE REACH MÝ-VATN.

SECTION I.--THE VOYAGE TO BERUFJÖRÐ.

Travelling seawards from western to eastern Iceland is by no means so easy as the converse. I held myself lucky, though somewhat late, in finding the Postdampskibet “Diana” bound for Berufjörð. She left the capital betimes on a normal Icelandic summer day (July 27); windless or sea-breezy below, while high in ether a tangled web of white threads and comet-like cirri showed the usual upper gale, the ἄνεμοι δύο of these regions. The straw-yellow sun-gleams cast upon the south-western shore enabled our learned glances to distinguish the features of the scenery, a now familiar scene.

About noon we ran along the great lava-field of rough slag and deep, loose volcanic ashes, bearing here and there a tuft of wild oats; the surface was fissured with Geos, and the sharp broken and splintery edges were reddened by fire, and whitened by birds. This corner was seldom visited by the older travellers; Mackenzie reached only Grindavík, and even Henderson neglected Reykjanes. It was carefully examined by Dr Hjaltalín, first in 1827, after the submarine eruption to the south-west, which floated a quantity of pumice, and again in 1866, to examine the silica diggings. He found several Makkalubers, or mud-puffs, and Hverar (hot springs), the north-easternmost called Gunna. A little to the north, a solfatara, extending over an acre or so of bald red bolus, was blowing off steam from cracks and holes, whilst to the south-east rose a large extinct vent which had discharged abundantly north-north-westward. This was the “New Geysir,” concerning which I had endured plentiful “chaff;” for instance, the lines addressed to me by a charming person, and beginning with--

“So there is a new Guy, sir, in Iceland.”

The silica mounds, which are now partly, if not wholly, English property, lie near the largest of the mud-puffs, a common caldron, some fifty feet in breadth by half that depth, spluttering thick blue-grey mire, and wasting sulphurous steam. The mineral is remarkably pure; its whiteness suggests that it has been deposited by water, though how and when no one pretends to say; and its laminations are easily reduced to fine powder. It would doubtless sell well in the home markets, but at present there are two objections to it; the quantity does not appear sufficient to justify heavy works, and without these, transport is simply impossible.

To starboard, we had a fine view of the Fuglasker (fowl or gull skerries), which the fog had hid from us in June, and which, like the Canaries, are seldom all visible at the same time. The nearest, about eight miles from Reykjanes, is Eldey (fire eyot), also called the Mjöl-sekkr, from its likeness to a “monstrous half-filled bag of flour;” Scotchmen compare it with Ailsa Craig, and Scoto-Scandinavians with the Holm of Noss. Its shape is that of a tree-stump 200 feet high, cut with a slope dipping north-west, and yellowish-white with rain-washed guano. The heavy surge swarming up the sides and swirling round its small red appendage, the Eldeyjardrángr, suggested peculiar difficulties of landing. The tumult of the waves is described to be even greater about the rest of these “Kaimenis,” the Geirfuglasker, and the tall stack known as Geirfugladrángr, the Danish Grenadeer Huen, or grenadier’s cap. The two latter, prolonging the line to south-west and by west, and distant twelve and fifteen miles out to sea, lie far from the course of steamers; landing must be impossible, save on exceptional days, and the climbing is said to be bad as the landing. Lastly, there is the Eldeyjarboði, “boder,” or warning-stone, _alias_ Blindfuglasker, a sunken rock, where New Isle (Nyöe) rose with the Skaptár[126] eruption in 1783, gathered its three craters into one, and presently disappeared in five to thirty fathoms depth. I could learn nothing about the favourite auk-rock, said also to have been submerged in 1801, or of the skerry which Lyell throws up in June 1830.

As we steamed along shore, where the host of white spectres haunting the background contrast so curiously with the fat burgher-like plain, we looked curiously, but in vain, for the Drífanda-foss (spray-driving force), which acts barometer to the Westman Islands, and which travellers describe as if it were the Yosemite, “swinging like a pendulum, and often scattered into air.” It is probably a local name for the Seljaland-foss, east of the Markarfljót,[127] under whose arch of waters there is the same pleasant and comfortable passage which distinguishes sections of Niagara and the Giessbach. Beyond it we distinguish the Skógarfoss, where the old colonist, burying his treasure in a kieve, still causes men to sing--

“Thrasi’s box is precious Under Skogar’s force; Whose thither goeth Folly hath enough.”

The approach to the Vestmannaeyjar about evening time, when a vinous hue masked the grim complexion of these “basaltic ninepins,” was more than usually picturesque. We steamed by the twin drongs and the little black dot, Einarsdrángr, and anchored on the north-west. Fortunately for travellers, there is riding-ground here, when the fierce easter makes the Kaupstaðir impracticable. In propitious weather, ships usually round the north-eastern head of Heimaey, and lie off the eastern or true port, which is somewhat defended by Bjarnarey. The Holm-isle, once a fire-mountain, now a habitation for mankind, is the main body, to which a score of outlying rocks and skerries act satellites. Viewed from the west, this couthless mass of columns, pinnacles, and obelisks, becs, prongs, vigrs, stacks, and frow-stacks,[128] resolves itself into a line of three heaps, like the Moela, or Gizzard Island of Brazilian Santos. The eastern side shows a low slip of land connecting two culminations; to the north, Heimaklettr, upon whose tormented slopes, 916 feet high, sheep are grazing; and southwards, Helgafell, a more shapely volcanic cone of cinders and grass--it is the work of the Trolls, famed for truth. A white church and steeple, fronted by black huts, provides for some 400 souls, excellent cliff men, full of fight, and armed with guns against the marauding of foreign fishermen--Frenchmen especially.

After the visit of Mr Syslumaðr, who came with the Danish flag to fetch the Iceland mails, we resumed our course, leaving a nameless shoal and Bjarnarey to starboard, and presently the tall bluff peak of Erlendsey[129] to port. The sun setting in cloud, mist, and rain at the respectable hour of 9.30, we congregate below, and enter upon a critical consideration of the “Diana.” The English passengers agree that the “Queen” is more “homely-like,” which must console her owners for twenty-three tons of fuel per twenty-four hours; the old Danish craft, much like a gunboat on the West Coast of Africa, with 150 horse-power to drive 300 tons, burns only ten, but, _en revanche_, she seldom exceeds seven knots. Those who converted her to peaceful pursuits built an upper cabin, cut up the deck, and forgot seats on the quarter-deck; this “hurricane deck” acts like a pendulum, and makes her roll in the mildest sea, lively as her namesake, till we almost expect her to “turn turtle.” The management is essentially in naval style combined with extreme irregularity of hours; even beds are not allowed in the saloon, whilst there are vacant berths in the dog-holes below, consequently sleep is satisfactory as in the “omnibus” of the P. and O., when running down the Red Sea during midsummer. The cleanliness of the Norwegian is notably absent; two wash-hand basins for sixteen head of passengers, and suspended towels, heap difficulties upon washing and make bathing impossible. The Hofmeister or restaurateur, who pays the company for leave to feed the taken-in, is not a praiseworthy institution: I almost prefer the purser-plague. Nor are the Danes famed for cooking; they affect grease and, generally, an amount of carbonaceous matter which would horrify Mr Banting. At seven A.M. there is coffee or tea, appropriately called “tea-water;” we breakfast at nine, dine after Genoa fashion at three, and sup at half-past seven--or thereabouts. All the meals begin with _hors d’œuvres_, pickled oysters, preserved lobsters, and the bulbs which, according to Don Quixote, are fit only for cullions and scullions; there is an abundance of cold meat, salt and fresh, and of sausages which, to the British mind, suggest nothing but trichines and hydatids. As long as kindly Captain Holme ruled the “Diana,” we had not much cause to complain; on my return voyage his place was taken by a manner of naval martinet, and it is hard to pay full merchantman’s fare for man-of-war’s discipline.[130]

The next morning rose tolerably fair, a matter of no small importance to sight-seers, who are here exposed to constant disappointments--a rainy summer’s day in Iceland is common as a shower in England. About noon we were abreast of the low black ridge, the southern base of a bay-island, whose name, “Ingólfshöfði,” still notes where the first colonist first landed. Over this headland, and due north, rose the culminating point of Iceland, “Öræfa-(pronounced _Oeriva-_) jökull,” in the Skaptafells Sýsla, the havenless ice-mountain, so called from the open unsheltered coast of south-eastern Thule.[131] Here the climate, affected by the huge refrigerator, becomes Arctic, and the land somewhat justifies the exaggeration of travellers, who compare Iceland with a “bit of the moon;” the sober Paijkull’s “exalted scale of nature” now reads not inapplicable. As Mr Forrester describes “Norway and its Scenery” (1853), this region is an expanse of “savage heights and unfathomable depths,” crowned by its shapely white apex, which rose like an atmosphere of clouds--we were never tired of gazing at it. In June the whole of the upper half, at least 3000 feet high, had been mantled with snow; now the line had shrunk to 2000; and black points, lava islands, and basalt nubs, which warm exposure or too steep an angle had left uncovered, ran up almost to the summit. On August 25 I noticed no change. The shape from the south appeared a flattened cone, a headless sugar-loaf, with white stripes extending far down the folds; about the waist a fast-moving nimbus, brown and slate coloured, enhanced the virgin ermine of the garb. Farther east we saw a long congealed wall built on a meridian, crested about midway by the peaky Hvannadalshnúkr, and buttressed southwards by two parallel points, the hnappar or knobs. Inland the Klofajökull was wholly concealed from view; seawards the semicircle at its base showed every variety of Icelandic eccentricity, the coffin, the sugar-loaf, the horn, the crescent: the expanse of snow-falls and ice-ridges, streaked with _couloirs_ and gullies, ends in glaciers and hanging glaciers, the first we had seen on the island,

“Projecting huge and horrid o’er the surge.”

The Breiðamerkr, rolling down towards the ocean, kept up by pressure from behind, and showing the usual glorious tints of sapphire-blue and emerald-green, was a model to its kind.

About sunset the scene again shifted. A false shore of lagoon and sand-strips, varying from a mile to a hundred yards in breadth, is broken by a headland, the giants of Vestrahorn--Whydah and Jan Mayen side by side. To the north lies Papós, pope’s or priest’s oyce, the mouth of Papafjörð, which in the Brazil would be called a _mar pequeno_, fed by drainage from the highlands, meeting the ocean-tide. This unsafe anchorage is the only riding ground for ships along the southern and south-eastern coast, between Eyrarbakki and Djúpivogr. Formerly the peasantry had a week’s journey to the comptoir of Berufjörð, but in 1862-63 Hr Jonssen, a Dane, established a trading station. Beyond Papós rises the five-crested top of the Eystrahorn ridge, a wild and savage spectacle which, being gradually wrapped in a winding-sheet of vapour solid as an ice-fog, ended the glories of the day. Our fellow-passengers wished us Berufjörðians _bon voyage_--we were to reach our destination at dawn.

But the kindly hope came too soon. July 19 opened with one of those calm and clammy “Scotch mists,” for which all this part of the coast is infamous as Newfoundland, and no wonder, when it lies to leeward of a Jökull-land, covering some 3000 square miles. “Diana” was bound to wait forty-eight hours before she carried us away southwards, but she did so grumblingly: naval officers in Denmark, as in England, may be deterred by undue blame from undertaking the least possible responsibility. Indeed a protest has been proposed against even visiting Berufjörð. Although we saw the loom of the land, we did the very worst thing we could do, steaming slowly to and fro between the twins Selsker and Papey, where the bottom is foul with hidden rocks. The coast between Berufjörð and its southern neighbour, Hamarsfjörð, the latter so called from its hammerhead of perpendicular cliff, is an infinite complication of small, black islets, useful only to eider-ducks, and a

“tortuous labyrinth of seas That shine around these Arctic Cyclades.”

We inquired vainly for the apocryphal Kuggr (“cog,” or small fishing-craft) of the maps, Gunnlaugsson’s included, which is represented only by a shoaling of some six fathoms. We afterwards saw the little lump of Geirfuglasker or Hvalsbak,[132] distant about twelve miles. It was described to me as a rock forty fathoms long and about the height of a ship’s deck, rising from very deep water. Yet it begat the large Enchuysen Island of the Dutch. This modern representation of the Islanda of the Zeni Brothers was perpetuated in Maury’s Wind and Current Charts (3d edit., 1849) and in the Enkhuysen Island of Laurie (1862), who cut off 120 miles (= 2°) from the eastern coast of Iceland. It is a worse case than in olden Ireland, where “the sly surveyors stole a shire.”

It is interesting to observe how the country has retained the names of the Papar. These white-robed “anchorites,” as they are generally called, must first have settled in the island (Papey), and the Ystoria Norwegiæ tells us, “Adhuc quædam insula Papey ab illis denominatur.” They then took courage to explore the coast lying south-west, entered the Papafjörð by the Papós and, passing towards the warm Auster, founded the monastery of Kirkjubær, on the Skaptárós, not far from the point where, in after-ages, Hjörleif landed. We must therefore differ from a modern writer (_Edinburgh Review_, viii., note, p. 243) who says, “It appears that some wrong-headed monks, either by stress of weather, or by design (for the perfection of religion was supposed to consist in rendering themselves useless by withdrawing from society), had actually sailed to Iceland where they settled, it being most probable impossible for them to find their way back again.” The Papar were no castaways; they kept up, as Dicuil has shown, connection with the mother country; and the Landnámabók, at the end of the Prologus, mentioning both Papey and Papýli or Pappýli (_i.e._, Paparbýli or _pagus_), says, “It is related in English books that men fared often from one land to the other.”

Another interesting remark is that whatever way we approach Iceland from Europe, south-east, south, or south-west, we find some islet or needle named Geirfugl, and this connected with the “Gare”-fowl (_Alca impennis_, Linn.), an ancient and almost forgotten term for the great auk, revived by Messrs Wolley and Newton.[133] This northern “Roc,” Dodo, or Moa (_Dinornis gigantea_),[134] is sketched by Paijkull in the shape of a three-foot penguin; and according to Professor Steenstrŭp, supported by Mr Newton, it was confined to the Polar regions, or, indeed, to the far north. The Icelanders believe it to be blind (_Blind_-fuglasker), an opinion not shared by the Norwegians and the Færoese. Mr Newton advised me, in case of success, not to follow the usual system of skinning the birds, and blowing the eggs, but to treat the former with pyroligneous acid, which mummifies the meat, and to preserve the latter in spirits after being coated with paraffin or stearine: thus they would be useful for embryological and other investigations.

The unwieldy bird, common till 1834, was killed off for its meat and feathers, and the last eggs were taken from Eldey (the meal-sack) and the Geirfugladrángr in 1844. Mr Newton suggested a visit to these needles, and Mr R. Buist kindly directed the “Queen” to touch at them; but the weather made a visit impossible. He also advised an exploration of the Geirfuglasker, the south-westernmost skerries of the Vestmannaeyjar archipelago, and others spoke of the Geirfuglasker or Hvalsbak, east of Berufjörð. But the old Icelandic fiery spirit of adventure, all but burnt out under normal circumstances, flames high when the fuel of rixdollars is liberally applied. Geir Zoega of Reykjavik assured me that the Eldey and the Auk-Needle off Reykjanes had been repeatedly visited by fishermen since 1844, the date of the last find;[135] and, though Hr Grímr Thomsen of Bessastaðir “begged to differ in opinion,” the destruction of the bird during the last twenty years proves that the people have been in the habit of hunting it. Of the Hvalsbak I was told that though auks may have been seen there, the breach of the sea would have prevented their nesting and breeding. Remains only the Gare-fowl-skerry of the Irishmen’s Isles, and I am not sanguine that exploration will yield favourable results.

The fog from the west and south-west, which enwraps this firth when the northern Fjörðs are quite clear, began to break at eight A.M., and before eleven it had lifted sufficiently to show the beacon and the one big house perched upon the basaltic knob of Papey. There is a report that this feature and the islets around it are gradually rising, and that a sensible difference is observed every thirty years. Gradually to starboard the lower folds of Strandafjöll, stepped like the Esja and Skarðsheiði, and farther off the black curtain of Búlandstindr, frayed at the summit, struggled into sight. It was a most inhospitable-looking region,

“a coast of dreariest continent, In many a shapeless promontory rent.”

Shortly after noon passing Jón’s Holmr and beyond it the Long Tongue, forming the eastern entrance, we anchored in thirteen fathoms water off Djúpivogr (deep voe), a baylet in the southern jaw of the great eastern firth, Berufjörð.[136]

SECTION II.--AT DJÚPIVOGR.

I parted regretfully with Mr Chapman, who had no longer anything to detain him in Iceland, and landed in company with four Englishmen. Mr Askam, with a fine persistency which hails from Yorkshire, would have probably tried to swim ashore had “Diana” shown the white feather. Mr Alfred G. Lock, the concessionist of the north-eastern sulphur mines, his son Charles, and a friend, Mr Pow, of Penicuick, lately from the Argentine Republic, were equally pleased with the unexpected favours of the fog. The former easily persuaded me to join him as far as the Mý-vatn, with the hopes of pushing southwards over the Ódáða Hraun to the unexplored Vatnajökull.

A few preliminary words concerning the mysterious formation along whose southern line we have coasted, and whose northern frontier we shall presently visit. The map shows a huge white blot, labelled Vatnajökull eða Klofajökull, and little distinction is made by the people. The former, signifying water or lake glacier, is so called because _avalasses_ of fluid are at times discharged--a phenomenon generally attributed to the bursting of reservoirs through the frozen edges, which are higher than the interior: perhaps the snow and ice may be melted by volcanic eruptions. Klofajökull would mean the crevasse glacier, and its nature is said to justify the name. The total area, 3000 square geographical miles (115 by 60, according to Baring-Gould), has been reduced by Dr Lauder Lindsay, utterly without reason, to 400. The volcano hidden within the white depths is placed, by the best authority, Síra Sigurðr Gunnarson, on the north-eastern mid-arc of the Skaptárjökull (N. lat. 64° 17´ to 20´, and W. long. 30° 20´). Its smoke has been seen at Úthlið, south-west of the Geysir, and the people of Berufjörð attribute to it the fog and ash-mist which prevailed between August 18 and 24 of 1872.

Mr James Bryce says of the Vatnajökull, “One tremendous mass, out of which the highest peaks of the island rise, has never been crossed, and never will.” I see no reason to admit him even among the minor prophets. In early days attempts were made to penetrate from the north. The Landnámabók (part iii., pp. 257, 258) tells us, that Bárðr sun Heyángursbiarnar (Bardus filius Heyangur-Biörnis), who had settled up the Skjálfandafljót (river of shivering or earthquakes?), hoping to find a milder climate on the southern coast of the island, began to travel in spring, “per _Vonarskardum_ (crenam spei) cui postea nomen est _Bardargata_ (Semita Bardi); ille postea Fliotshversum occupavit, et Gnupis habitavit, tunc cognomen Gnupa-Bardus (Gnúpa-Bárdr) adeptus est.” Bárðdalr is still known upon the middle course of the Skjálfandafljót, and Fljótshverfi (flood-village) lies east of the Blængr cone. Thus the old man crossed from north to south, along the western skirts of the Vatna-and Klofa-jökulls. The northern counterscarp was visited early in the present century by a party of Danish officers, who, in the attempt, lost a number of ponies through cold and hunger. In July to August 1838, Professor Gunnlaugsson, accompanied by Síra Sigurðr Gunnarson, travelled along the Vatnajökullsvegr, which subtends the north-west, passed the Kistufell, where the west Jökulsá rises, during the night, or when a fog hid it; crossed the upper waters of that river, and struck the Brú (bridge) on the eastern “glacier-river” of the same name. Hr Guðmundsson, of Reykjavik, subsequently visited the Blængr cone, an extinct volcano at the head of the Skaptá-Kuði valley, to the south-west of the Klofajökull. He advised me to travel inland from Hekla, leaving the Skælíngar (scowling) peaks to the left or north; to rest at the fine Búland farm; to cross the Skaptá, and to attack the glacier from the Blængr, where the approach is easy, and whence he saw neither lakes nor crevasses. I also heard of another attempt to penetrate from the Skeiðará valley, which lies west of the Öræfajökull; it failed, but no further details were procurable.

In the summer of 1871, a stout-hearted attempt to penetrate from the south was made by a young law student, Mr Watts, of the Middle Temple,[137] who, accompanied by Mr Milne, reached the large patch of forest called in the map “Núpstaðarskógr.” Hence he made for a crooked cone lying west of a black rock, but he was compelled to beat a retreat. No Icelander would be persuaded to risk life or limb. The travellers had no snow shoes to prevent their sinking thigh-deep at every step, and, having neglected ladders, they were obliged to throw their packs across, and to leap the numerous little crevasses; moreover, the intense cold robbed them of sleep. After his return, he described the Vatnajökull as “at once a volcano and glacial region of immense extent, within which there is reason to believe that many active craters (?) are included. Vast streams of lava, of a magnitude unparalleled elsewhere (?), have issued from it, both in pre-historic and in historic times. Surmises of the vaguest character have been formed respecting the interior, which may possibly include fertile valleys, the resort of the reindeer for winter quarters (?). It is encompassed on all sides, as far as the traveller could judge, by a desert formed by the action of the sea, huge lava-streams, and fragmentary ejectments, and _detritus_ brought down by the flooded rivers incidental to volcanic eruptions. The south base of the mountain is composed of repeated layers of basalt, overlying the older tufas (Palagonite?), over which many lava-streams had flowed at various times, while beyond this, apparently, lies a huge glacier, through which many extinct as well as active volcanic vents have penetrated.”

Mr Watts has twice renewed his attempt (1874 and 1875), and his stout heart deserves, if it cannot command, success. He strongly advised me to avoid the Berufjörð line, and there, I think, he was wrong. The Journal will enter into details; suffice it here to say that there are two roads perfectly practicable. One which we did not visit ascends the Fossárdalr and strikes the Axavatn (axe-water) and Líkárvatn (lyke-water lake?), tarns which many Icelanders have visited: thence the traveller would ford or boat over the upper waters of the Fljótsdalr and the little Jökulsá, which latter leads directly into the north-eastern Vatnajökull. The other, _viâ_ the Lagarfljót, will be described in the following pages. Both offer the great advantages of saving a week’s hard travel to man and beast, of sparing supplies, and of offering a choice of places where depôts can be established.

We found three dwarf landing-piers at Djúpivogr; and that to the east, with its double tramway, was a queer contrast with the popular anchor, four upright cask staves, and two below, containing rough blocks of basalt. A hospitable reception awaited us from Hr N. P. E. Weywadt, the principal agent for the comptoir, and his brother Captain H. R. Tvede, both Danes: the latter has travelled far and wide, he has served in the United States navy, and his abundant information is freely retailed. The former occupies the block of building, tarred wood as usual, to the west of the baylet, containing the dwelling-house and sundry stores. The windmill, little bigger than a man, a common labour-saver in these regions, is rudeness personified. The toy sails of sacking work a perpendicular cog acting upon a horizontal wheel, whose square iron spindle turns the stone: the rye is placed in the hopper or upper case provided with a shoot; the damsel is a nail worked by the spindle, and, as there is no vent in the bucket, the flour must be baled out with the hand. The stones are taken from the quern, and indeed larger sizes are not wanted. These primitive articles make better meal than the mouldy imported flour. Finally, the “wind-house” crowns an adjoining nub of basalt. Facing it is the boiling establishment, a large wooden shed like an Iceland church, containing thirteen vats, an iron pan, and a smithy in a detached hovel. On the hill behind is the “look-out,” which becomes important when steamers are expected. South, or at the bottom of the baylet, lie two double-storied black houses, with white windows, Captain Tvede’s stores: we were comfortably lodged in the upper floor. The climate here is exceptionally genial, less severe in fact than that of Scotland. The north wind is cold and clear, the south wet and warm, the east raw and clammy, and the west mild and muggy. It is reported that an observatory will be established at Djúpivogr. Little farms, provided with nets against sheep, are scattered all around, and Hr Weywadt rents a large tract of ground which we shall pass going up the firth.

I spent some days at the mouth of the Berufjörð, coming and going, and had a good opportunity of studying the whale fishery. A company was established by Captain Hammar, a Danish officer, who afterwards went to Russia with the object of teaching the use of strychnine and curari--here the people opposed him as much as possible, declaring that the flesh, which is poisonous only about the wound, would kill men and dogs.[138] The chief objection is that the animal sinks, and does not rise till some two days after death, causing frequent loss. The first year brought in $10,000; the second, $5000; after which the concern was sold to three capitalists, under whom the shares fell 95 per cent., with a loss of $300,000 to $400,000.

The Iceland whale fishery, famous during the last century[139] all round the island, ceased about the middle of last century, when better grounds were discovered: the result is that the animals have increased abundantly. The natives declare that there are thirteen species, but of these doubtless some are _Delphini_. The following are the four best known:[140]

1. _Balæna mysticetus_, or “right” whale of Greenland and the South Atlantic; _la baleine franche_, which lacks dorsal fin, is found off the north coast, but was never seen here by living man.

2. _Balænopter a gigas_, or humpback whale, whose fins, despite the name, do not form wings: it is the biggest, averaging seventy to eighty feet; it contains the best and largest quantity of oil, and its colour is whitish, with wrinkled belly.

3. _Balæna physalus_, herring or sulphur whale, containing far less blubber than the preceding.

4. _Balæna rostrata_, the yellow-brown finback, or round-lipped whale, whose forefins are some nine feet in length: it is the smallest, the liveliest, and the most powerful; it frequently ascends the firths, and it is known by throwing the highest jets.

The animals are wild and wary, probably the result of clear water, and do not allow themselves to be approached in steamers: they are harpooned from boats using four to six oars. The latter three being “finners” (_Physalus antiquorum_), do not produce much--fifty barrels would be a fair average. The carcass is cut up on the strand; and the fatty matter, after being kept for some three weeks, when it supplies more oil, is boiled down. The belly, which contains no blubber, yields the favourite food, “Rengi:” when fresh this yellow-white layer between the Spik (speck) and the Thersti (flesh) is mistaken by the ignorant for beef and pork, while connoisseurs prefer it to any meat, especially after it has been soaked in vinegar or sour whey. The whalebone is sent to England, where, according to Mr Consul Crowe (loc. cit.), “it appears to be used for making Prussian blue.” The oil is employed in tanning: the first boiling, of course, is the clearer, and the second is browner, with more “foot.”

Shark-hunting is a popular pastime, here as in “Colymbia,” being more profitable to the Icelander than the whale. It is chiefly the _Scymnus microcephalus_, or Greenlander, called by the people Há-karl[141] (pronounced _Hau-kadl_); it may average 18 feet in length, and attain a maximum of 25; the back has two small fins, and the liver, which extends nearly through the whole body, may yield two barrels of oil, each about 140 quarts. It is dangerously voracious; we never hear of accidents to men, for the best reason, they do not bathe; but it tears steaks from the whale’s sides, it devours dead reindeer (?), porpoises, seals, and cods, and it does not despise a pair of boots. The _Scymnus_ much resembles the sunfish or basking-shark (_Scyllium maximus_), which is caught off western Ireland between May and the end of June; the southern monster, however, ranges from 20 to 50 feet in length, and its dorsal fin stands like a gigantic ploughshare about a yard above water. The ova of the Há-karl, nearly the size of hens’ eggs, are produced in July and August, each shark yielding about half a barrel full. The skin is grey, coarse-grained, and incapable of being polished, but it is valued for shoes.

The sense of smell is said to be highly developed in the Há-karl; on the other hand, it is dim of sight as the elephant, the horny covering of the eye attracting the parasitical whale-louse (_Læermodipoda_, _Cyamus_, etc.), which often invest the whole organ. Its vitality is familiar to all who have seen a shark cut up, and tales are told of its swimming round the vessel after being ripped up and losing its liver. This carnivor is caught near the eastern coasts, in 60 to 80 fathoms. On the north it always hugs the land between November and March: in summer it goes out to sea, and it sometimes lies in a depth of 300 fathoms. The usual “sharkers” were half-decked affairs, ranging from 20 to 25 tons, with a crew of six to eight men: they were preferred because heavy grapnels and hawsers are not required; moorings could readily be shifted, and, being low in the water, the prey could be more easily hauled in.

Off late years the craft used on the north side of the island are decked vessels of 35 to 54 tons, provided with oars, and so lightly built that in calm weather they can easily move from place to place, and get clear of the ice. They lie in preference off the rising edge of a bank, the anchor being generally a four-pronged iron grapple, weighing about 180 lbs., with 15 to 20 fathoms of 9/16 inch. chain-cable, and a 350-fathom hawser. If nothing is caught, the position is shifted until the shark is found; and if the latter is good, the vessel remains at the spot, and rides out the storms. In calm wintry weather the fishermen venture their small boats, and if fortunate, they may secure within a couple of days fifteen barrels of liver per crew.

The lines used are thick as our deep-sea log-lines, fastened to three fathoms of chain, weighted in the middle with leads of 10 to 13 lbs. Under this is attached a strong 6-inch iron hook, notched inside to prevent the bait slipping: the latter is generally horsemeat, which has been soaked in blood, or seal-blubber which fetches a mark and more per pound. When hauled up to the surface, the captive is made fast with a rope attached to the craft, and killed with a lance; the belly is ripped up, the liver is stowed away, the gall is preserved for soap, the head is cut off, and the carcass is slung alongside the vessel. “The stench of the dead shark is so intolerable that it cannot be taken on board; but the reason for keeping it is the fear that if the live ones were allowed to glut themselves on their dead comrades, they would no longer take the bait so readily; for they are so voracious that often only a portion of the shark caught on the hook reaches the surface, the others having partly devoured the wounded monster on his passage upwards. So firm are the fishermen on the west coast in this belief, that they have petitioned the legislature to enforce by law the keeping of the carcasses alongside as long as the fishing lasts. This opinion, however, is not shared by all the shark-fishers, and is open to doubt.”

The value of a carcass on shore is about 7s. 6d. A moderate-sized shark gives two-thirds of a barrel of oil, and three barrels of liver yield on an average two barrels; the former each worth between 37s. and 50s., and the latter from 55s. to 125s. The chief markets are Sweden and Germany, where it is largely used for tanneries. The high odour of the comptoirs arises from the liver being kept for some three weeks, under the idea that the supply is increased. The skin is pegged out on the ground to dry, and the flesh, especially of a kind of dog-shark, is sold. The latter is buried for some months above high-water mark; a year is better, and two years make it a delicacy. This _bonne bouche_ has a clear, yellow, red colour, with somewhat the appearance of smoked salmon. Indigestible as all sharks’ meat, it is peculiarly “staying” food, and a couple of ounces will satisfy a man for the day. According to some travellers (Dillon and others), this “crack-dish” communicates its rankness to the eater, who is unapproachable for three weeks; but I never observed the fact; nor did I find that the prepared flesh was unpleasant to the nose, “its presence in a room being very perceptible.” Mr Crowe adds that the peasants often burying it in the ground for two or three weeks, take it up, wash, and cut it in strips, which are hung for a year in the drying house before being considered fit for food. Finally, it is never used here, as in Maskat and Zanzibar, when in the state which may mildly be called “high.”

At Djúpivogr we found the usual species of fin. The white fish is caught by long lines laid at night, and hauled in next day. They carry 200 to 300 hooks, but they are miniatures of the giants used by English fishermen in the North Sea, which are measured by miles. The flounder, the halibut (Heilag-fiski, Helliflynder, _Hippoglossus pinguis_, or holy flounder), and the red-spotted plaice are favourites, despite want of flavour: the dried skate is the bread of this ichthyophagous race, and the fish has passed into a proverb for voracity--“he eats everything that comes in his way like a skate.” I heard reports of enormous squids, the skate-whaals of the Shetlands, which may easily have given rise to the “Kraken” tale. Specimens have been seen from Zanzibar to Newfoundland, where cuttle-fish (_Architeuthis monachus_ and _A. Dux. Steenstrŭp_) have been found with bodies 15 feet long by 19 inches diameter, and “extensive arms of unknown extent.” The “Great Cuttle-fish” is the Dragon of Polynesian mythology (p. 209, The Emigration of Turi), and it pulled down canoes unless killed by the axe. The Calmar de Bouguer, so called from the officer commanding the aviso “Alecton,” was attacked in 1861, off north-eastern Tenerife, with bullets and harpoons; this _piuvre_ is described as 18 feet long, and beaked like a giant parrot. Moreover, the lumps of rock rising suddenly from the smooths and lines of ripple, viewed through the evening fog, must have kept alive the haunting idea of the kraken. The Great Sea Serpent, or Soe-orm, _alias_ Aale last (_Serpens marinus magnus_), appears in the pages of Bishop Pontoppidan as an impossible snake, with crescental coils disposed perpendicularly instead of horizontally. Although Professor Owen determined it to be an otary, the fact is not “proven;” and of late years it was revived as a gigantic saurian which has escaped the general destruction of his race. Similarly there is an immense mass of evidence in favour of the Lind-orm or great land serpent. We find him in Livy, Pliny, and Strabo; and Regulus saw him at Bagrada stretching 100 feet long. That most conscientious traveller, Dr de Lacerda, relates that when voyaging up the Brazilian Tiété, his slaves sat down upon a trunk, which proved to be a snake; and I brought home traditions of his having closed a path to travellers in Eastern Intertropical Africa.

SECTION III.--TO BERUFJÖRÐ: UP THE FIRTH.

At Djúpivogr we met Hr Oddr V. Gíslason, a “Candidatus Theologiæ,” who had visited England, and had published an Icelandic primer (Leidvisír, Reyk., 1863), which he dedicated to a friend, the late Hermann Bicknell. At the capital where his wife remains, he acts as Lloyd’s agent, and in the east he collects ponies and sheep for Mr Askam. His local reputation as a shark-fisher and a _viveur_ stands tolerably high, but he can work hard when he pleases. This worthy at once applied himself to buying bât-ponies, and to hiring a guide, whose perfect and well-known uselessness deserves notice.

Gísli Eyriksson is a good-looking man of thirty-five, with blue eyes, aquiline nose, and a full blond beard. Formerly a day labourer, he prefers to be an able-bodied pauper; the sturdy vagrant owns two nags, yet he has thrown his loafing self, his wife, and his three children upon the parish. His only merit is not drinking; and the women pity him because he is pretty. An Ebionite from the womb, a Lazarus with the tastes of Dives, the invertebrate creature is soft as a girl; he dawdles limp as a negro; he malingers, pleading a bad knee to attract compassion; he makes everybody do his duty; he is ever in the kitchen, never at work; he breaks everything he touches; it makes one’s fingers tingle to look at him. Presently he will strike for more pay. Meanwhile he is the picture of the Prodigal Son in Iceland garb: his stutt-buxur,[142] the pointed and buttoned overalls, said to have been imported from Scotland by King Magnús Berfætti, are in rags and tatters; his stirrups are knotted cords, and his bridle is a string. Inconsequent as a Somali, he drops his fragmentary Svipa (whip) every hour, and he manages even to lose his knife. We engaged him for 4 marks per diem; the “dog of an Icelander” swore after return that the wage was $1, 3m.; and when he received his $29 he mounted his nag and jogged leisurely home.

_July 30._

We sent on our ponies, the first detachment, during the thick fog of morning, the warm moist sea-air showing 73° (F.), condensed by the black and white heights; and in mid-afternoon, we set out for Berufjörð in Captain Tvede’s whaleboat. It had a centre-board after approved fashion, but no sail to catch the fair wind from the Fjörð-mouth. The crew consisted of two Icelanders, who, accustomed to the silly narrow blade, the “mos majorum,” were unable to handle the broad oar; the two coopers, a Dane, and a German who disliked soldiering at home, did much better. As the mist lifted we enjoyed the views upon the firth, which our patriotic captain compared with the Organ Mountains, Rio de Janeiro. Yet there is abundant Icelandic physiognomy in the Fjörð viewed from above, especially when the sun is slightly veiled and the shadow of the mist falls upon the wild forms with a pale, unearthly glare. As a rule, too, there is a distinct circulation, an indrift of lower and an outdrift of upper cloud; the effect of the double winds, so common in maritime Iceland, and very striking to the nephelophile. The rival shores contrast sharply. The northern, especially about the Berunes chapel, has broader flats and more frequent farms, backed by the stepped copings and the buttresses of the Strandafjöll. The trend is to the north-west, where quaint and regular castellations, either rising sheer or based upon _débris_ disposed at the natural angle, are divided by deep gaps and fosses. The eastern sky-line is broken into crags which appear a mass of ruins; in places the capping is a single stone, a needle, a column, a Grettis-tak (logan-stone), or an “old man;” here falls a sharp _arête_; there towers a pyramid, which viewed at another angle proves to be a headland. The general form is not unlike those dolomites which Sir Humphrey Davy mistook for granite. A remarkable band of green Palagonite, locally called “petrified clay,” dips waterwards at an angle of 37°; it crops out north at Breiðdalsvík, and it is said to be traceable southwards for a two days’ march.

The fronting shore begins with a fringe of rocks and skerries; the Fiskenakketange baylet is mistaken at night for Djúpivogr; and the inner and outer Gleðivík (gled-wich), the Indre and Ydre Glæding of old Danish charts, are especially rich in “rognons of rock.” The uplands are formed by masses of trap, with drops and slopes cut and chasmed, at right angles, by gashes and ravines bearing a thin vegetation. We are shown the Teigarhorn (paddock-horn) torrent, about a mile and a half from Djúpivogr; here fine zeolites are, or rather were, found, and Iceland spar is known to exist--unfortunately the farm is Church property. The only important feature is the Búlandstindr, whose north-eastern pyramid, laid down at 3388 feet (Danish), makes an excellent landmark for those coming from the south; the grim black wall bears snow on the northern exposure, and the easily breaking stone renders the ascent unpleasant. At five P.M. we passed the Gautavik (Gothwich) farm, about a century ago the only trading comptoir, dating from the days of Burnt Njál. Some forty-five minutes afterwards we touched at the excellent anchorage of Staulovik, to land Hr Gíslason and a very small boy carrying a very very large jar of rum. Shortly afterwards we opened on the right bank Fossárdalr, which bounds Búlandstindr on the north: here the strata rise waterwards at an angle of 28°. The vale, faintly green, is called Viðidalr in the upper part; it is the directest line _viâ_ Keldadalr (well-vale) to Fljótsdalr, immediately east of Snæfell, but there is no bridle-path, and the compass must be the only guide.

The channel was not wholly desert, we met two boats; the sticks planted upon the islet-rocks, the Æðarsker, and the Æðarsteinn, showed it to be an eider-firth, where the intelligent seal well knows that he may not be shot, and where ravens flock in forlorn hopes of a duckling. “Faraóslið” is the folk or cavalry of Pharaoh, for that wicked but debatable king, so great is the might of myth, has colonised even Ultima Thule; and his lieges still become men and women, laying aside their furs, on the eve of St John. They give rise to a multitude of proverbs, _e.g._, “‘Too near the nose,’ as the seal said when hit in the eye.” Phoca here forms part of the parson’s flock. They are tame as porpoises. The cows are never killed, and the young are spared; when a battue of men-seals with gun and club takes place, it is during summer. These mammals are most numerous on the southern and eastern coasts; here in one spot we count fourteen pair of eyes quietly but persistently prospecting us. As the fine is three marks for firing a gun within a mile, and the flesh is the best possible shark-bait, we are consulted upon the subject of aircanes.[143] “Krummi” (crook-bill), the raven, whose size has been exaggerated by travellers, is everywhere in Iceland an unmitigated pest, and he shows the unbecoming familiarity of the “ghurab” in Somaliland. His impunity may be due to his cousin the corbie’s sentiment:

“Ho, ho, ho! said the old black crow, For that nobody will eat him he very well doth know.”

Perhaps some survival of old paganism may preserve the “yellow footed bird in the inky cloak,” who became black by reason of his sins: Odin’s hawk, the “black cousin of the swan,” who appeared in the traditional oriflamme of the Norsk Vikings, and who still survives in the lines:

“Though Huginn’s (Mind’s) loss I should deplore, Yet Muninn’s (Memory’s) would affect me more.”[144]

Hence, possibly, the prevailing superstitions, _e.g._, that Ralph combines eccentric habits with human intelligence; that he is a bird of augury; that he holds a Hrafna-Thing (council) in autumn, to billet the several couples; that every church has its own pair; that Grip does not plunder the farm nor fight the dogs of those who lodge the Grips; and that he warns the owner of dead sheep. The Raven’s Song (Krumma-Kvæði), a dialogue between “Hrafn” and a peasant, is well known, whilst the Hrafna-galdur Öðins (Odin’s Raven Song) is a miracle of mystery. Ralph’s croakings were and still are omens, betokening death, when heard in front of a house, and he has appropriated a variety of proverbs. Perhaps this sentiment prevented the Northerner “improving the subject,” as did blind Herve in the Breton verse, “When you see a raven fly, think that the Devil is as black and as wicked. When you see a little dove fly, think that your Angel is as sweet and white.” Thus after St Vincent was beheaded, all the Grips that alighted upon his corpse fell dead; on the other hand, Ravenna owes her name to the fact that ravens, crows, and jack-daws flocked from every part of Italy to take part in the feast of St Appolinarius. In the Færoes the bird of the “brook Cherith” has lost all his Odinic reputation; he is easily killed when the snow drives him to the farm-house, and four skillings are given for his beak. Perhaps instead of being slaughtered, he might be exported to England, where he would now command seven shillings. According to the people, he is not invincible, being often beaten by the agile sea-pie (_Hæmatopus ostralegus_, the Sceolder of Shetland), and sometimes slain by the strong-billed sea-parrot (puffin).

As we approached the bottom of Berufjörð, we could see the snows over which our path would lie, and the “gurly flood” dashing down the broad steps of trap. It drains the Axarvatn, the “Axe-water,” so called from its shape; it is said to be rich in trout and fish, but Mr Pow, who was of the party, found it far too clear and cold. After a pleasant row of twelve miles in about three hours, we reached our destination, and the “new chums” derided the place which appears so large upon the map. Berufjörð is, in fact, nothing but a Prestagarðr (parsonage) and a chapel, the latter distinguished from a stable only by the white cross, episcopally commanded; the doors hang about, and there is a sad want of paint. In Iceland the clergyman often moves off when his church wants repair, for he must pay the expense.

We were courteously and hospitably received by Síra Thorstein Thorarensson, who was busy in his tún superintending the day-labourers. It is the hay-harvest, the only harvest that Iceland knows. The men ride to and from their work, ply their ridiculous scythes, and, besides being fed, are paid per teigr (80 square feet) 1 Fjórðung[145] = 10 lbs. of butter, here worth 2 marks per lb. An active hand at this season can make $2 per diem, 11 marks being the average; many farms are nude of males, and consequently guides in August are scarce and dear. Hay, which fetches 1 mark per 10 lbs. in winter, now sells for $2 the kapall[146] (horseload, or 240 lbs. Danish); and as the ton in Scotland costs at this season only £1, 10s. to £2, 10s., Mr Pow scents a spec. That evening passed in the confusion of sorting goods and sending back all articles not strictly necessary; it was far into the small hours before we could settle ourselves upon the rotten boards, and under the hideous crucifix which, forming the chapel’s altar-piece, carefully avoids breaking commandment No. 2.

_July 31._

Whilst awaiting the arrival of our carriage, Captain Tvede volunteered a walk up the Berufjarðarskarð, which crosses the northern wall of the firth, and afterwards anastomoses with the road to Thingmúli. This part had not undergone its annual repair, and it was painfully pitted with horse-traps, deep holes. The lower part was an avalanche line:

“Interdum subitam glacie labente ruinam Mons dedit, et trepidis fundamina subruit astris;”

but “interdum” hardly applies to what happens annually from these “thunderbolts of snow.” To the right lay Sóta-botn, a huge hollow, probably formed by hydraulic pressure, the sinking of a mountain-stream, a common feature in the Brazil. As Sóti and his wife Bera (the bearess), a name often given to women, were riding home over this pass, their enemies raised a magic fog; he broke his neck by falling into the pit; she broke her head as the famished horse, to whose instinct the rider had trusted, rushed into the stable--the site of the latter is still shown near the parsonage. Bera’s cairn lies at the top of a little promontory at the north end of the Fjörð, where her ghost sits gazing upon the ever restless tide.[147] The picture was diversified by an advance of white mist; its fragments, forming a vanguard like a flock of wild geese, with abundant play and movement presently invested the shallow cupola of Thrándar Jökull, whose brown clouds were its own growth: at times it melted under the sun, and presently it renewed itself in the cold wind of the firth and in the colder breath of the snow-clad summits. Finally, it settled upon the mid-ridge, making the upper half appear miles away from its base.

After a two hours’ stroll we reached the Bitruháls, or _col_, which stands over 2000 feet above sea-level.[148] On the left hand rose Kistufell, the apex where the Danish officers placed a landmark: the summit must be at least 1000 feet higher than the pass. Through the reek and dance of the morning air we looked down upon Breiðdalsvík; the Broad Dale is parted into a northern and southern feature by “Möleyri,” a great spine of trap, and the nearer section is split by three large perpendicular Gjás. The winding Breiðdalsá, which has a fork for each valley, is clear and limpid, very different from Jökull water; and large farms are scattered everywhere about the soles. The northern face of the Berufjarðarskarð is even more striking than the southern; the “Vandyke cliffs” have all the tints of Brazilian Tauá; nowhere does Iceland show more colouring. The red, pink, dead-white, and pale-green Palagonite follows the torrent-beds and girths the rivers; and the singularity is increased by walls and outcrops of the hardest and blackest hornblende, building dykes, bridging chasms, and causing the snow-streams to breach over in cascades. Farther down there is a vein of glistening trachyte celled with iron, probably a prolongation of the Skriða hills, which we shall pass farther north; afar it looks like plaster fallen from a wall. The valley is scattered over with chalcedonies and crystals of lime, the produce of geodes washed out of the trap, and with jaspers, especially the red, green, and banded; Hr Gíslason’s “copper ore” is probably nothing but burnt or corroded “yaspis.” Along the stream-banks grow yellow poppies (_P. nudicaule_; Icel. Mela-Sól), with small lemon-coloured flowers and large spreading roots; they extend to Spitzbergen, and the last time I saw them was in the Desert of the Palmyrene.

Down the northern descent, which is rapid but provided with a good causeway _à tourniquet_, runs the eastern road to Seyðisfjörð, firth of the Seið or _Gadus virens_, the abode of many merchants, distant some sixty miles from Djúpivogr: the western _viâ_ the Öxarheiði (ox-heath) is generally preferred because it crosses two instead of three great divides. The line to Thingmúli turns to the left, repeatedly crosses the southern Breiðdalsá, and ascends by another newly built causeway, the Breiðdalsheiði, where there is a nameless lakelet, neglected by the map, which discharges the southern Broad Dale fork.

SECTION IV.--TO THE MÝ-VATN: THE SEVEN DAYS’ RIDE.

July 31 ended with a “sea of troubles.” Captain Tvede and Mr Pow left us, greatly to our regret, and no one seemed anxious to effect a departure but ourselves. The guide skulked, the ponies came in slowly, and, worst of all, a dark march was proposed. This always appears to me the _summum malum_ of travelling; it is equally injurious to strength and temper; it often wastes the next day; and, worst of all, it gives a false idea of the country.

Our party is now formed. Messrs Lock, father and son, are attended by Bowers, an able seaman, born in Jamaica and domiciled at Southampton. He is to superintend the sulphur boring; he does the work of half-a-dozen Icelanders, but he has seldom been aboard a nag; and the honest fellow is apt to forget the adage, “astern of a sail and ahead of a horse.” Besides Gísli, the skulk, we temporarily engage for nine marks per diem Hr Hoskulldar Guðmundsson, who is _en route_ for his father’s house. Hr Gíslason, wishing to attend a fair, accompanies us for the first march. The kind and obliging parson, after feeding us with fish, mutton fresh and dry, sharks’ flesh, and seals’ haslets--good with vinegar, but even then somewhat too oily--and after insisting upon sundry stirrup-cups of “Iceland wine” (schnapps), determines to start one of the most disorderly of caravans.

We have a total of nineteen ponies all under six years, which would be four-year olds in England, and with the nineteen never a rope. For the most part utterly unbroken, they break away and lose our time; disgusted with their loads, especially with the long boring-rods, they kick and bite, requiring constant reloading. Consequently, Mr Lock misses a carpet-bag, which contains only his money and his papers, and all our baggage suffers more in ten hours than in a year of railways. The commercial complication was enormous; almost each animal had its own hire; one was to be left at this place; two were to be sent on to that; we took the wrong ones with us to Mý-vatn, and consequently we were threatened with a lawsuit. Mr Lock (_père_) has a _largâ manu_ manner, but he is strongly imbued with the Anglo-Saxon “idee,” to wit,

“The grand idee that every man jest do what he dam pleases.”

He compels the most headstrong to obey him; he remembers the adage, “In Iceland if you want anything, ask for it;” he takes high ground, and he “puts up with no nonsense.” The people, gentle and simple, do not openly resent the novelty, but they slang him behind his back, and with a certain dry humour they dub him “Loki,”[149] the bad god of Scandinavian mythology. I can only say that the tone answered well as in Syria or Egypt.

The disorderly party set out about an hour before midnight. We passed in the dark a mine of magnetic iron disposed, they say, in volcanic rock. This metal cannot be smelted for want of fuel, and its only _raison d’être_ in Iceland is to deflect the magnet and to make navigation and the Vatnajökull dangerous. The ugly bridle-path running up the left bank of the Axavatn, and ascending a variety of stony steps, divided by flats of deep moss, with a rare Beitivellir, baiting or pasture ground, and snow-wreaths sounding hollow beneath the tread, showed few features. Before the cold mist set in from the north, we saw at our feet the long Berufjörð, and the spectre of Thrándar Jökull, gleaming white in the pale and glaucous green light of an Arctic midnight; whilst the continuous roar of foss and torrent rang in our ears.

At the foot of the fifth and roughest grade, the Öxarheiði, we halted for a while, where the steep ascent is called, apparently in bitter derision, Vagna-brekka, or waggon-hill. The huge mountain-walls seemed to tower straight above our heads; on the right was the Haurar-Gil (crag-gil), and nearer the Mannabeinafjall, or man-bone hill, where some of Sóti’s horsemen were slain. These things the good priest tells us, and then, wringing our hands and bidding us Godspeed, he rides home, bearing with him our best thanks. The very large jar of rum proved too much for one of his friends; after galloping about like one insane, changing his horse every half-hour, and drinking every ten minutes, he lay him down to sleep comfortably upon the soft, cool snow, and lost no time in losing his saddle and saddle-cloth, his bridle and his horse. He will walk into camp at five P.M. next day, sadly crestfallen, if not repentant.

After three hours, during which I felt frozen hands for the first time, we stood on the summit of the Breiðdalsheiði, and looked down upon the long valley to the north. It was a pleasant change after our uncouth way and the _panorama maudit_ of the earlier night; but the sunlight, though gleaming pink and gold upon the snow hills to the north, only saddened sleepy eyes. The path leads down the right bank of the Múlaá in the Skriðdalr, a mad stream rolling reckless over slope and drop, green and blue, cold and clear, here deeply encased by huge slices of black trap, there low-banked with long streaks of red-yellow bog-iron. The left wall was regular with gracious concave lines, ending in the lion-headed Múli, which gives a name to the Múla Sýsla: the right was a succession of buttresses, each owning its own Kvísl, or shallow drain, and the latter were _mauvais pas_, where only the cleverest ponies could spring up and down the rocks without a fall. As we advanced, the valley broadened out into flats of vivid, unwholesome green, bog and swamp spangled with cotton-grass, whose pods much resemble those of the veritable tree-wool, and which should be collected for sheep-fodder. At 9.30 A.M. we forded the stream, and rode up to Thingmúli, much to the edification of the mowers, men in shirt-sleeves and women half-dressed--

“All hands employed, Like labouring bees on a long summer day.”

We were not equally edified by their unbusy, dawdling ways: so at the churn the servant girls will work five minutes and rest fifteen.

As I expected, the Thursday was a _dies non_, whose only event was pancake made by the farmer’s wife. We inspected the tall Múli, whose bare and ragged head of trap ends the long buttress to the north-north-east: it is bounded east by the Geitdalsá, rising in the Líkárvatn; draining, they say, the Thrándar, and uniting with the Múlaá to form the Grímsá. We botanised at its foot, collecting two equiseta, Elting (spearwort, or _E. arvense_) and Beitill (horse-tail), of which there are many varieties; the Fjóla or violet (_V. montana?_); the Hrossanál, or horse-needle (_Juncus squamosus_); the Blá-ber and Grænyaxlar or young blaeberry (_Vaccinium myrtillus_); the bog-whortle (_V. uliginosum_); the blue-bell (Bláklukka; _Campanula rotundifolia_, Hjalt.), which grows everywhere, reminding us of Europe; the small, grey birch; the dwarf-willow, all catkins; the Alpine bartsia (Icel. Loka-sjóðsbróðir[150]); the meadow-rue (_Thalictrum Alpense_; Icel. Kross-gras); the fleabane (_Erigeron_; Icel. Smjör-gras) and the ephemeral Veronica. There were also the bright, yellow-green reindeer-moss; the red Alpine catch-fly (_Lychnis Alp._); the usual “sun’s-eye,” or buttercup (Sól-ey); the dandelion (Fífill); and the lamb-grass or moss-campion, still in flower; the bladder-campion (_Silene inflata_); the pretty, common lyng (heather); the mountain-asphodel (_Tofieldia palustris_; Icel. Sýkis-gras); and, most remarkable of all, the pale-lemon blossoms of the mountain avens already beginning to pall. The Kræki-lyng, the black crowberry (_E. nigrum_), supplied its small, red currants, sweet and mawkish, of which Bishop Pál made sacramental wine; the vine-like Hrútaberjalyng (_Rubus ling_) trailed on the sward; and the meadow-rose (_Epilobium angustifolium_; Icel. Eyra-rós) reigned queen of Iceland flora. The leafage already showed autumnal tints, yellows and reds taking the place of greens, light and dark; and the air was all alive with grey moths (Fyrireld).

An interesting feature of the Skriðdalr, or slipping dale, is the Skriða range, a name not in the map, but given to the north-eastern buttresses of the broken valley as far as Sandfell. Fronted by dark traps they rise, nude of turf, conspicuous in light-yellow skins of trachyte and Palagonite, based upon a thin and sickly green--we learned to call them the Sulphur Range. As the long streaks and gullies, the broad parting _fiumaras_, and the slides and heaps of footing _débris_, show, the Skriðas are infamous for landslips and snowslips (Snæ-Skriða), the latter overwhelming túns and houses--

“Multos hausere profundæ Vastâ mole nives; cumque ipsis sæpe juvencis Naufraga candenti merguntur claustra barathro.”

The sole defence against these avalanches (Skriðáfall)[151] is the Skriða-garðr, a dry wall, built very strongly at the sharp angle facing the Skriða and the Snjóflóð, and repaired every year.

In the evening the people began to gather for the fair, and most of them were in that state politely called “excited.” One man made himself especially remarkable; with one leg shorter than the other, he was dancing, roaring, snorting fou’; his face was much knocked about; and, with his ’baccy smeared lips, he insisted on succulently kissing every feminine mouth. Mr Lock, sen., had a somewhat narrow escape from a venerable matron whose nostrils showed that she was no better in one matter than our grandmothers: she advanced towards him prognathously, when in the nick of time he turned and fled. He was much shaken, and for some hours looked pale and weak.

The evening might have been in Tuscany; and we drank coffee outside, a practice which excited general reprehension--here you rarely see a bench or seat in the open air. We were lucky in engaging a superior guide, the student Sigurður Gunnarsson, nephew of the archdeacon of Hallormstaðir; his seven years at Reykjavik had given him a tincture of English; he was good-tempered and obliging; in fact, the absolute reverse of Baring-Gould’s “Grímr.” Hr Gíslason, to the satisfaction of every one, disappeared with his big dog, a cur whose only idea of life was to chivy sheep.[152]

Our day’s march was far more interesting than usual: it lay over the long, prismatic tongue of land, a sister formation of the Múli line, separating the Grímsá from its ultimate receptacle, the lake. Amongst the scatter of farms lay Geirólfstaðir, where I slept on return: the house is partly built of greenstone. The mountain path is called, why, I know not, a “Remba,” a hard road to travel, from “að rembask,” to struggle with, to puff one’s self up. The summit of this Hallormstaðarháls was a mere divide, not a Heiði with level ground; and from its altitude, about 880 feet, we looked down upon and around a most extensive view. Below us, and stretching to north-north-east, lay the long “broad,” known as the Lagarfljót, a milky water evidently from the snow-mountains; and on the nearer shore, protected from the biting blasts, lay the celebrated Skógr, or forest of Hallormstaðir, straggling some twenty miles, and composed of birch-trees,

“If trees they may be called, which trees are none.”

Yet from afar they act pretty well as acacias, the point-lace of the forest. To the north-east rise the nubs, heaps, and snows of Höttr, the hats or cowls, and their frost-bound prolongation, the icy range of Borgarfjörð, and, especially, the cones of Dyrfjöll. But every eye turned instinctively southwards when majestic Snæfell, the northernmost outlier of the Vatnajökull, fronted by its two northern outliers, the Hafrsfell and the Laugarfell, shoots up towards the cirri and cumuli of the still air, its glistening glaciers and steely-blue sides making eternal winter in a lovely garb appear.

At Hallormstaðir, our first stage, we failed to find the Prófastr (archdeacon) Sigurður Gunnarsson, who had gone for supplies to Seyðisfjörð. His wife received us kindly with “Yule bread,” containing raisins and other delicacies. She must be a model housewife; her six-gabled house was being painted; her kitchen-garden grew unusually fine potatoes; and her poultry-yard was far better stocked than usual. We were hospitably invited to pass the night, and Gísli Skulk looked wistfully at the comforts around him; but we were inexorable and, after a two hours’ halt, began operations upon the next stage.

I shall not readily forget that march. The ponies, also, had apparently made up their minds for a half-holiday, and, when refused, they resolved to revenge themselves. Briefly, the loads were everywhere except where they should have been, and the fight at the ford was unusually severe. The bridle-path up the right bank, moreover, was bad, broken with gullies, rugged with rocks, and cullendered with holes; in places we had to avoid headlands of stony teeth by fording the waters; and, as on the skirts of Hermon, the ways were double, high for winter, and low for summer. Student Sigurður explained Lagarfljót as a corruption of Laugr, a bath; others translate it the “layer” or mixed water, because composed of ice and mud. It is considered unwholesome and undrinkable. The average breadth is one mile and a half, and the people declare that the depth reaches sixty fathoms. It is formed by a glacier stream, the little Jökulsá, flowing through the Fljótsdalr or Norðurdalr, a line which we shall presently follow; and an eastern lake-stream, the Keldá, draining the Syðridalr. The latter rises in the Keldavatn, which the map writes Kelduárvatn, the lake of springs-water; and it is reached in a long day’s ride from the Víðivellir, or the Klúka farm, which almost fronts Valthiófstaðir.

I had heard much of the Skógr (Shaw) of the Lagarfljót, as the most beautiful in Iceland: it probably tempted the first settler, Hallormr, to become Hallormr of the Wilderness. In other places, the freezing and thawing of the sap bursts the vessels and kills the plants. Here, however, the Birkis have a backing of heights to concentrate sun-heat, a westerly exposure, and a large sheet of water tempering the cold. The thin birch-scrub grows on all kinds of soil; mostly the trees are mere bushes, but the topmost twigs of the giants of the forest may reach twenty feet, and the timber is heavy enough to make pack-saddles. All are being felled, and none are planted; the weight of the snow is said to destroy the young trees. Nor was the Skóg a vocal growth: I listened long and in vain for the merest chirp.

About an hour before reaching the ferry we had a fair prospect of the Hengifoss, said to be the tallest cataract in Iceland. It is an Icelandic copy of the immortal Cocytus (Mavroneria) in Arcadia, with a fall six times the depth. “Hanging-force” plunges suddenly into a huge caldron, the Hengifossárgil, and is dashed to drops before it reaches the kieve, which is considered to lie 1200 feet below. Its wonders can hardly be appreciated, we were told, without entering the cavity: it faces to the south-east; and, as you ride along the lake, the strata lie exposed to sight, as in a Californian cañon. Amongst them is said to be a small quantity of Surtarbrand.

We had sent on to warn the ferryman, and Charon, Sigfús Stefánsson, of Bessastaðir, with fiery hair, clean-cut red whisker, and huge goggles, was the model of a Scotch pedagogue. Remounting, we galloped _ventre à terre_, the best cure for cold feet, over the turfy flat of the left bank, and found ourselves at Valthiófstaðir, the church and parsonage of Síra Pétur Jónsson. The house was being painted, but we found lodgings in the church: the altar candles were duly lighted, and, after doing what little we could to make ourselves comfortable, we turned in shortly before midnight.

_August 3._

At Waltheofstede, whose name is distinctly Saxon, we reduced our stud to the best sixteen head; we bought ropes and horseshoes; we mended the pack-saddles; we paid off the temporary guides; and we engaged the student Stefán Sigfússon, of Bessastaðir, who gave thorough satisfaction when he did not air his ten words of English. Whilst these preparations were being made, I inspected the premises. The farm is of old date, but it is not the Waltheofstede so pleasantly mentioned in the Landnámabók (p. 100): “Tunc servi Erici ruinam villæ Valthiofi de Valthiofstadis intulerunt, Eyolfus autem Saur (Eyólfr Saur) ejus cognatus servos apud Skeidsbrekkas super Vatnshornum occidit, eâ de causâ Eirikus Ejolfum Saurem interfecit, iste quoque Holmgangu Rafnem (Rafn, the duellist) Leifskalis interemit.” Thus, in seven half Lines, we have a regular monomachist, the destruction of a farm, and the murder of two Franklins, with an indefinite number of thralls. We still find a Thórdísa, in memory of old days, the granddaughter of the parson at Valthiófstaðir.

The church is somewhat larger and better, that is, more tawdry, than usual; and justly vain of it is the district. Outside it is red-striped, with gallery, tower, spire, finial, staff, and weather-cock: the latter bears the cross of Denmark, yet “Odi Danicos, sperno, contemno,” is a sentiment frequently expressed in this neighbourhood. Inside it is daubed to mock marble. The bell in the loft bears for date 1744, and the altarpieces are truly hideous: Sanctus Peterus (_sic_), with key and book, wears his glory on one side of the head, like a cavalryman’s forage cap. The churchyard epitaphs are funny as usual. Hjörleif Thórðarson (ob. 1786) speaks of his future prospects with a confidence which some might consider premature, if not misplaced:

“Fluctibus innumeris adversæ sortis in orbe Tandem transmissis, jam benè tutus ago;”

and another’s long home, a box, has become a classic “urn:”

“Qui fuit eximium gentis decus undique nostræ Gutthormus, jacet hic tenui Hiorlerius urnâ.”

More satisfactory was the aspect of the farm, which supports 11 cows and 600 sheep. The labourers’ Hey-annir is now begun, and will last for six weeks: they were at work “queerving” the grass, as Shetlanders say, with long thin rakes, so that it may not dry too soon; “mixtæ pueris puellæ,” the lasses with turned-up sleeves and the inevitable gloves: at mid-day all seek shelter from the “torrid sun.” This essential part of Iceland “agriculture” is well and carefully done; and the number of hands enables the farmer far to surpass anything farther south. The “Taða,” or hay from the manured (Tað) infield, opposed to the Ut-hey, or produce of the outfield and hills, is close-shaved, and tedded twice, and even thrice, a day: that wanted for immediate use is carried to the house in Kláfrs (creels or crates), articles of universal use, the Leipur of the Færoes, which also carry peat in the Isle of Lewis; and the rest, when thoroughly dry, is stacked and covered with turf. The implements are mere toys, mounted on rods like billiard queues for easy packing and cheap passage. The scythe is a sickle attached to a two-handed stick nine spans long; the blade of three spans, little more than an inch broad, and sharp as a razor, is used here and in the Færoes because the warty ground permits no other. The rakes are of two kinds, with big pegs and with small teeth, both wholly of wood; and in the best farms there are always wheelbarrows and hand-barrows.

The venerable parson, who appeared somewhat “eld-gamall” (_un vieux vieux_), consented to give us an extra guide, a student lad named Thorsteinn, from the north country, whose circumstances had not allowed him to keep his term at Reykjavik: he was to receive the unconscionable sum of $4 for one day’s march. We set out in mid-afternoon, and rode down the Lagarfljót’s left bank, in twenty-five minutes, to the ruins of Skriðuklaustr, the last priory founded in Iceland. Two long barrows of earth and stone show the site of the church: they measure 87 feet north to south, and 62 east to west. The fane is surrounded by an _enceinte_ of similar humble material: the northern entrance is apparently ancient; that to the west, modern. The habitations of the reverend men were near, but below the little adjoining farm; and there are still fragments of a built causeway running south-west to the cemetery. The latter lay all around the church, and the old custom has been perpetuated: to the south is the grave of Sýslumaður Winne, who died in the early eighteenth century; whilst another heap, which trends east to west, not north to south, is called the “tomb of the bad fellow”--a point of affinity between Icelandic and New Zealand English. Unfortunately, I had no time for skull-digging, and gaining the title of Haugabriótr (cairn-breaker).

We were not asked to dismount, nor did we dismount, at Bessastaðir: the tumulus of the founder, old Bessi (the bear), is a green heap by the river-side. After a general bout of kissing and rekissing, we began the rugged divide separating the Lagarfljót from the Eastern Jökulsá, and at once blundered northwards: when in the worst quagmire the new guides, Stefán and Thorsteinn, a cock-nosed lad of about twenty-two, quietly said, “Há, we should have gone there!” Gradually we rose to 2000-2200 feet, the average altitude of these Heiðis. The foreground was unusually repulsive, and its aspect suggested frost a few inches below. It was a surface of mosses, ever dank and dew-drenched; of iron-stained swamps; of tarns like horse-ponds; of soppy stream beds, with livid-yellow Palagonite encasing the gashes; of brown heath and black peat; of huge heaps instead of the usual warts, as if the farmer had just drawn the manure--in fact, it was a bad specimen of the worst parts of the New Forest centuries ago.

Our eyes, saddened by a path all steps and drops, were suddenly electrified by the first magical view of the Vatnajökull; it had hitherto been hidden by sundry outliers, especially the Eastern or lesser Eyvindar, a snowless block, or rather double block, curving like a serpent’s tail, from left to front, from south to west (275° mag.). For better examination, we dismounted at Vegup--“Collis viæ,” said the students.

Behind the Snæfell cone a blue distance of lowland sweeps, like a streak of paint, to the very foot of the “Lake Glacier,” whose general aspect is a high dorsum of virgin white, an exaggeration of the Wiltshire downs after a heavy fall of snow. The first thing which strikes me is that the altitude by no means justifies all this eternal frost: we must probably seek a cause in the immense agglomeration of ice behind; in thrust from above, and in the prevalence of southerly, here the frigid, winds. Secondly, the features of the grand _névé_ are perfectly separable and distinct, very unlike the dead blank plateau of all the maps. Beginning from the south-west, we notice the domed Kverk (throat) Jökull, fronted by the feature which gives it a name; the huge gloomy mound, fissured to the north, stands boldly out from the pure expanse, and sinks to the level of the deep-blue air. Successively rise the Skálafell (hall-hill), a double cone, connected by a long yoke of miniver, and fronted by a glistening glacier; the three horns of Sval-barð and the ice-mailed points of Snæfellsjökull, not to be confounded with the isolated Snæfell cone:[153] this small Spitzbergen,

“ribbed and paled in With rocks unscalable and roaring waters,”

all bristling with pink and silvery spikes, tapering, tooth ranged near tooth, in formidable array, projects a long slope eastwards. Farther on, the line, _bombé_ in the map, bends with a great bay from us. Helped by Olsen and the students, we pick out the various features of the south-eastern corner; the Heinabergsjökull (hone-hill glacier); the Sauðhamarstindr (sheep-cliff point), a dark mound like a brown cloud; and eastward, again, the Kollumúli (hind-mull), alternately a black tower and a ridge-end; whilst behind, and upon another plane, flashes a great and glorious snow-peak which, at other angles, assumes the aspect of a bluff or buttress. To the extreme south-east, the blue and snow-streaked horizon, backed by pearly mists, swells into a gigantic bride-cake, the Hofsjökull, bounded west by a pale saddleback, and north of it lies the now familiar dome of the Thrándar ice-mountain. The gold and purple gleams of the westering sun, the opalline play of the projections and prominences which catch the lights, the faint pink-azure of the shades, and the skylarking of the cloud-hosts over the heads of the tallest peaks, set off by the umbreous black foreground, dull and sodden, by the beggarly features of the middle distance, and by the wash of deep damascene blue at the base, fall into glorious picture; and the presence of black spots, like “erminites,” in the waste of white suggests the haunts of some Troll-like race--I no longer wondered that there are superstitions about this mysterious realm of eternal snow.

After a sketch, for the purpose of better fixing the picture upon the brain-plate, we jogged on, leaving the snow-streaked Knefill (the pole) to the north; and at eleven P.M. we began the short and rugged descent to the Eastern Jökulsá. The mountain flank was gashed with the hideous chocolate-coloured chasms of the Sharon plain; we had to pull our way-fagged horses down boulder and through bog. As we reached the riverine plain, well sheltered from the wind, the poor beasts recovered courage and carried us gallantly into the new farm, with its three-gabled house, Thorskagerði (codfish garth). Whilst Mr Lock and I put up the tent, “Charlie” bolted into the “eld-house” (kitchen), much to the astonishment of the gudewife, who bolted out in demi-semi-toilette: we supped at the “fashionable” hour of one A.M., and we slept in the broad bright dawn.

* * * * *

AUGUST 4.

This was a day of peculiarly hard work; I look back upon it with pleasure, because it introduced me to two new features, the cage and the sand-desert. The forenoon began with the inspection of the Jökulsá, here a frequent name: there are three which drain the Vatnajökull northwards--;the Little Jökulsá, from Snæfellsjökull, forming the headwater of the Fljótsdalr; the Great Easternmost Jökulsá, known to the people as the Vale River (á dalr), or the Bridge Stream (á Brú); and the Great Westernmost Jökulsá, or the Hill River (á fjöllum). Icelanders apply the term Jökulsá Eystri (eastern) and Jökulsá Vestri (western) to the chief headwaters of the Skagafjörð, as those who have read Chapter X. may remember. Our river, an ugly gutter-water, milky, mineral as the drain of a Cornish mining village, and consequently desert of fish, runs in an old valley; and the ledges between the hills and stream are the sites of frequent farms. The deep perpendicular rifts, cut by rain-torrents, are filled with wintry snow; and throughout this part of the country the people use sledges, heavy, tasteless board-boxes on iron runners, wanting all the finish of Russia and North America. The modern bed is mostly a crevasse of grey-blue basalt, black when wetted, built in regular strata, and pitted with drusic pock-holes: the perpendicular walls are split into thick and thin slicings; and slaty _débris_ and spoil-banks deform the “broads” where the cliffs sink low into the valley.

The narrowest parts of the bed are naturally chosen for passage; in these gorges there is a great rush from sides to centre, with a furious boiling of the foul stream, tossing up dirty waves, from which there would be scanty hope of escape. On one precipice two ends of Kaðlar (cables), here inch ropes, knotted to one cross-piece, and passed over a second, are made fast under piles of rough stone: on the farther side the cords are roven with a round turn over the cross-piece, and are kept clear of the rock by a wooden bar, battened and rag-garnished, to prevent slipping and chafing. The Kláfur, or cage, is a lidless box, a stool, whose upturned legs are provided with pulleys; it is, in fact, the “cradle” which once crossed the chasm, 65 feet wide, between the Heights and the Holm of Noss in the Shetland Isles. The passenger, sitting or standing, is towed across by one of the two guys, fastened fore and aft. The passage takes about half a minute; you descend the sag with a little run, and are slowly hauled up the other section of the arc. Wire might be an improvement, but it would certainly be rejected as liable to cut the pulleys. Meanwhile, the guy is always snapping and wanting “splicing;” so, _að fára í Kláfi_, is by no means pleasant to the nervous man, who looks down upon

“The hell of waters, where they howl and hiss, And boil in endless torture.”

I need hardly observe that the “cradle” is a form still ruder than the rudest Andine or Himalayan swinging-bridge, which gave a hint--for “travelling teaches”--to the civilised suspension.

We wasted four hours at this river, the chief delay being caused by the horses. The caravan then gathered at Eyríkstaðir, the large farm of Hr Jón Janssen. Whilst the nags were being shod, we drank “blanda,” milk mixed with water, the best procurable remedy for thirst. Inquiring about the stage ahead, we were told that it would take four, six, eight, or ten “tíma” (times), not to be confounded with “Klukku-stundir.” As the student Thorsteinn had left us, we here engaged for the day’s march the owner’s brother, Hr Gunnlaugr Janssen, who also gave complete satisfaction.

The afternoon had passed away before we began to clamber up the high eastern bank of the Jökuldalsheiði: presently we came upon a lake country, a scatter of tarns large and small. The map shows half-a-dozen, but not the largest, Ánavatn. Between them lie various hill-ranges, the Western Knefill and Sval-barð (the cool hill-edge), which yesterday appeared to us in epauletted form: to the west lay a Thríhyrningr, with triple peak on a meridian concealing the broad shoulders of Herðubreið. Where hill and water were not, sand, here chocolate-coloured, there bright yellow, gave unusual opportunities for a gallop, especially where the ground was free from dwarf-willow, deep earth-cracks, and streams whose black arenaceous beds bent and swayed under the horses’ weight. We were shown our line far ahead, marked by five bits of snow, which, disposed upon a hill-side, passably imitated the human face: it veiled and unveiled itself like a plain coquette.

On such a formation we expected a devious path hard to find; but we were bitterly disappointed by the absence of game, where heads in thousands have formerly been seen. Here and there lingered a duck or a teal, a snipe or snippet, too wild to approach; the Arctic tern (_Sterna Arctica_, Preyer) was not coy, but a solitary skua (_Lestris Thuliaca?_ Pr.), that had gone a-fishing, kept well out of our reach. A sharp canter from No. 2 lake, Gripdeilir,[154] “_Certamen ovium_,” according to our literary guides, soon placed us at the lakelet and farmlet of Vetur-hús--winter-house, as opposed to Setr. It is neutral ground between the swamps, which, probably, are under water every spring, and the dry sands of the old sea-shore farther west. The owner, Páll Vigfússon, owns a boat for char-fishing, and a fine flock of goat-like sheep: his kailyard is well manured, to judge from the quantity of soft and brittle puffs (Icel. Gorkúla; _Agaricus fomentarius_), which here take the place of mushrooms.[155] The farm-box was a burrow worthy of St Kilda or Rona in the olden day, entered by a hall like a mine-gallery; the Baðstofa was fouler than the forecastle of a Greek brig; and the three bunks which serve as dinner seats, as well as beds, gave one the shudders. The only caloric was the natural form, which sheep have learned to utilise; and the only chimney was a hole in the kitchen roof. Yet the farm contained provision-room, smithy, workshop, byre, and sheep-house. It was my fate to sleep there on the return march, but I persuaded the good Paudl to put me in a hay-garret. After all, we must remember Sir James Simpson’s description of the Barvas district in the Isle of Lewis, where, during the last generation, neither window nor chimney, chair, table, nor metal vessel existed. What a national scandal was this barbarism!

After Vetur-hús we passed sundry farms, and we drank at every place, as if on the banks of the Congo. Men, boys, and maidens came out to be kissed by the two young guides, but we had only once reason to envy their island-privilege. Beyond the Ánavatn lay the Sænaut lakelet, once upon a time haunted by the fabled sea-cow; another pond was passed on the left, whilst swampy ground extended far to the right. We then ascended a ridge of sand scattered over with basaltic fragments, and saw the Grjótgarðr, or stone-fence. It has a singular appearance, a line of blocks, some of them ten feet square, roughly piled upon one another, and extending half an English mile across the neck of ground. The cubical masses appear like the produce of some quarry. The general look suggests the line of rocks subtending the Grind of the Navir: I can only conjecture that icebergs here meeting and grounding, have deposited their burdens of huge boulder-rocks. The legend is that two Trolls, one a sea-giant and the other a Jökull-giant, agreed to divide their domains; the former started from the north, the latter from the south; they built this wall at the place where they shook hands, and they lived in peace--I was not told whether they married--ever afterwards.

Descending from the Grjótgarðaháls, we halted near the last lake, and collecting a cart-load of willow-roots, which here represent the sage of the Far Western Prairies, we kept out the mist and cold with a roaring fire. The students, too lazy to follow our example, lay upon the ground; yet when riding, these shuddering tenants of the frigid zone muffled their throats in huge comforters, enclosed their hands in worsted gloves, and wore vast waterproofs of oilskin, with other signs of softness. It was the first fire, though not the last, that I saw in Iceland travel.

Resuming our road, we presently began the ascent which had been pointed out to us in the afternoon; crossed a snow-wreath and a snow-patched divide, unusually hard work, and frequently felt the horses sinking fetlock deep in the loose sand. We then descended the misty sides into Heljadalr, and shivered in “Hellsdale.” A broad and open way crosses this “Barahút,” whose unpleasant title is derived from the tremendous torrents of spring-tide, the deep snows of winter, and the furious dust-storms of the dry season. Leaving the Heljadalsfjall, we entered the cold plain of Geitirssandr; the surface was of water-rolled stones and pebbles, the base of black sand, whilst light-yellow Palagonite appeared in the courses of the dry _fiumaras_. In places there were crater-like heaps of dust from ten to a hundred feet high, the smaller features perfectly conical, and set off by bars and patches of white sand, lime, potash, and other produce of the sea. Evidently the formation is subaqueous, as well as volcanic,[156] and I subsequently found reason to believe that the ancient sea-beach begins west, and upon the parallel, of the Jökulsá bridge, and runs up to the north-western base of Snæfell, the mountain, not the Jökull. The whole tract reminds one of what is said anent the Barony of Bunen: it has neither wood, water, nor earth sufficient to hang, to drown, or to bury a man.

Walking our fagged horses down the yielding slopes, we presently found the ground improve. A stream flowed to our left; a lakelet lay on the right, and thin grass, well covered with sheep, made the scene an oasis. We again put on steam, and shortly after three A.M. we made the Möðrudalr farm. The church was shut, but the buxom housekeeper took compassion upon our weary plight; basins were brought to relieve eyes red with flinty dust, and skins painful with prickly heat; bowls of hot coffee comforted the inner man, and once more we revelled in the luxury of sheeted beds.

* * * * *

_August 5._

The farm of Galiums (etymologically “Madder”), girt by its desert of sand and stone in all directions but the west, where the Western Jökulsá flows at a distance of six indirect miles, is one of the best, if not the best, in Iceland. It is not known in the Landnámabók,[157] which tells us that this quadrant was the last occupied. The white-headed owner, Sigurður Jónsson, has often been offered his own price for it, but to no purpose. He brings out the map and enlightens us upon the features of the wilderness on the other side of the river. He denies the existence of the mountain “Dýngjufjöll hin nyðr Trölladýngjur,” immediately south of Bláfjall; and I afterwards found that he was right. Speaking of Baring-Gould’s project to attack the Sprengisandur from Möðrudalr, he said that a traveller would be taking the wrong road; the usual line is from Bárðardalr on the Skjálfjandifljót to the Thjórsá headwaters: moreover, that this Sahara is never passed till early July. He denied that the snows on Bláfjall give any rule for crossing the cap of the Iceland dome, of which one stage is a _jornada_ of twenty-four hours, waterless and grainless. He confirmed my idea that the Ódáða Hraun is bounded east as well as west by the sandy region; and he shrugged his shoulders when I consulted him about ascending the local sundial, Herðubreið,[158] distant some sixteen miles. The “Broad-shouldered” stood before us in all his majesty, cabochon-shaped, or, as the Syrians say, a “Khatím” (seal-ring), girt by perpendicular walls, and projecting a tall point between the double glacier, here of frosted, there of polished silver, as the surface caught the rays of the noontide sun. It is not my fault if the sketch be very unlike Henderson’s “Herdubreid, seen from Mödrudal.”

The wife was absent, but the buxom housekeeper let us want for nothing except a sight of the Beauty of Möðrudalr, one of the daughters, who is spoken of by every traveller. The comfortable homestead with three gables showed me amongst other things a map of Palestine; but why did Mr James Nisbet write “Treconitus?” The mill was a turbine, so quaint in construction that the water could not be turned off. _En revanche_, the mutton was admirable: the sheep easily fatten in this dry and delicate air, and like their congeners of Somaliland, they put on flesh with the slenderest rations. Not expecting to see it again, we devoured the fresh meat as if devouring were a duty.

Mr Lock, sen., found the heat oppressive, and we waited till after noon before we set out. A few minutes’ riding over grass led into loose, deep sand, evidently a subaqueous formation; and here amongst the hillocks grows the Melr, or wild oat, with pale glaucous and striped leaf, long, tough root, large ear, and grain too small for making bread.[159] We saw none during the night; as on the Sprengisandur, the land was too high to hold water, and the cereal prefers hollows where it can enjoy a modicum of damp. It will extend in scatters and patches as far as Mý-vatn; our horses enjoy it, but the sheep apparently refuse the coarse growth, like the “_pasto fuerte_” of the Argentine Republic. I looked in vain for “birdies” amongst these tufts, probably they find the sands too hot and too cold.

After an hour’s slow ride, we turned off the road to the right, where Goðahóll, we were told, shows a temple of Thór. At the southern slope of a hillock known as Selhóll, lay a few loose stones; farther down was the place where the Dóm-hring was held, and northwards a black influent of the Skarðsá formed the Blót-keldar. All was mean and barbarous in the extreme.

We now entered upon what is called the “best road in Iceland.” To the left or west lay Sandfell and Geldíngafell; the crests were sharp as rabbits’ teeth, and for a similar reason. After about two hours we crossed the Skarðsá, an ugly, dark torrent, the cesspool of the hills, and, following a ledge, we passed through the defile of the same name, Vegaskarð: the formation was of basalt and Palagonite, the pure and the puddingstone. This _col_ debouched upon a Viðidalr, of course nude of withies and willows; the poor and barren slope, cut by black waters, was girt on either side by gloomy hillocks spotted with snow. We halted for a time at the Sel which belongs to Möðrudalr, and the carpenter, a son of the Rev. Pètur Jónsson, kindly offered us a drink.

The “best road” began again, the only defects being rock and deep sand in patches. The ponies, offended by the pace, bit and kicked, shied and bumped their loads. Presently we reached the Biskupsháls, where the saintly men of Skálholt and Hólar once met: two cairns, the Biskupsvarðas, conspicuously placed on a height, divide the Eastern from the Northern Quadrant. During the rough descent, of basalt flaky and red as jasper, leading to the valley, we saw the Jökulsá called á fjöllum, “of the hills,” for the all-sufficient reason that it flows in a vale: the map terms this part of the bed í Axarfirði because it disembogues into the Axarfjörð. The milky water flows through a plain of green, thinly veiling the chocolate-coloured face of earth. Beyond it, half hid by gloomy mist, lay the Desert of Mý-vatn, and, farther still, rose the slaty-blue cones and ridges with which we were presently to become familiar.

Shortly before ten P.M. we rode up to the Grímstaðir establishment belonging to the farmer and ferryman, Guðmund Árnason: he was absent at the time, so his surly wife was duly kissed on the mouth by the temporary guide, a peasant from Möðrudalr. This place trades, especially in wool and mutton, with Vopnafjörð, distant a hard day’s ride; and by this line travellers from the eastern ports usually make the Mý-vatn. The sheep, mud marked on the rump, are good, and give rich milk, but both articles are inferior to those of the “model farm” which we last sighted. Grímr, the old Norwegian founder, chose a capital site; a grassy slope gently rising from the right bank of a stream, and protected by a ground-wave in front from the draughts and moving sands of the river-side. It is marked by the Hálskerling, _alias_ the Grímstaða Kerling, a natural pyramid, conspicuous to those coming from the west: farther off rises the Haugr cone, snowy always. To the north of the establishment is the workshop; and here I saw for the first time horns of the reindeer, which had been shot about Herðubreið: they are common in the neighbouring establishments. The guest-room, entered by a small porch, had a wainscot painted to resemble maple; a gold beading and mahogany furniture; but it boasted neither stove nor fireplace, and, as usual, a whisper rang through the house. Then came the family parlour, with eight windows, each single-paned, facing south: the rest of the building consisted of outliers, byres, the sheep-house, known by the normal central trough, and the usual artless windmill.

* * * * *

_August 6._

This morning the owner, a rough, hard-faced and obliging man, in appearance much like our typical “Lowlander,” lectured me in the geography of the Útgarð, or outer regions; and an hour before noon we cantered over the three or four miles to the river. This Jökulsá is about 200 yards across, with a sand-bank hard by the left shore. The sides are of crumbling basaltic sand, red and yellow Palagonite, and water-rolled stones; on the right lay a little strip of equisetum, and opposite it were clumps of wild oats, which promised well for a ride to the south. The turbid, slaty-white stream flows at the rate of at least three knots an hour: there is a tradition of its being swum by a horse-stealer, but the cold would deter most men unless riding for dear life. Now low in the bed, it must rise at least five feet, as appears from the driftwood, ground to little bits, which forms the high-water mark. The rule of Andine travellers is to cross such rivers about dawn, when the nightly frost has bound the snows which feed them. The map places its chief sources in the northern border of the Vatnajökull, but the details cannot be relied upon. The length must be at least 120 miles; and as the fall from Grímstaðír to the sea is about 1200 feet, there can be no navigation except in the several reaches, and we can hardly be surprised that it forms the Dettifoss, the small Niagara of little Iceland. The ferry was shaped like a spoon amputated at the handle; it was always half full; and four trips were made necessary by the extent of our belongings. We sat amongst the Eyrarós, the islet roses, representing the oleanders of Syria, and watched the nags swimming across, with their heads as usual well up-stream--apparently the custom of towing them from the boat is obsolete in Iceland, at least I never saw it.

Shortly after noon we attacked the Mý-vatn Öræfi, the wilderness of Mý-vatn, which is very perfunctorily laid down in the map. It is not wholly barren. The surface is composed of ropy and cavernous lava, with bursten bubbles and extinguished fumaroles, growing thin grass, the usual flowers, dwarf birch, ground-juniper, and two species of willows, the grey always in the neighbourhood of forage; these stripes overlie and alternate with barren volcanic sand and stones, bad retainers of water. The larger arteries of fire-stone, as usual in Iceland, are called Hraun-fljót (run-floods), and the smaller veins Hraun-arða. The sheep of Reykjahlíð and other farms are driven to the green parts during the fine season; it is a _pays brûlé_, but we shall presently see something far worse. Here, again, game was almost wholly wanting. Plovers sat upon the stone-heaps, and the stringy curlew (Spói), which, our ancestors loved to “unioynt” (carve), cried over our heads; possibly they knew that their insipidity and toughness would save them from any but steel-tipped teeth. A few ptarmigan ran almost from under our horses’ hoofs, ejaculating Reu! reu! reu! They are excellent eating, but it is a shame for any but starving men to shoot them at this season, when the grey-brown poults, little balls of fluff, are still unable to fly. The bird may be stupid, but it is an excellent mother, praise which can by no means be accorded to all clever animals; it appears wholly to forget self when aiding in the escape of its progeny. At this season ptarmigan come down from the barren uplands to seek flowers and berries in more genial climes; yet a few days and they will retire with the young family to safer homes.

The remarkable mound on our left, a refuge to “lifters” in olden times, is known as Hrossaborg, the Horse-fort. From afar it appears a mere shell of stratified mud; a nearer approach shows a worn and degraded Herðubreið, with regular couches of Palagonite clay falling steep on all sides but one. The huge semicircus opens to the east, where its drainage sheds to the Hrossaborglindá, the stream of the Horse-fort spring, flowing from the south, and much affected by sheep. I found no sign of lava, but an abundance of sand around it; if it ever erupted, the discharge must have been like that of Hverfjall, which we shall presently visit. Beyond it the sand is lively as that of Sind: on my return I saw a dozen columns careering at the same time over the plain although rain had fallen during three days. Our caravan was struck by one of these “Hvirfilsbíld-ör” (whirlwind bolts), which arose close by; unlike the Shaytan of the Arabian wild, which is adjured with “Iron, O Devil!” it did not even remove our hats. The pillars, which spread out at the top like a stone-pine in Italy, may have been 200 feet high: some travellers, imitating the licence of Abyssinian Bruce, swell the altitude to 2000 yards.

As the gear wore out, so the loads fell with unpleasant persistency, making us plod slowly over good riding ground. In front rose a semicircular ridge, extending from north, _viâ_ east, to south of the lake, and thickly studded with hills and cones. The map calls it Mý-vatns Sveit, the Mý-vatn district; our student corrupted it to “Sveinn” (puer), opposed to Stúlka, a lass. The latter reminded us of the Joe Miller attributed to the British sailor who understood why women were called “Snorers” (Señoras) in Spain, but could not explain their being “Stokers” in Iceland. This mild joke had power to comfort us whilst all manner of topographical details concerning Jörundr, Hlíðarfell, Búrfell, Hvannfell, Sighvatr, and Bláfjall, were poured into our dull and dusty ears. We halted for a few minutes at the little farm Eystrasel, and then pushed forward to the solfatara. After threading the Námaskarð, where the air was not balsam, we sighted the lake, one of the ugliest features of its pretty kind; and at 8.30 P.M., preceding my companions, I rode in to our destination, Reykjahlið. The features here only named will be described at full length in the following chapter.

ITINERARY FROM BERUFJÖRÐ TO MÝ-VATN.

BERUFJÖRÐ TO THINGMÚLI.

_Wednesday, July 31, 1872._

Left Berufjörð at 10.45 P.M. Line north-west up left bank of Axarvatn stream, draining to Berufjörð; turf, sand, stones, washed from gullies. Five distinct steps, separated by undulating ground; path rough; cold mist; mountain streams to cross.

1.15 A.M. (2 hours 30 min.).--Halted at foot of fifth step, Hænu-brekka (hen-ledge), the worst.

Walked up Hænu-brekka; snow-slope, path along _névé_; bending to north, rough Öxarheiði, broken plain, tiers of trap, about 700 feet above sea-level. Crossed sundry wreaths and beds of snow.

2.45 A.M.--Summit of Breiðdalsheiði; path marked by three Varðas. Changed nags, 3.45 A.M.

Down valley of Múlaá, in the great Skriðdalr; watershed changes from south to north.

6.30 A.M.--Passed first farm, Stefánstaðir; little Bær on left bank of stream, and west of Skriðavatn; little lake, or rather “broad” of river. On right, falls in the eastern path over the Berufjarðarskarð. Farms every half-hour.

7.45 A.M.--Arnaholtstaðir farm; to-morrow will have cattle fair; some sixty head for sale.

8.10 A.M.--Hallbjarnarstaðir, backed by its hill; general trend, south-east to north-west.

Several farms together. At 9.30 A.M., forded Múlaá, girth-deep; rode up to _Thingmúli_ (⊙ I.) chapel and farm, under priest of Hallormstaðir. Good property; seventy sheep, and eight cows.

Night’s work, 10 hours 45 min., halts included. Average march, 3 to 3½ miles an hour. On map, direct geographical miles, 17. Direction, north-west, bending to north.

Morning fine and sunny. Mist at 8 to 9 A.M.; heavy at 3 P.M. Night cold, raw, and foggy; about midnight, mist from north.

Paid farmer, Davíð Sigurðarson, $5; his wife wanted $3 more. Little trodden paths more expensive. People have no standard of value.

THINGMÚLI TO VALTHIÓFSTAÐIR.

_Friday, August 2._

Set out, 12.30 P.M. Forded river, rode down Grímsá valley; often crossed stream; best road near the bank. After 45 minutes, left Grímsá, and struck the Melar or barrens at foot of divide. To left Geirólfstaðir, small farm of civil people, where I slept August 19. Up the long green slope of Hallormstaðarháls; less abrupt than western slope. Reached summit 3 P.M. (aneroid, 29·32), and began rough and abrupt descent. At 3.15 crossed Hafursá (buck-goat river), a dwarf ravine. Trap in steps, and red-ochre fields to left. Lagarfljót Lake below; both banks easy slopes; green ledges and swamps, crossed by causeways. Bridle-path well kept, because it is road to Eskifjörð, the port. Farms everywhere; see seven on western side. Passed through the “Skóg,” forest of Hallormstaðir. General direction, north-west; direct distance, 4 geographical miles.

4.10 P.M.--(After 3 hours 40 min. slow = 2 fast) Reached Hallormstaðir. Left it at 6 P.M. Up right bank of Lagarfljót; succession of torrents, gullies, and bad stony places, which can be rounded. Rode under the Rana-Skóg (wood of the hog-shaped hill). Big sand-bar of Gilsa forms a tongue of boulders and bad torrent if the ford is not hit. Path double, summer along lake and in water; winter, higher up. Deep holes between basaltic blocks; horse sinks breast-high.

8.30 P.M.--At Hrafnkelstaðir (proper name of man), opposite Hengifoss cataract, on other side of lake.

9 P.M.--Opposite fine farm, Bessastaðir.

9.30 P.M.--Ferry below junction of two forks of Lagarfljót; swift, cold stream.; breadth, 200 yards; current, 3 knots; horses swam in 2 min. 30 sec. On return, forded it higher up, when split into three large and three small streams. Another ford, wither-deep, farther down. Paid ferry, $2.

⊙ II. 10.45 P.M.--After 20 minutes’ gallop over green plain, reached Valthiófstaðir church and parsonage. Second march (general direction, south-south-west), 3 hours 30 min. = 10 indirect geographical miles. Total day’s work, 7 hours 10 min. = 14 miles.

Aneroid, 29·94; thermometer, 76° (second observation, 29·96; thermometer, 83° in sun).

Morning gloriously clear. At 10 A.M., cloudy and sunny. 2 P.M., sun hot, and people complained. Cirri and cumuli over the Vatnajökull. Evening clear and cool.

VALTHIÓFSTAÐIR TO THORSKAGERÐI.

_Saturday, August 3._

Started 2.45 P.M.--Took upper road to avoid túns; lower better.

3.10 P.M.--Ruined monastery, Skriðuklaustr. Delayed 15 minutes.

Crossed ugly boulder-torrent, which wetted the beds. Reached Bessastaðir farm, 3.50 P.M.

At 4.30 P.M., true start over the Fljótsdalsheiði. Map shows nearly straight line from east to west. Not travelled over now. We struck north-west-west; stiff rise for 45 minutes. Rotten ground, and cold air.

Reached first step at 5.10 P.M. Aneroid, 28·73; thermometer, 76°, on summit.

First view of Vatnajökull from Vegup (Vègúp? or Vegupp?), 6.20 P.M.

Aneroid, 27·92.

On the southern road (Aðalbólsvegr) the highest point of the divide was shown by aneroid 27·80.

7.30 P.M.--Reached midway height, water stagnates; presently the versant changed, and the Miðvegr (half-way) torrent flowed west to the great Jökulsá. Despite Varðas, lost way half-a-dozen times. Ground more and more rotten.

10.30 P.M.--Crossed boulder river, Eyvindará, and turned from north-west to south-west. Began descent.

11 P.M.--The western is the shortest, the Eastern Jökulsá being some 900 feet above the Lagarfljót. Crossed many streams divided by ridges.

_N.B._--The Holkná (water of the rough stony field) is misplaced in the map. It is south of Eyríkstaðir, on opposite bank. Rode along river banks; air much warmer.

⊙ III. 12.40 P.M.--Beached Thorskagerði. Ferryman’s house newly built.

Total on road, 9 hours 55 min.; very slow work; about 7 to 8 hours’ real work. Distance measured by map, 22 to 23 geographical miles. General direction, north-west and west-south-west.

In morning, sun and strong north wind. Then clouds from south. At 5 P.M. saw a shower in the Lagarfljót. 7 P.M., drops of rain.

THORSKAGERÐI TO MÖÐRUDALR.

_Sunday, August 4._

Early in the forenoon, crossed the (E.) Jökulsá in the cage. The horses were driven to the ford, 200 yards below. Only four of sixteen swam over at first trial, in 1 hour 30 min. The rest were driven farther down, and seven passed over in 1 hour 30 min. to 2 hours 30 min. The last five were towed over with a rope. Occupied 4 hours. Ended at 12.45.

Loaded at Eyríkstaðir; left bank of, and 100 feet above, stream. Aneroid at 2 P.M., 28·98; thermometer (in shade), 60°.

Set out at 5 P.M. Up the high left bank of stream, and at once lost the road. Line not traced in map; it lies between the Möðrudalsvegr, north, and the Jökuldalsheiði to the south. Began to cross the great divide, a tableland, not a prism, between the two Jökulsás.

At 6 P.M., aneroid, 27·90; thermometer, 74°.

Passed north and along foot of Eyríks mountain. Entered a region of lakes or tarns; whole surface has been under water, and probably is so still in spring. Buðará reservoir and stream to right. Divided by dust plains, chocolate and bright-yellow; good galloping-ground.

On right, second lake, Gripdeildr, at foot of Sval-barð Hill.

8.15 P.M.--Vetur-hús farm and lakelet; 3½ Danish (14 geographical) miles from Möðrudalr. On return, rode in 4 hours 45 min.

End of first stage, which occupied 3 hours 15 min. = 4 geographical miles.

Resumed road, 8.30 P.M. On left big lake, Ánavatn (Áni proper name), not in map.

9.20 P.M.--Sænautasel (shieling of the sea-cow), a little bye, belonging to the large Rangalon (Ranga, proper name, and-lón, sea-loch, inlet, still-water) farm to north. There is also a Sænautavatn and a Sænautafjall to west. Another lakelet to left. Up rise, a regular divide; swampy region to right. Examined the “Halse of the stone wall” (Grjótgarðaháls). Lakes and swamps again; peats cut here.

10.45 P.M.--Halted near edge of last swamp or lake. This second stage occupied 2 hours 15 min. = 4 geographical miles.

Set out, 11.15 P.M. Bad descent to Rangaá (river), headwater of Hofsá, going to Vopnafjörð. Map does not prolong it so far south. Exchanged swamp for sand and snow-fonds.

Into Heljardalsfjall. Broad smooth plain of Geitirssandr.

Aneroid, 28·08.

Along hill-side to first steep descent; pyramid hill to left. Second deep descent, the Skarð leading to plain of Möðrudalr.

⊙ IV. Arrived at Möðrudalr, 3.10 A.M. Third stage, 4 hours = 12 miles. Total of day, 9 hours 30 min.; the distance, according to the people, being 25 English miles. We made it 20 geographical miles.

Aneroid, 28·50; thermometer, 70° (in room).

Grey morning; sunny noon; high north wind; then heavy clouds; but no rain till after we were lodged.

MÖÐRUDALR TO GRÍMSTAÐIR.

_August 5._

General direction, almost due north.

In morning took sights.

Herðubreið, 263° 30´ to 266° mag. (local variation--40°), or 223° 30´ to 226° true.

Kverkfjöll, 248° 30´ mag.

Fagradalsfjall, 244° to 246° mag.

$6 to owner, and $2 to student guide.

Set out, 2.45 P.M. Made for Geldíngafell (11° mag.), in line of tall cliffs. Sandfell, rounded cone, on left. To right (eastward) was Vegahnúkr, 45° mag., and the rocks and tumuli of Nýpi, or Núpur, 64° mag. Not in map. Soon off grass into deep sand.

At 3.45 turned back, and lost twenty minutes visiting Goðahóll.

4.45 P.M.--Crossed Skarðsá, ugly black torrent, influent of Western Jökulsá. Along a _corniche_, the Vegaskarð, a pass through the hills. Dun-coloured Palagonite clay upon the stones; large blocks of conglomerate and yellow basaltic rock below.

5.15 P.M.--The Miðvegr (mid-way).

Sharp riding to Víðidalr; ugly barren slope, black waters, foul stream feeding Jökulsá. Red hill on left.

6.20 P.M.--Halted at farm; two white gables; many byres. Halted..

First stage, slow work, 3 hours = 10 geographical miles.

Set out again, 7.15 P.M. On right, Grímstaða Kerling, natural pyramid of rock, used by trigonometrical survey.

8.45 P.M.--Biskupsháls.

Skirted Ytri Núpur, northern hill, bounded south-west by Grímstaða Núpur.

9.15 P.M.--Good gallop over grass; rolling ground up and down.

⊙ V. Crossed rivulet south of farm, and reached Grímstaðir farm, 9.45 P.M.

Second stage, fast; 2 hours 30 min. = 12 miles. Total, 5 hours 30 min., half-slow, half-fast = 22 direct geographical miles.

Paid guide, $1; he wanted $2. Will gallop back in two hours.

Morning hot and dry; sun oppressive; in afternoon, cool and cloudy air. About 8 P.M., cold east wind; hands numbed. In evening, dense cloud, like ice-fog, rose from the horizon and covered the sun.

Aneroid, 28·88; thermometer, 52°. Next morning, aneroid, 28·72; thermometer, 59°.

GRÍMSTAÐIR TO MÝ-VATN.

_August 6._

General direction, nearly due west. Took sights, and farmer gave names:

1. Jörundr, bare cone of Palagonite, which we shall leave to right, or north, 334° mag.

2. Búrfell, tall blue hill, south of our road, 300° mag.

3. Hvannfell, at north end of Bláfell, 293° mag.

4. Fremrinámar, at south-east end of Bláfell (from afar very like Krísuvík), 276° 30´ mag.

5. Herðubreiðarfell (not to be confounded with true Herðubreið), called by people, Dýngjufjöll; long line of low heaps and craters, partly concealing snows of Herðubreið.

Paid $4 for pasture, $2 for ferry (Henderson paid $3), and $2 for this day’s guide, who has two horses, and returns in the evening.

11 A.M.--Left farm; pricked over plain, sand-outs, and thin scrub.

12.15 P.M.--Jökulsá River; 3 miles. Aneroid, 28·90; thermometer, 63°.

Ferry made four trips. Horses swam to island in 1 min. 15 sec.; spent two hours at river.

Remounted, 2.15 P.M. Passed Hrossaborg block, and began the Mý-vatn Öræfi (Desert of Mý-vatn).

Rode slowly; loads falling. Line, lava runs (five large) and sand; many little craters studding the plain. In front, detached hills and cones, arc of circle with hollow towards lake. The Mý-vatns Sveit (district).

6.30 P.M.--Little farm, Eystrasel (in map, Mý-vatnssel), 1 hour 30 min. from Reykjahlíð; swamp to east, and stream to west. Line marked by tall Varðas, alternate layers of turf and sticks.

Up and down the Námaskarð (_col_ of the wells), dividing Dalfjall, the northern, from Námafjall, the southern range. Pass through the heart of the solfatara.

At west end of pass sighted the Mý-vatn.

⊙ VI. 8.30 P.M.--Arrived at Reykjahlíð, our destination.

Second stage from river, 6 hours 15 min. = 17 to 18 direct geographical miles, riding fast and slow. Total of day’s work, 7 hours 30 min. = 20 miles.

Dull, grey morning; threatens glare and warmth. Wind from north-west; showers on hills. Dust clouds on plain, showing excess of electricity; signs of heat, not of rain. Sunny afternoon; gloomy evening.