Ultima Thule; or, A Summer in Iceland. vol. 2/2

could not be considered a hardship. No one thought of a fire till I set the example of collecting willow-roots, and then all, beasts as well as men, were greatly comforted by the short, sharp bursts of blaze. The poor fellows offered me a share of their only viaticum, a bit of bread and sausage, but I saw by their longing, hungry eyes that their necessities were greater than mine. A blanket instead of the oilskin from my saddle-bag would have been a comfort; but even without it I slept like un bienheureux, and awoke lively as a lark. What a different matter was my night in the open below Fernando Po peak!

That morning I had set out to “plant a lance in Iceland,” by mastering the Herðubreið; for once utterly deceived by the clearness of the air, I had despised my enemy, and he got the better of me—the general verdict will be, “Serve you right.” My consolation was that, though beaten, I had hardly been fairly beaten; the fog was not to be controlled; the guide led us by the worst paths, and we crept over lava after expecting to move fast. The altitude is laid down at 5447 English feet above sea-level; and as we rode up to the base, about 1500 feet high, there remained only 4000 feet, which would not have taken more than five hours. Such was my calculation, and it erred by being drawn too fine. Nor could the attempt be renewed next day. I had promised to send back to Mr Lock my only companion, Stefán, whose foot-gear was in tatters; Gísli and Kristián would have seen me in Ná-strönd, the shores of the ignoble “straw-dead,” rather than accompany me over an unknown snow-field, and such climbing must not be done single-handed.

Section II.—Return to Valthiófstaðir and Stay There.

August 12-16.

There is little to say concerning these five days, which were spent in returning to Valthiófstaðir by devious ways. On August 12th the world, according to local belief, was to have been destroyed; knowledge has increased since A.D. 1000, so no one made preparation, spiritual or material, for what Hindus call the Pralaya, hourly expected by primitive Christianity. Je m’en moque comme de l’an quarante (1740). At three A.M. we rode down the cold valley of the Grafarlandsá, picked up the tent, and bidding adieu to the good Stefan and the miserable Kristián, we reached the Jökulsá ferry after a total of six hours forty-five minutes. The blood-red sunset had kept its promise till clouds rolled up from the south, and I have seldom had a more thorough dusting.

At early nightfall suddenly appeared Mr Pow and his guide, Jón Pètursson, son of the old priest of Valthiófstaðir: they had been paying a visit to Mý-vatn, and now they were hastening home for a wedding. The former had been making inquiries about sheep-farming; he believed that, in that line, something might be done whilst the pony traffic was thoroughly worked out. Farms ranging from $3000 to $6000 are readily bought throughout this part of the country. As the snow begins upon the Heiðis in November, lies deep in December and January, and lasts till May, it would be necessary to allow one ton of hay per thousand head, and the import price, excluding freight, must be computed at £2,10s. rising to £4. He was sanguine enough to expect a cent. per cent. profit: I never heard that the project had any results.

Next day we started betimes in the cool east wind, which presently chopped round to the south, and gave us a taste of Sind and the Panjáb—all the sand of the Arabian desert seemed to be in the air, and it was the sharpest of its kind. We enjoyed a headlong gallop not unworthy of the Argentine Pampas, halted a few minutes at the Möðrudalr oasis, and pressed on to Vetur-hús: here we parted as I wished to examine the lake region, and to inspect the Brú of the Jökulsá.

On the next morning, which, after the stillness of dawn, also obliged me with a dust-storm, I set out at eight, rounded the swamps and black bogs, and, after crossing a marshy divide, entered the valley between the Eiríkr and Thríhyrning hills. The land is poor, but it manages to support two little Sels. At last we came upon the Thverárvatn, the southernmost of the tarns, and following the right bank of its drain, the Thverá,[172] we reached the Brú after an hour and a half’s hard riding. It still preserves the traditional name although the natural arch of rock fell in 1750: in Henderson’s day it was succeeded by a wooden bridge, and now there is only a cradle. Horses are forded about a mile up stream, where the break becomes a broad, split by holms and sand-banks. The seedy little chapel of Brú wants cross and steeple: it is built of turf, like that of Mý-vatn.

We left the river at 10.30 A.M., and resolved to inspect the Aðalbólsvegr, the southernmost road across the Heiði. It begins by crossing a divide, after which, rounding the Vaðbrekka, or ford-ledge hill, it ascends the dusty valley of the Hrafnkelsá. Two farmlets, Vaðbrekka and Aðalból,[173] the latter with four gables of wood and turf, and backed by Laugs of warm water, hug the left bank. After fording the stream thrice we walked up another divide, where the path was cobwebbed and all in holes—these “dead roads” are by no means pleasant travelling. The upper plateau was, like the northern line, the usual scene of standing waters and flowing waters, especially the Höllná and the Heiðará; all these soppy black beds are named, but none appear in the map. The list of this day’s birds comprised a few snippets, three ravens, and a couple of whoopers (C. ferus or C. Bewickii?) which travellers often mistake for sheep. It was not my fate in Iceland ever to hear the sweet song of the swan, which borrows an additional charm on dark wintry nights from the popular belief that it promises a thaw; the poetical fancy of its being a death-lay seems here unknown. The descent to the Fljótsdalr occupied half-an-hour, and after seven hours forty-five minutes of rough riding from the Brú I reached Valthiófstaðir, where they did not expect me before nightfall.

There was revelling at the parsonage, and though I missed the howling of hymns and hollaing of anthems, the splendid “upholstering” of the girls, and the starry veil which takes the place of orange-flowers, I was in time for the feast. The daughter of the house, a notably good manager, was the bride; the bridegroom was a well-to-do widower of eighteen months’ standing. Hr Nikólás Jónsson had learnt joinery at Copenhagen, and found his handicraft pay well at Seyðisfjörð. Ponies, with all manner of gear, including the “handsome brass woman’s saddle” of a certain English traveller, filled the stables, or browsed about the tún, showing a goodly gathering of relatives and friends; even Seyðisfjörð sent forth its contingent. Those who had dined were chatting and “touching pipes” on the green: despite my garb being the reverse of a wedding garment, I was hospitably pressed to join the second detachment. After we had satisfied hyperborean appetites, the speeches began, prefaced by loud cries of “Silentium!” As many of the orators were priests and students training for the priesthood, few could plead “unaccustomed to public speaking,” and most of them acquitted themselves remarkably well. Mr Pow, after delivering his sentiments in English, sprang out of the window to prepare for a wild ride; I aired my Latin, concluding with an effective sentence, “Deus sit propitius his potatoribus”—of course ignoring Walter de Mapes. Having talked ourselves “dry,” we installed a “magister bibendi,” and fell to with a will; we were loud in our mirth “as the Ritur (tarrock-gull) on the rocks,” and the bottles of Cognac and rye-brandy required repeated replenishing, till the small hours sent us to bed. The newly-married couple slept at home, and next morning, after coming to breakfast, they took horse and went their ways.

At Valthiófstaðir I was fortunate enough to meet Prófastr Sigurður Gunnarson of Hallormstaðir, whose name has already been mentioned. A portly, good-looking man of sixty, hardly showing fifty, he is a good Latinist, and his genial manners make him a general favourite. He first accompanied Professor Gunnlaugsson in 1832 to the Vatnajökullsvegr, and since that time he has made three trips to the northern edge. He gave me the position of the volcano (N. lat. 64° 20´, and W. long. G. 30° 20´), which appears upon the map. When told that Herðubreið was a mass of Palagonite, he declared that he had seen Mó-berg at Lomagnúpr and other hills of Sera and Floskeldar; moreover, that he suspected it to be the constituent of the Kistufell and the Kverk, which he had passed in the dark. He assured me that he had found the Western Jökulsá easily fordable after its fork, where it is called Kreppa, or the Squeezer.[174] Among other places which

are shown by the map, he mentioned the Lindákeilir (fountain-pyramid) with its two springs, the northern cold, the southern hot; the Hvannalindir, rich, as the name shows, in Angelica; and the Kringilsá, or encircling water.

The morning after the feast was spent in breakfasting, in chess-playing, and at cards, with coffee-beans for counters: on this occasion the men ate first, and after them the women, somewhat after the fashion of the Druses: the parson’s wife also waited, like an “Oriental,” upon her younger brothers. The friends mounted their stout nags, and disappeared after the normal salutations: amongst them was the Prófastr, with coarse woollen stockings sensibly drawn over his shoes. The kith and kin waited till two P.M. on the next day, and, when the heartiest and smackingest of busses had been duly planted upon projecting lips, all rode off, escorting the bride and bridegroom, and escorted by the family honoris causâ as far as the next farm. Mr Pow had agreed to join me in attempting the Vatnajökull; but, whilst I remained to collect provaunt and to avoid the heavy weather which threatened, he resolved upon a preliminary trip, with the prime object of shooting a reindeer. He hired for $2 an old round-ball Enfield from the farmer-ferryman of Bessastaðir, who, apparently convinced of the Enskimaður’s insanity, snatched it three times out of his hands, till he received a watch in pledge. The solitary march was hardly to be recommended. About the Vatnajökull fog or snow may cover the world at any moment, even in July, the best month; and dozens of sheep are often killed by a single violent storm. Mr Pow set out early on the 15th, missed the road, and returned at eleven A.M. on the next day, thoroughly dazed, and apparently unable to give any account of his march—Jón Pètursson’s eyes filled with tears at the sight. That trial proved sufficient for my intended companion, who, as soon as his two nags could move, set out for Seyðisfjörð.

The weather, which had been surly and wrathy for some time, could no longer restrain its rage: the afternoon (August 16) was bad, and the evening was very bad. The day sped wearily watching the cloud-battalions as they scaled the seaward hills: here this easter and deflected norther brings heavy rains and thick raw mists; the souther and the south-wester are little better, and men rely only upon the western wind, which comes from the arid lavas and sands of the Ódáða. The night was one long howl of storm; “drip-drip” resounded from the church floor, and the wind flung itself against the building, threatening to bear away the frail steeple into space. Huge black nimbi, parted by pale and sickly gleams, ever greeted my sight as I gazed in sorrow from the casement of my ecclesiastical lodging. But joy came in the morning: first a glimpse of blue sky between the flirts of rain, then a sign of the sun. The river was reported to be rapidly filling—never mind, unlucky Friday has passed by, and we may look for better things on Saturday.

The provisions, bread, meat, and cheese ($3), with the unfinished keg of schnapps, were awaiting our departure. But Stefán Pètursson, who was to accompany me, had fallen ill, the malady being probably that popularly called in India a “squiffy quotidian:” so I engaged as guide the student Thorsteinn, who had led us to Thorskagerði, paying for him and his nag $3, 3m. Osk. per diem. Gísli, the “coal-biter,” when drawn badger-like from the kitchen, again tried to shirk, pleading the weakness of the ponies, but a threat to withhold wages reduced all opposition to a slackness of the knees, a settled melancholy, and a hurt-feeling expression of countenance. This time he was never left alone with the horses after they had been shod: he presently revenged himself by displaying an amount of appetite which threatened the party with starvation, if it lingered in the wilderness a day longer than he liked.

Section III.—The Ride to Snæfell: View OF THE Vatnajökull.

Saturday, August 17.

I managed to draw the sleep-thorn from Gísli’s ears and, after the usual silly delays, to set off at 9.45 along the left bank of the Fljótsdalr, alias the Norðurdalr: the wind was still southerly, clouds came from the east, but the aneroid was rising and the sun was taking the master’s place. The broad trap valley supports, on either side, many farms and Sels; Glúmstaðir, Hóll, Thuriðarstaðir; the large Egilstaðir, highest on the map, reached in two orette; and Kleif, with its Sætur and backing of western hill. The angry stream is crossed in many places by ropes and cradles; gradually it becomes a torrent-gorge, and the whole length receives a least a dozen rain-bred cataracts: everywhere we saw their smokes and heard the dull charge of cavalry, whilst the rattling of stones upon the sandy beds sounded like the distant pattering of musketry. There was, however, no difficulty in crossing the mouths and, after three hours fifteen minutes of mild work, we rested the nags and changed saddles at the sheep-house of Kleif.

Beyond this point the torrent-gorge is impracticable, and we ascended the rough, steep left bank, whose lower levels were garnished with stunted birches: it led to the monotonous Heiði, which I had now passed thrice. The streams on this line were more troublesome, owing to the slippery crossings of sheet-rock. We forded the Stóri-lækr (big rivulet) four times, and twice the upper waters of the Öxará above its ugly little cataract in a dwarf valley. A short tract of sandy, willow-grown ground led to the Laugará, which was girth-deep. Riding down its right bank, we came to the Laug, which much resembles that of Reykjavik: the waters show boiling point at the source, and 115° (F.) a few yards below. It lies on the north-eastern slope of Laugarfell, and nearly due east (mag.) of the pointed black cone Hafrsfell: these two detached hills, disposed upon a meridian, are mere outliers of Snæfell. Fifteen yards west of the Laug is the Laugarkofi, or the Warm-spring-cell, a hut some 7 feet by 6, with dry stone walls sunk two feet in the ground: the raftered roof is supported by a central post, and made tight with turfs. We were happy to find it in repair. The weather again broke, and a Scotch mist settled stubbornly upon the dreary landscape; the aneroid showing 27·60, and the thermometer 38°. Our day’s march had lasted only five hours fifteen minutes, and on return we easily covered it in three hours fifty minutes. The night in a warm and (comparatively) clean nest, with the howling wind outside, would have been delightful, but for misgivings about the morrow.

August 18.

I rose at dawn with no little anxiety; in these altitudes man is wholly dependent upon weather: it is like a Polar expedition on a small scale. The rainy and windy night had cleared the air, and the sun rose bright, bringing with him a stinging and intensely dry[175] south wind from off the Jökulls. The baggage pony was loaded, and all preparations were made by 8.45. We began with the rotten and boggy ground, draining the Snæfell and its north-eastern outliers to the Jökulsá. Here began the trouble which lasted more or less throughout the morning. The surface is cut by gullies and earth-cracks, often twenty feet deep, and varying from a yard to ten yards in breadth. Few could be leaped by untrained animals, and the many which could not be crossed caused detours either up or down, often a furlong to cover a perch. The smaller sort were the most troublesome, owing to the badness of the take off and landing: the nags made themselves ridiculous in attempting to scramble over, with their hind legs in the hollows, whilst the forehand was holding on the farther bank. In the worst places, at least one of the caravan was sure to be sprawling upon the ground. The best parts were the stony spots, and the medium were the swamps, especially where Fífa and bright mosses spangled the ground.

The wind now veered to the south-west, and after two hours we easily forded the Hafrsá, a drain rising in the south-east of its “fell.” The latter, seen from the eastward, proves not to be a single cone, as the map shows; behind the knob lie a jagged, saw-toothed ridge and sundry outliers. At a distance, it appears to be lava, but when riding over it in the afternoon I noticed that such form of erupted rock is wholly absent from this line. The material, like that of Herðubreið, is Palagonite, which doubtless forms the base of the northern Vatnajökull. Unlike the basaltic conglomerate of the Broad-Shouldered, however, it is puddinged with cinders reddened and charred by the flames. The colours are ruddy, black-brown, chalky-white, green, and yellow, the two latter extending in a band through Snæfell from

south-west to north-east. Scoriæ also are scattered upon the sand, and these, with a strew of basalt, make up the sum of the surface rocks.

At noon we forded the Thjófagilsá (water of the thief’s gil) below the little waterfall dashing down columnar basalt, and we halted near the Hálskofi, a hut like the nest near the Laug. After half-an-hour we resumed our ride along the eastern flank of Snæfell, which greatly altered in shape. The first view (August 2) from the heights above Hallormstaðir showed a Háls or col to the north, in fact the Snæfellsháls of the map, which should be countermarched to the south: “Snowfell” also seemed attached to the Vatnajökull by a long Rani, or tongue of raised ground, to which it acts tip: this must be changed for lowland and lake; and the shape suggested climbing on the western side, where it is almost perpendicular. Viewed from the north-west (August 14), Snæfell hill assumed a sphinx shape, the hindquarters being like those of Herðubreið to the south.

Snæfell projects to the north-north-east, or above our path, a long clean arête of yellow Palagonite, flanking a great fissure: the lower parts are here snowy, the upper are revetted with dark conglomerate. Behind, or to the west of this ridge, is a large snow-field, one of the many buttresses, extending to the flat-topped summit. We ascended stony ground when working to the south; and here an unpleasant surprise awaited me. Instead of the clear course of the little Jökulsá draining the peaks and pins of the Snæfellsjökull, a northern section of the Vatnajökull, the whole expanse lying between the glacier and the height upon which we stood formed a broad and apparently shallow lake, in part composed of clear pools, and the rest of muddy veins. At its head is a great depression in the Jökull, marked eastward by Eyjarbakki (island bank), a black cone, which may be a crater. The delta-shaped mass of water projects its point to the north, where we can distinctly see it falling over the Eyjarbakka-foss into the Jökulsá gorge. This formation may be temporary, dry ground flooded by the late rains: the farmers, however, know it by the name of Eyjarbakka-vatn. Permanent or not, it was utterly impassable without boats, whilst the Jökulsá was too full to be forded.

A near view of the Vatnajökull, from the south of Snæfell, confirmed my previous impressions. The snowy base-line is formed by the descending angle of the wind: this must explain how all is congealed at a height where Snæfell is free from frost (aneroid, 27·75): perhaps the thrust from behind may perpetuate the névé. Beyond the long white wave, pure ermine above, and below spotty like a Danish dog, stretching far to the west, rose the quaint form of Kverk, the throat or angle beneath the chin,[176] with two big, blue buttresses to the east: the black outlier of conical shape has a deep gullet to the north, vomiting a light-blue glacier upon the snow-fields lying at the base; it is prolonged north by the Kverkhnúkrrani (snout of the gullet-knoll), apparently containing two distinct patches of volcanic aspect.

Resuming our ride to the west over the true Snæfellsháls, whose stony flanks delivered us from bog and earth-crack, we found that even here the summer pasturages are not unused. The dandelion and the violet, dead elsewhere, still enjoyed the autumn of life; sign of reindeer was seen in two places, and we flushed sundry coveys of ptarmigan. A couple of ravens and a snow-tit composed the remnant of animal life; happily for us the midges were absent.

At two P.M. we reached our farthest southern point, the long dorsum which prolongs Snæfell southwards to the Snæfellsháls. On the far side of the col rose Thjófahnúkr, a big, black, cindery cone, like the rest. Between it and the northern hypothenuse of the Vatnajökull lay a dark saddleback, with all the appearance of a volcanic crater; the absence of lava may be explained by its vomiting, like Hverfjall and Herðubreið, cinder and ashes. As we turned up the Thjófadalr, between the Thieves’ Knoll and the Snæfell proper, the ice-wind struck full on our backs. The amphitheatre was girt on both sides by jagged, rocky peaks, like the edges of bursten bubbles and blisters; and the shoulders of Snæfell projected to the south-west, a sharp ridge and a cone of warm-yellow Palagonite—here the ascent would have offered no difficulties. This part of the valley discharges to the south many streamlets of melted snow, some clear, others of white water. Crossing the divide, we struck the Hrafnkelsá, which is prolonged by the Jökulkvisl and the Sauðará (sheep-water) to “Jökulsá of the Bridge.” The line presently became a deep and grisly gorge of black and copper-coloured Palagonite; and we passed sundry long bridges of hard snow which were excellent riding. So far I can confirm the experience of the French naval officers, who assured me that in Iceland these formations, so redoubtable farther south, offer no risk.

At four P.M. we halted for an hour at the head of the Eastern Jökulsá, quietly enjoying the warm western exposure. From this point there was an extensive view of the river-drained plain which, broken by detached lumps of hill and broken ridges, separates Snæfell from the eastern edge of the Ódáða Hraun. When the nags had enjoyed a bite we resumed the descent of the deep and broken river-valley that passes between the Hafrsfell and its western outliers: the buttresses and banks of loose wind-blown sand descended bodily with our weight. Again we saw a spine of Palagonite, showing a fair ascent to the upper snow-field; and we looked in vain for the delicate ripple-marks which from a distance betray hidden crevasses. Here the surface material melting in the sun sinks into the lower strata, making the whole a solid mass—hence the glacier growth which exists in Greenland, and which is suspected in Iceland. As we rode under the precipices of North-western Snæfell, the snow, sliced off as if by a razor, forms a wall some fifty feet thick, soft above, and below pale-blue, like the Blaabreen of Norway, where hardened to ice by excessive pressure. This fine “snout” showed a few thin ribbons, but nothing like “veined structure,” that vexed subject of the glacialists. The whole “snow-fond” for perfect beauty wanted only the lovely background of mazarine-coloured skies to be seen in more southern latitudes.

At six P.M. we forded the Hauká (hawk-water), one amidst a score of shallow, bubbling, pebbly streams, random rivulets, which the afternoon heat was setting free from the vast sheets of snow. Beyond Hafrsfell we recognised with disgust the sodden, rotten ground of the morning, and the weary ponies so lost their tempers that they seemed unwilling to rise after the frequent falls. Yet I could not but admire the pathos, the strange double nature of the wild prospect. Here it was a hard and uncompromising photograph, a weird etching by Rembrandt or Doré, in which, from the vivid whiteness of the snow and the blackness of the rocks, the far appeared near: amongst the chaotic rubbish heaps there was no shadow within shadow, no dark as opposed to a light side. There, beyond a middle ground of steely blue plain, lay a “lovely Claude,” a dream-landscape of distant Jökull. The delicate tints, cool azure-white and snow warm with ethereal rose-pink, seemed to flush and fade, to shift and change places, as though ghostly mists, unseen by the eye of sense, were sailing in the pale beryl-coloured sky. Anon the sun sinking towards the hilly horizon rained almost horizontal floods of light, transfiguring the scene with golden glory as every feature kindled and lit up with a peculiar freshness of expression—a region so calm and bright did not seem to be of this world. Yet a few moments more and its rare spiritual loveliness, passing through gradations of matchless tenderness, began to fade; the pale-grey shadow came, “stealing like serious thought o’er joyous face,” and all disappeared in the dark nothingness of night. These splendours of the Trolls’ home were well worth a journey to the “Brumous Isle,” but the long search and the short fruition almost tempt me to “point a moral.”

After some ten hours’ hard work for man and beast, we were cheered by the steam rising from the Laug, and we again thanked Iceland for laying on such plenteous supplies of hot water. The memory of the last touching view, with its “wild beauty of colouring,” moved me to issue, about midnight, from the nest and to compare the dark with the light hours. But the moon and stars seemed to count for nothing in that “inspissated gloom.” The scene was

The deepening glooms made the silence something more oppressive—τῆς σιγῆς βάρος—than the mere negative of sound; it became an indescribably awful presence, weighing on and deadening to the spirit as the sense of utter solitude—even the nasal music within the Laugarkofi was a positive relief. I can easily imagine a man lost in this utter stillness and swoon of Nature finding the horror and oppression unendurable.

Section IV.—From the Snæfell to Djúpivogr.

To Gísli’s infinite satisfaction, a vile sea-fog crept up the Jökulsá valley, slowly, but persistently, and, meeting scant opposition in the air, which the falling aneroid showed to be unusually deficient in weight, it spread, like the magical “Foka” of folk-lore, over the face of the upper world. Below us, we afterwards heard, all was merry as a fine May-day. I had intended to make the Kverk direct from “Snowdon,” and from that vantage-ground to prospect the Kistufell and the Skjaldbreið, with “Trölladyngja,” the bower of the Troll-Carline. But in the words of Wordsworth’s happy warrior, I did not see what I foresaw, and had only the cold comfort of reflecting—

Icelandic exploration is “chancy” as Central African, and the traveller must expect to be the sport of circumstances far beyond his control, unless, at least, he can afford unlimited time.

The next morning (August 20) was also foggy: I waited till 8.45 A.M., and then all the munitions de bouche being thoroughly exhausted, the word was given for a retreat. The approach to Valthiófstaðir was perfumed, after the rancid moss and the hard snow-wind, by the fragrant crop of newly-mown hay. I bade friendly adieu to the family which had shown me so much kindness; to Stefán, who was still abed, and to Björn, the eldest son. A man of forty-six, and suffering from rheumatism, for which the parsonage is famous, he was the only Icelander who in physique realised my idea of a Saga-hero. The gentlemanly old-fashion parson put into my hands, when parting, an appeal which touched me, “Opto ubi de Islandiâ locutus estis, benè rem referere.”

My return-ride need not be described: it was over the same path, the only difference being the last half of the last day, which is noticed in Chapter XIII. At Hallormstaðir I again missed Síra Sigurðr, who appears not to be of a very domestic turn. Reaching the Berufjörð parsonage at 4.45 P.M. on August 21, I found the ponies far too much fagged by a day’s work of 5500 feet, up and down, for riding another twelve miles round the firth. The Reverend was absent from the Prestagarð, but his wife kindly found me a boat and a boat-boy, the student Thorsteinn taking the other oar. Progress was painfully slow, and the tall ghostly loom of Búlandstindr seemed to follow us like a “Fylgja,” or fetch. We enjoyed all the pleasures of l’humidité spéciale de l’eau de mer pulverisée; the bright phosphoric lights of the tropical seas were absent—indeed, I never saw them in Iceland. At this season the nights become real nights; the smooths in the water, alternating with ripple-lines, had no worse effect than to persuade the inexperienced lads that they were approaching land, and, as the skerries and drongs are thickly ranged along the southern shore, we were fortunate that there was no gale—

After six hours of mortal weariness, I landed with feet dead from sitting in cold water, and awoke Captain Tvede. My good friend turned out of his bunk; the cooper put the kettle on; sundry glasses of red-hot toddy were administered medicinally; and I went to my old quarters, well satisfied with having ridden, from under the very shadow of the Vatnajökull, in two days to the eastern coast.

The “balance” of my stay at Djúpivogr would not have been pleasant without the Ancient Mariner, who energetically assisted in preparing my diary and in paying off the guides, a matter of $49. Hospitable Hr Weÿvadt’s son, the acting Syslumaðr, presently joined us from Eskifjörð, and lectured me upon taxation in Iceland which, as the reader has seen, is “no joke.” The only drawback was a certain nervousness touching the movements of the “Diana,” which was to touch at Deep Bay for the last time this season. Alternate fog and rain, with faint attempts at clearing about mid-day, had lasted for a week, and on August 24 the “Postdampskibet” was due. The seamist rolled thick as a bolster up the narrow line of Fjörð; I had almost abandoned hope, when suddenly we received the glad tidings of her being anchored at the mouth of the voe. Hurried adieux were exchanged, and we steamed for Reykjavik the same evening.

Rain and fog accompanied us the whole way; fortunately for me, Dr Hjaltalín was on board, returning from a visit to Denmark, or the lively “Diana” would have been a very purgatory of dullness. The rest of my tale is soon told. We made Reykjavik on the 26th. On September 1, I embarked on board an old friend, the “Jón Sigurðsson;” and steaming southwards cast a farewell view, while Iceland faded into the past, at the palegold and glittering silver of the Öræfajökull.

On September 15, I landed at Granton.

Conclusion.

have felt the civilising influence of the nineteenth century. During the two short years which have followed my visit, Iceland, after a generation-long struggle for political liberty and self-government, has conquered, by inscribing her name on the European list of constitutional countries. The “Annus Jubilæus Millesimus” has been an “Annus Mirabilis:” the Present has met the Past: the “living antiquarian museum” has been honoured with a royal visit, which highly gratified the loyal, and which gave the disloyal an opportunity of declaring that “Iceland has laws.” The Millenary festival drew a host of tourists and “Own Correspondents,” even Hungary being represented, and a dozen octavos will presently be the result. The practical Americans brought with them a gift of some 2000 volumes which will, when room is found for housing them, change the face of the Reykjavik library. As regards physical matters, Iceland has witnessed a new eruption of the Skaptár; and, as the map shows, the north-eastern side of the island is at this moment (July 1875) in violent volcanic action. The Kötlu-gjá, or Katla’s Rift of many terrors, has been visited and found to be another “humbug;” and, last but not least, the Vatna-, or more probably the Klofa-, jökull has been penetrated by the enterprising Mr Watts and his party, who are reported to have planted the Union Jack upon the highest peak. I may conclude with the lines of the Millennial Memorial:

APPENDIX.

In some places the above-mentioned gypsum is found to be tough and sticky, and when it is dried slowly it has a greasy touch; sometimes it is perfectly white, sometimes with red streaks, and one might take it for pipe-clay. One may therefore conclude, that by the acid, the effects of the rain and the sun and the rising heat, a fermentation has been brought about in this earth, and that it has thus become tough. Besides the already-mentioned variation, another kind of gypsum earth is found on the top of the mountain in hard sheets irregularly formed; here we probably see the effects of strong heat combined with absence of sufficient water, after the fermentation has taken place. In other places where this earth is saturated with sufficient acid, and partly dissolved by the same, and has, besides, a suitable or a natural degree of heat, so to speak, it is found in loose, reddish, and prismatic crystals. There is a considerable quantity of it, but it is never found deeper than from one foot to a foot and a half; the deeper you go the less solid it becomes, and at a depth of one foot it becomes quite fluid, because the heat is so strong, and the ground penetrated by warm vapours to such a degree that it cannot attain any solidity; in fire it loses its red colour. In short, this earth goes through so many changes, partly through the greater or lesser degree of heat, partly through a greater or less abundance of acids and water, and through the admixture of foreign substances, that it can almost bewilder one.

The blue “bolus” is found everywhere beside the boiling springs, and some of them are filled with it in such quantities that they are like a pot full of thick gruel. When the “bolus” has become hard it cannot be melted by the blow-pipe, but, in its natural condition, it attracts vapours from the air, and forms very fine white crystals, and at a distance they look like hoar-frost. This seems to show that this kind of stone must be impregnated with calcareous earth which has been saturated with vitriolic acid. That it must be this kind of earth in a hardened state is seen both from its form and from the flowers of pyrites that are mixed with it; for when one breaks off a piece of these earths in their soft and half-solid condition, the broken pieces have the same form, and are also interspersed with pyrites.

The red “bolus” is always found on the surface of the ground like the white gypseous earth, and is never covered by a bed of another kind; it is never mixed with the water of the boiling springs; there is no sublimated sulphur where it is found, although the subterranean heat in some such places is quite as strong as where that process actually takes place.

Several hot springs are to be found here, and most of them contain the blue “bolus,” but one contains white earth. These springs often disappear in one place, and break out again in another place where no spring has been before; the probable cause is that the narrow pipes under the ground, through which the spring is supplied with water, fill up by degrees; the strong heat transforms the water into very elastic vapours, which break through the ground where they find the least resistance, and thus a new hot spring is formed.

On a hill between the southernmost hot spring, called the Bath-room, and the more northerly springs, a hardened “bolus” is found; it is so brittle that it can easily be broken between the fingers; it is porous, and its holes are filled with hardened lime. At first I assumed this “bolus” to be a kind of lava partly dissolved by the atmosphere and the slow heat rising from the ground; the lime I took for a kind of salt, which had been embedded in the lava, and let loose by its solution, and then settled down into the holes of the “bolus.” But, upon closer examination of the solid state of this lime, and, after having tested it by aquafortis, by which it was brought to a high state of effervescence, I saw plainly it must be lime. I had tried to dissolve it in water, but without success; if it had been a salt let loose by the dissolution of the molten lava, it must have been more loose and in a somewhat crystallised state. My idea is that the lime must have been sublimated by the hot vapours when the lava was already thrown out; then it subsided into the holes of the lava and became hard. When I compared this earth with the lava of other places where volcanoes had been, from which the lava had spread far and wide, without undergoing any perceptible change or dissolution, I saw that this could never have been a lava. Although the lava of volcanic mountains is often confounded with slag produced by burning of the ground, I saw that this had never been melted to real slag; and it seemed to me therefore probable, that it must be a kind of hardened clay. I did not, however, find anything to confirm my conjecture until I came to Mývatn, where I found specimens of it in a soft and crude state.

The loose sandstone (Palagonite) already mentioned, which is found besides the most northern hot springs, is there much finer than in other places; it is of a slaty structure, and between the plates gypsum is found, so one might almost take it for alum plates. On the top of the mountain another kind of sandstone (trachyte?) is found; it is a good deal harder and burnt; it looks like millstone rocks from the Rhine, yet it is more porous; it is in irregular heaps, and never makes a whole mountain, as if it had been thrown over by earthquakes.

Near the boiling springs, where the ground is loose and porous, but especially where the heat has free ventilation through the above-mentioned gypseous earth, the sulphur is to be found. At the bottom it is dissolved and mixed with acid vapours; and when the sublimation has taken place, it becomes fixed in the outermost crust where there is a colder bed; and here it is found either in the shape of crystals, powder, or flowers; it is never deeper than one, two, or three inches under the surface, according to the greater or lesser degree of heat, or the greater or lesser porosity of the earth which forms the uppermost bed, as the sulphur bed itself, when it is in the shape of powder, is never more than three to six inches; and when in a crystallised form, never thicker than two to two and a half-inch, and three inches at the very highest.

These mines are not many, and do not cover a large space of ground; there are indeed a few spots here and there where sulphur is sublimated, but these spots are very small. The most important as well as the largest are the two mines highest up in the mountain; one of them is 120 yards long, and from 16 to 20 yards broad; the other is from 140 to 160 yards long, and from 20 to 40 yards broad. In these two mines the finest and best sulphur is found in the largest quantities. The bed covering the sulphur contains a great deal more of acids than the layer immediately below it, because the hot acid vapours rising from the depths below must keep the lower bed permanently acid and damp; the surplus acids are driven up through the sulphur, and that portion of them which does not unite with the sulphur, comes to the uppermost crust, where it is dried by the combined efforts of the sun, the air, and the wind. Here the acids are therefore more concentrated, and consequently able to dissolve some portions of the gypseous earth with which it has become united; in this condition it makes a kind of flowers of alum, which, however, are partly vitriolic or blended with iron. I tried to examine the purity of this salt by dissolving it in water. When the water had been filtered it had a green colour; thereupon precipitated with alkali, it gave a white precipitate; and when this was separated from the water, the latter became after a while quite yellow, as if it had been coloured with iron rust. This salt cannot really be called alum unless we should call it lime-alum. Like alum it has a nauseous taste, but more pungent and almost caustic. When, after dissolution, it has become solid by evaporation, it is not nearly as close as alum, and no crystallisation can be perceived in it.

As the sulphur is sublimated in the manner above stated, and by condensation becomes fixed in the cold earth at the surface, it will be seen that the opinion is erroneous, that sulphur is generated in earth penetrated and made porous by the air. My instructions were to find out, by blasting the rocks, whether any traces of sulphur were to be found in them; but blasting was out of the question on account of the softness of the ground, the great heat, and the large quantity of hot vapours. The rocks must, moreover, be at a great depth, since all attempts to find them with the earth-borer, which was fifteen feet in length, proved unsuccessful.

Close to the mines on the south side heat is seen to have been in the mountain formerly. Here the same kinds of stone are found as at the hot spring, and the yellowish gypseous earth as well. By some cause or another the heat has been removed somewhere else. I was convinced that sulphur must be found here, as it might have been covered with earth after the heat left; but all my diggings, both with the earth-borer and otherwise, proved unsuccessful.

With the earth-borer I tried to ascertain the difference of the beds where sulphur is sublimated, and of those where it is not, and where only a slight heat is felt. The first experiment was made in the northernmost mine. Below the sulphur I found a one-foot thick bed of the white gypseous earth; then there was a bed of fine blue “bolus,” or an earth impregnated with flowers of pyrites here and there. In this bed the heat began to increase, and when I came to a depth of three feet the bed became a little harder, but, at the same time, warmer and coarser, as if it were mixed with gravel; and thus it continued to the depth of fourteen feet, when it became a little softer.

I examined another place where no considerable heat was felt. The white gypseous earth continued to the depth of a foot and a half; and in this place it was harder and more solid than where the heat had a free egress. Then came the blue earth; uppermost it was somewhat loose, but farther down it became so hard and close that the earth-borer could hardly penetrate it; the lower down the more it became mixed with pyrites, and was filled with gravel, as it were. At the depth of twelve to thirteen feet it became a little looser as I thought. It was the same kind of earth all the way through; the heat was intense.

The third place which I examined was at the most northern point, beside a small hot spring, thick with blue earth. Uppermost there was red “bolus” to the depth of one foot; then a bed of purple and a yellowish one, three feet thick; then a purple and bluish one, one foot thick. The heat increased with the depth; here the bed became very hard, and I found the blue earth impregnated with pyrites. This bed was ten feet deep; at this depth the heat was so intense that the water trickling down from the upper beds boiled violently, and prevented all further progress.

By these experiments I found that the conditions necessary for the sublimation of the sulphur are: Firstly, A sufficient quantity of water to keep the soil loose and porous, that the sulphur may pass through it, and to drive the sulphur vapours upwards. Secondly, That the water must come from below; for when it comes from above, it cannot penetrate through the blue bed in the absence of the rising hot vapours which keep the bed porous; and in that case the bed becomes harder and harder, and prevents the sublimation of the sulphur.

I tried in several places, both with the earth-borer and otherwise, to discover some of the so-called dead mines, but without success. From the many experiments I made, I concluded that the volcanic mountains of Iceland must have been sulphur mountains or sulphur mines in the beginning; the blue bed became hard, and the sulphur vapours were thus prevented from being sublimated. Thus they became more condensed, and, at the same time, more elastic in the ground; then there arose in them a “heat-forming movement,” by which the whole ground, which is very sulphureous, became violently shaken, and subsequently ignited, causing tremendous destruction.

Mývatn.

Fremri-námar.

At Húsavík I obtained horses and workmen from the sheriff, and left that place the 9th of August, and arrived the 12th in the evening at the so-called Fremri-námar. At a distance of about one mile from the mines, there is a valley called Hellaksdalur, where there is a little grass, just so much as to give the ground a green colour, and this is the only green spot that is to be found here within a distance of many miles; yet there was not grass sufficient for the horses, but I had to bring with me hay for them, and water for the men. In this valley I spent the night, and the next morning, the 13th, I went to the mines, which are about ten Icelandic miles (11 indirect, 40 geographical) south-east from Húsavík, situated on the west side of a mountain called Herðubreið. On the top of the mountain there is a ridge or an eminence, from which there is an extensive view; but as far as the eye can reach in every direction, nothing can be seen but lava. This eminence is 1500 paces long, and equally broad, and about 120 feet high. On the top of the eminence there is a deep hollow completely round, and about 200 paces in diameter. From its shape it is called by the inhabitants a kettle. The south and west sides of this eminence, as well as the hollow itself, consist of lava, and it may therefore be concluded that the mountain has been an active volcano in olden times. On the north and east side the mines are found, and where these are the mountain consists of gypseous earth like that at Krísuvík. A large quantity of sulphur is said to have been dug from the dead mines here; but now they are rarely found, because they have been worked annually, and the sulphur is not generated afresh in these as in the live ones. Thirty paces from the end of the valley, and also on the side of the mountain, the first live mines are found. In the valley they are about 60 paces long, and from 20 to 30 broad. On the side of the mountain they are 200 paces long, and from 20 to 30 broad. On the east side of the mountain, 40 paces lower than the mines above mentioned, other live mines are found 220 paces long, and 40 to 50 paces broad. From all these the sulphur has been completely cleared away, because the sulphur found here was very good and pure. The soil is moderately damp, and the sulphur has just as much water as (when converted into steam by the heat) is sufficient to raise it up, and to keep the ground in a loose and porous condition, so the sulphur can be sublimated through it without hindrance. Yet it does not make the soil too loose; in that case, small particles of earth would rise along with the sulphur, become mixed with it, and thus make it impure. In the mines, which, according to my guide’s information, had been completely cleared of sulphur, there was already a new bed of sulphur one to two inches in thickness, but very impure. There are others which formerly yielded sulphur, now quite cold, and ruined. The destruction of the mines, as well as the impurity of the sulphur, arises from careless digging. When the peasants dig the sulphur out of a mine, and particles of earth and impurities are sticking to it, they clear away the largest lumps; but they do not take care not to let the impurities fall down where they had taken the sulphur, where some flowers of sulphur always remain. For although the uppermost sulphur is tolerably compact and crystallised, the lowest is loose. The reason is that the uppermost bed is made more and more compact by the sulphur rising from below, and the acid phlegm surrounding the sulphur vapours cannot evaporate; the small sulphur particles are thus prevented from immediate contact with each other, but are enveloped in the superfluous phlegm. This is the reason why the lowermost sulphur must remain in the shape of flowers until the hard crust is removed; then the phlegm is exposed to the air and evaporates, until the surface has become hard again. It will therefore be seen, that when the impurities fall into these loose flowers, and the fine sulphur is subsequently sublimated among them, the impurities will be imbedded in the sulphur, and must be taken out with it at a second digging.

Another reason for the impurity of the sulphur is this, that a man, coming to a mine to see how the sulphur is, thrusts his spade into the ground in various places, without first carefully removing the upper earth, whereby the sulphur and the earth become mixed together. If he does not think the sulphur good or abundant enough to be dug out at that time, he leaves the mine thus disturbed; and the rising sulphur is sublimated among the disturbed lumps of earth and sulphur, and the whole becomes a compact mass; it often looks quite pure, but turns out altogether different at the refinery. Thus a single man may in one hour destroy a great many mines that might have been excellent if more carefully handled.

One more cause of the impurity of the sulphur may be found, I think, in the following circumstance. When the peasants come to a good mine they take out all the sulphur that is to be found there, and do not take care how they tread down the loose earth below the sulphur; the down-trodden earth, over which the wind sweeps freely, becomes tough and hard when the heat from below is not strong enough to break through it, and thus keep it porous; thus the mine becomes cold and useless. In other places where the heat is strong enough to force the steam through the trodden earth, there is, however, this disadvantage: Firstly, It takes a longer time for the sulphur to arrive at a state of perfect sublimation than if the earth had remained in its porous condition. Secondly, The fresh sublimation will be impure. When one steps into the loose earth, deep holes, separated by thin ridges, will be formed. When the sulphur is formed in these holes, covering the ridges as well, it is evident that all these ridges must come out with the sulphur at a subsequent digging.

Those that work the mines must therefore be ordered: Firstly, To remove the earth before they dig up any mine, so that nothing shall fall into the sulphur. Secondly, When they remove lumps of earth from the sulphur, they must carry them outside the mine. Thirdly, When they work a mine, they must first remove the uppermost earth; they must not completely empty any mine of its sulphur: they should leave the utmost border standing; then run a trench along the whole length of the mine, then leave a ridge standing, and run another trench, and so on until they have reached the utmost border, which they are to leave standing. Thus the wind will be prevented from having a full sweep of the mine, and thus making it cold. These trenches ought therefore to run across the course of the most frequent winds; these are here, in my opinion, a north-wester and south-easter. After one year the ridges left standing might be taken with the same precaution as mentioned above. The workmen ought therefore to be as much as possible prohibited from stepping into the mines; every digger should take with him a board to stand on while he digs, and this he should move with him as he proceeds. By these means the mines might be saved from being unequally trodden down, and the digger might escape from burning his feet, which he now frequently does, by sinking through the loose and hot soil.

On the east side of the mountain, below the above-mentioned mines, a red “bolus” begins, stretching round the mountain from south to north until it meets with a sandstone mountain; between the mountain and this ridge of “bolus” there is a little sulphur mine, and here the gypseous earth is found below the sulphur as usual. Digging up the real “bolus,” I found it to be very loose and soft; it was full of holes, like the hardened one at Krísuvík, and the holes were filled with lime, very loose and gelatinous, and slimy to the touch. Under the “bolus” the earth was in many places hollow, and one hardly dared to tread there. Very hot vapours arise from the bottom, by which these earths are sublimated, for it is quite as hot here as in the sulphur mines. This is a very interesting circumstance, and well worth observing, that there are two places lying side by side, and presenting such a difference in the stuffs driven up from the bottom by the heat, which is equally great in both places. In one, however, sulphur is sublimated along with a strong acid, and in the other the above said lime is sublimated, and not the least acid is found in it.

Hliðar-námar.

The 15th I went to the so-called Hliðar-námar, which are about eighteen miles distant from the former ones. These are the largest of all the mines, and here too is the greatest heat; the sulphur is consequently sublimated in less time than in any of the others. At present there is a large quantity of sulphur here, but it is all in powder, or in the form of flowers; most of them are found in the mountains, as in the former places; and the sulphur bed is in many places six inches and more in thickness. The reason why the heat drives up greater quantities of sulphur here than in the former places is to be found in the looseness of the soil; it is not only much looser than in the former ones, but in some places even too loose and damp, which both makes the spot difficult to approach in order to dig, and fills the sulphur with earth and impurities, so as to make it useless. The reason why these mines are in such a good condition now is, that the sulphur brought from here to the refinery was not so well received as that which came from the Fremri-námar, or the so-called Theystarreykja-námar nearest to Húsavík. I admit that the sulphur found here is more mixed with earth and acids than in the other places; not, however, in such a degree as to offer any serious difficulties. But as the whole of the sulphur is in the form of flowers, and the earth immediately below it has nearly the same appearance, and cannot therefore be easily distinguished from the sulphur, the peasants do not, therefore, I think, separate the sulphur from the earth with as much care as where it is found in a more solid condition, and where the earth is more easily detected.

The mountain where these mines are situated stretches from north to south, and on the north side it goes a considerable distance beyond the mines. The same kinds of earth are found here as at Krísuvík, except the grey slate, of which there is none here, neither are there any variations in the gypseous earth; and very little of gypsum is to be found, which probably is owing to the higher degree of heat, or it may be because the heat has less interrupted egress, and consequently keeps the earth constantly porous. There is a larger quantity of the vitriolic alum. For the rest, the mountain consists of common sandstone. That even these mines have not been worked carefully is evident from the considerable number of ruined and cold mines.

Below the sulphur mountain on the east side there are three boiling springs; it is evident that the two farthest to the south, and situated close to each other, have been produced by an earthquake, because they are found in a rift in the mountain, and boil with such awful noise, especially the most southern one, that it can be heard 200 yards off, and the ground, which consists of bluish “bolus,” is shaken. Close to these hot springs is a large lava-tract, which spreads to the north to a considerable distance; it also winds round the southern point of the mountain, and crosses the path that leads to Fremri-námar, and spreads almost down to Reykjahlið. The ground is hot everywhere, and the hot vapours rise through the lava, and the whole is therefore continually steaming. About nine miles north of these mines is the mountain Krabla, where excellent mines are said to have been, but when the eruption of 1724 took place, it caused great destruction. One branch of the lava-stream coming from this mountain passed close by the mines on the west side and through the farm of Reykjahlið, the whole of which was destroyed, and at last the current flowed into the lake Mývatn. The lava thus produced was in various places hollow, as if the uppermost crust had been hardened by the air, and the still liquid lava which was under it flowed away. As the outmost crust cooled down by degrees, it contracted, and thus rifts were formed; in some places also it was not strong enough to support its own weight, and fell down. Crawling into these caves, I found a kind of salt which had been sublimated from the earth, and become fixed there. It had a bitter taste, and after being dissolved and dried again it formed square crystals, with a square point. It was easily melted by the blow-pipe.

Theystarreykja Mines.

The 31st of August I came to the Theystarreykja mines, which are about two miles from the refinery. A large quantity of sulphur is said to have been brought from these mines to the refinery, as they were very important ones, but now they are almost all cold, and it is only in a few of them that sufficient heat is found. Therefore, although four years are said to have passed since sulphur was taken herefrom, there are only four or five where it might be taken again. Nevertheless the heat seems in some of the cold mines to be breaking through so far that the vitriolic acid can be sublimated through the ground, as it has in combination with the dissolved lime formed the above-mentioned vitriolic salt. It is therefore to be hoped that many of these ruined mines may recover after a time, yet this is not certain. Here is again a clear instance of how the very best mines may be ruined in a short time by careless treatment. If, therefore, the still remaining mines, either here or in other places, are to be preserved, the peasants must be prevented from digging the sulphur.

The home-field of Theystarreykir is good though small, and has a fine situation; and to the north there is a large piece of uncultivated ground which might be made useful. Close to the farm is a hill called Bæarfell, where some of the mines are situated. It begins on the south side of the most southern mines, and continues in a northerly direction, then it takes a turn to the east and then again to the north. In the corner between the eastern and southern arms of the Bæarfell the best mines are found at present. There have been a great number of mines on the west side of the mountain, but these are now cold, except a few in the middle, where the earth is tolerably loose, and the heat can therefore sublimate the sulphur. Those, however, that are on the east side of the hill are quite cold, except two small ones high up in the hill, but there is sufficient heat in all these mines; and I am therefore of opinion that sulphur may be sublimated in them for the future. Some of the western ones are also found to be considerably hot, and it may therefore be expected that these ruined mines may recover in time. On the west side of these mines there is a large tract of lava. On the north side of the Bæarfell the home-field begins, and north of that again a piece of uncultivated ground; when beyond that, the lava reappears and takes an easterly turn. On the top of the Bæarfell there is a great deal of red “bolus,” and a strong heat under it. But sulphur is never sublimated with or through the red “bolus,” therefore it is not found here. Very little of gypsum is found in these mines. The warm springs are neither deep nor very hot, and the minerals are either sandstone, or hardened like those at Krísuvík.

All the sulphur mines which I visited in the north are in the following condition: Fremri-námar bad, because all the sulphur was taken away last year. Hliðar-námar good, because they have been saved the most. Theystarreykja-námar are worst, because the largest quantity has been taken from them. My advice is, therefore, to let Fremri-námar and Theystarreykja-námar rest for some time, and to work the Hliðar-námar only. When these have been emptied, the former two may be worked in their turn.

The Refining of the Sulphur.

The refinery is situated a few hundred paces from the factory of Húsavík, and consists of a sulphur hut; two store-houses, one for the raw sulphur, the other for the melted, or refined ore; a dwelling-house, with kitchen and outhouses, all built of turf according to the Icelandic fashion. The hut is about 20 feet long and 12 to 14 feet broad. In the middle of it is a small chimney, and on both sides of it two iron boilers are walled in; one is quite small, and holds only 1 cwt. of melted sulphur, the other holds 3 cwts.; the smaller one is very little used. Above the boiler a small board is inserted in the chimney, which reaches over the middle of the boiler; it has a hole at one end, through which a stick is put to stir up the sulphur; when its lowermost end reaches the bottom of the boiler, the uppermost is supported by the board, and he who stirs the sulphur can therefore move the stick more easily than if its upper end were loose. The other instruments are, an iron spade with holes, which is used for taking off the impurities floating on the molten sulphur. Then there are some wooden forms, into which the molten sulphur is poured. They are made of oak planks 3 inches thick, 12 inches broad, and 3 feet long. On one side of the two outermost planks, and on both sides of the two middle ones, three cylinder-shaped grooves are made, so that every half-cylinder groove of the two outermost corresponds with those on the middle ones, and those on the middle ones with each other. The planks are laid one on the top of the other, and kept together with an iron ring; in such a form nine bars can be made at the same time. A small iron sieve with narrow holes is put in the top of each hole, through which the sulphur is sifted when poured out from the boiler with a large iron ladle. When not used the forms are put into a tank filled with water, in order that the hot sulphur may not stick to the sides of the holes. This is completely prevented by soaking the forms in water. These are all the instruments used in the refining of the sulphur. The fuel used is some little wood sent by the Government, and for the rest peat, of which there is a good supply close by.

When the sulphur is to be purified, a slow fire is made under the boiler, and when it grows hot a small quantity, about two pounds, of raw sulphur is put in; this is stirred till it becomes hot; the fire must be slow, in order not to burn the sulphur, which might easily happen on account of the quantity of earth mixed with it. When the portion is quite dry and begins to melt, a little train-oil is poured in and stirred quickly, by which the earth unites with the oil, and floats on the top. As soon as this is melted, another portion of raw sulphur is put in; and when this is melted, another portion of oil, if required: this is easily seen; if the earth absorbed by the oil falls to pieces like ashes, it falls again into the sulphur, and oil must be poured in immediately. Thus the work is continued until the boiler is full. When the boiler is nearly filled with molten sulphur, a quantity of train-oil is poured on the top of it, and heated sufficiently. Then the fire is removed and the stirring discontinued. The impurities absorbed by the oil are removed with the iron spade described above. The forms are taken out of the water, put together, and raised on one end. The iron sieve described above is placed over the first form, and the sulphur poured over it from the boiler. When it is full the sieve is placed over the second one, then over the third, and so on.