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.

CHAPTER XIV.

THREE DAYS AT THE SOLFATARA OF MÝ-VATN.

veils, and hardly saw a “Mý”—but then, the cold weather was against the “bodies of Behemoths and the stings of dragons.” Nor did we find Mý-vatn “a place where birds and fishes abound, and where many of the wonders of Iceland are concentrated.” Every student of the avi-fauna who has sighted the pool, from the days of Proctor and Krüper to those of Shepherd[160] and Baring-Gould, makes it a very happy hunting-ground: all give lists which bring water to the sportsman’s mouth. Ten short years, however, have made the latest obsolete. We did not meet with a single Iceland falcon, once so common; the birds, with the exception of gulls, a host of sandpipers, and plucky little terns, whose sharp beaks threatened our heads and eyes, were rare in the extreme; and we found defunct chicks at every few hundred yards. Although we boated and shot over the ugly puddle, our only bag consisted of a mallard, a widgeon, a few grebes and pipers, and the Sefönd or horned grebe (Podiceps cornutus or auritus?), tufted on both sides of the head. The waters supplied trout and char; there is no salmon, as the fish cannot leap the falls twenty-five miles from the lake. Dead shells lay everywhere upon the spumy margin, and the corpse of a duck was found studded with mollusks. The soil, disintegrated volcanic rock, is of the richest; some thirty farms and farmlets are scattered about the Hlíðar or ledges between the several lava-gushes; and the pastures support some 3000 sheep.

The Mý-vatn is somewhat in the delta shape, with the apex fronting west (⊳), and with the base extending seven to eight miles: its drain, the Laxá frá Mý-vatn, escaping about the point and feeding the Skálfandi Fjörð, must be a mere torrent. North of it is the lumpy, uninteresting mound, Vindbeljarfjall, “wind-bellows hill;” the bag to the south, and the nozzle to the north-east; an African pair of bellows, i.e., one “bellow,” if such word there be. It is a trigonometrical station like the Hlíðarfjall, a bare cone north-east of Reykjahlíð. The points and promontories are most remarkable to the south, but these and other features will be better observed on the road to the Fremrinámar.

My general survey ending about noon, I set out for Leirhnúkr and Krafla under the guidance of Hr Pètur Jónsson, the farmer of Reykjahlíð. The tall, burly old man, made taller by contrast with his little Jack nag, had fenced himself against the grey mist and skurrying sea-wind by the usual huge comforter meeting the billy-cock hat behind; by “conservators” of green glass, and by a mighty paletot of the thickest Wadmal. We followed yesterday’s road, and now I carefully observed the lay of the land. Beyond the green and grassy point, Höfði (the headland), we came upon sundry veins of lava about a century and a half old, and much like slag: where Palagonite-conglomerate forms the surface, begin the Sandfell and the Hlíðarnámar (Lithewells), the latter wrongly confounded in the map with the Námar to the east of the Námafjall range. A couple of boards some six inches long were the only signs of work. The dirty-yellow mountain, striped from top to toe, as if washed by rain, with primrose, brick-red, dark blue, pea-green, light blue, and chalky-white, now stood smoking before us; and beginning the ascent, we passed the two boulders of pure sulphur, from which every traveller has carried off a bittock. Threading the Námaskarð by a decent path, we wound first to south and then to north, till we sighted the mud caldrons on the eastern slope. In Henderson’s day they numbered twelve; in 1872 apparently they were on their “last legs:” two lay to the north, four to the south; they were shaped like Sitz baths, and they ejected, with a mild puff which could not be called a roar, spirts of repulsive slime, blue-black, like mud stained by sulphate of iron. These “Makkalubers” contrasted strongly with the patches of lively citron and sprightly pink all about the slopes. One traveller finds it a “most appalling scene”—he must be easily “appalled.”

Debouching upon the eastern plain, we rode along the foot of the Dalfjall (dale-hill), which continues the Sulphur Range to the north, hugging the sides to avoid the Steiná, another bed of newish lava, an impossible mass of cinder, brown, black, and red, on our right. The path was well grown, but the “lady of the woods” (birch) is a dwarf in these parts, and looked tame beside the patches of Dryas. We flushed sundry ptarmigan, which were certainly not “absurdly tame.” After an hour and a half of “Trossacks,” which on return was covered in forty-five minutes, we halted at Skarðsel, a little Setr or summer shieling, a mere “but and ben” without tún, a heap of peat and stones grubbed out into rooms. The primitive churn found in every dairy shows that the ewes’ cream is here made into cheese, whilst the skim-milk forms the national Skýr. Of course the animals are poor and thin all the year round—the effect of continued “drain upon the constitution.”

Beyond the Skarðsel, we began to ascend and round sundry diseased and mangy hills, walking up the higher pitches, and riding over peat mounds, based upon oldish lava. After a total of two hours, we dismounted at the foot of Leirhnúkr (mud-knoll), where the horses’ hoofs flung up mere sulphur, and where warm, damp air escaped from every hole. The view from the summit convinced me that the emplacement has been poorly described by travellers. It is the northern head of a thin spine, a sharp prism about a mile broad, lying almost upon a meridian (215° mag.), and continuing the heights of Thríhyrningr, Dalfjall, and Námafjall. At some distance to the north-west rises the snowy buttress, Gæsadalsfjöll (geese-dale hills), almost concealing the Kinnarfjall (cheek or jaw mountain). Nearer lies a chain of cones and craters, with sundry outliers; they seem to have discharged a torrent nine miles long by three of maximum breadth, which inundated the north-eastern corner of the Mý-vatn with veins and arteries of fire; and the scatter of hornitos and fumaroles to the north has also aided in the work of destruction, or rather reconstruction. The map shows only a patch of lava reaching from Leirhnúkr to the Hlíðarfjall cone south-west.

The Leirhnúkr proper is composed of two hillocks trending north and south; the southern is larger than the northern, and the whole, a long oval extending some 2000 paces, is one vast outcrop. The lowland to the east is far broader than the western, a mere slip; here frequent splotches of sulphur and anaphysemata, or gas vents, lead to the Krafla springs. The aneroid showed the summit of the Mud-Knoll to be about 2000 feet above sea-level. Henderson (i., p. 167) calls it a volcano, and connects it with his other volcano, Krafla, by a non-existing ridge; but with him, omne ignotum, etc.—Hrossaborg and even Herðubreið are volcanoes. When he compares the scenery with that of the Dead Sea, one of the fairest of salt-water lakes, we must remember that his idea of “Asphaltites” was borrowed from that lively modern writer, Strabo.

We then remounted and rode over the dwarf Phlegræan fields to the Námar of Krafla,[161] the immense soufrière of M. Robert. The lowland is here studded with many inverted cones of cold, blue water; the principal feature being Helvíti Stærra (Greater Hell). It is an irregular circle, with little projections at the longest diameter, north-west to south-east, a large, tawny funnel of burnt clay and bolus, the degradation of trachyte and Palagonite, about 800 yards across. This is the famous “mud-caldron of Krabla,” a “natural phenomenon hardly inferior to the Geyser;” but Henderson’s Hell of 1815 was greatly changed in 1872; and we shall see far larger features at the Hverfjall and the Námarkoll. Instead of that “terrific scene,” the “jetting pool” of wild illustrations, a lakelet smiling in the bright sun, which burst the clouds about two P.M., a placid expanse of green-blue water, cold, and said to be deep, occupied the bottom of the hole, and the only movement was a shudder as the wind passed over it. I could not help thinking of “La belle vision d’Élie, ou un Dieu passe sous la figure d’un vent léger.” Despite the “abrupt and precipitous descent, 200 feet deep,” there is no difficulty in descending the sides of “Olla Vulcani,” now the mere dregs of a volcano.

After inspecting this poor, “abolished Hell,” we rode round it northwards, crossing sundry snow-wreaths, which on the Libanus would be called Talláját, and left our cards upon “Little Hell.” The latter is composed of two smaller lakes on a higher plane, one bearing east-south-east and the other south-east. Between the pair lie some half-dozen slimy-bordered “leir-hverar,”[162] mud-boilers of fetid smell: the ejections bubbled and spluttered, falling into their own basins, and the fumes did not prevent the growth of Fífa and bright lichens.

After seeing what you may see in almost any solfatara, we rode to the north-east, and in twenty minutes we ascended the turfy and muddy northern cone of Krafla mountain; a mass of Palagonite, pierced, to judge from the surface scatters, with white trachyte. An isolated cone appears in the map; I found that the northerly part sweeps round to the north-north-east, connecting with the Hágaung (high-goer), a long, meridional buttress of similar formation; whilst the south-eastern prolongation anastomoses with the black mass called the Hraftinnuhryggr or “Obsidian mountain.” I utterly failed to discover any sign of crater: we are told that Krafla was torn in half during the last century, and Henderson apparently makes Great Helvíti the remains of the bowl. From the apex, where the aneroid showed 27·30, we could trace the course of the Laxá; and a gleam in the north was pronounced by the farmer to be the Axarfjörð, a corner of the house where dwells Le Père Arctique. Upon the black summit, where we

Dryas was still in bloom, and violets and buttercups were scattered over the lower slopes. I looked in vain for specimens of the plumbago or black lead, reported to be found on Krafla. There is no objection to its presence in this katakekaumene; “graphitical carbon” was found by M. Alibert in the volcanic formations of Siberian Meninski, so it is not confined, as at Borrowdale, to the “primitives.”

As we were descending the hill, my guide inspected a flock of his own sheep, and I vainly attempted to lay in a store of fresh mutton. These people would probably sell, if they could get $8 to $9 per head, some 2000 of their 3000 animals, and greed of gain would leave them almost destitute. Yet here, as at other farms, it is impossible, even with a week’s work and offering treble price, to buy a single head; excuses are never wanting, “There is no one to send! All the ewes have lambs! The lambs are not fit for food!” The latter probably means that the lamb will in time become a sheep; the wild negro of the African interior, equally logical, expects a chicken to bring the price of a hen. In Tenerife I should have shot a wether, and have left the price upon its skin.

A shallow valley led to the Hraftinnuhryggr, where previous accounts would induce you to expect a “mountain of broken wine-bottles,” all “shining with their jetty colouring.” The thin strew upon the streamlet sides and about the feet was of small fragments, which became larger as I ascended. Mostly it was black and regular, that is, not banded, and the outer coating was a reddish paste: in places it forms a conglomerate with sandstone, and on the eastern summit, where trachyte also crops out, it seems to be in situ. M. Cordier (p. 278) translates the word “pierre de Corbeau,” thus robbing the raven: he proposes “gallinace” (i.e., turkey-buzzard), for the glassy material of pyroxenic base, reserving “obsidian” for the felspathic. From this place, I believe, came the specimens lately studied by Dr Kennott of Zurich: one of them exhibited under the microscope, “numerous small, brown, hollow bodies, of globular and cylindrical shape, regularly arranged in definite series.” Obsidian has been found north-east of Hekla, passing into pumice, and old Icelandic travellers seem to confound it with pitchstone, asphalte, or bitumen of Judea, a vegetable produce. Many of the obsidians are remarkably acid. “Iceland agate” (why?) must be handled with care, as Metcalfe found to the cost of his bridle-hand. Iceland ignores the pure “stone age” of Tenerife and Easter Island; and though strangers pick up specimens, the “volcanic glass” here has never been worked, as by the natives of the Lipari group. I observed that Ravenflint ridge, which prolongs the Krafla, is itself prolonged by the Sandabotnafjöll, and by the Jörundr, which the map makes an isolated cone. The classical name of the latter suggests memories of the old anchorite of Garðar.

The day ended pleasantly. After finding what there was and what there was not to be seen, I galloped back in a fine sun and warm evening, and after seven hours thirty minutes of total

work, found my companions busy in pitching the tent, despite the cold threats of night. They complained of the stranger’s room, although it rejoiced in such luxuries as two windows, a bed and curtains, looking-glass, commode, map, thermometer, and a photograph of Jón Sigurðsson. The house, with five gables, fronts west-south-west to “Wind-bellows hill;” here the south wind is fair and warm, the norther brings rain, the easter is wet, and the wester dry and tepid. As in England, the south-wester is the most prevalent, and flowers thrive best where best sheltered from it. The house has the usual appurtenances, workshop and carpenter’s bench; smithy and furnace; byre and sheep-fold. The shabby little windmill, with three ragged sails, goes of itself, like Miss K.’s leg; there is an adjacent Laug, of course never used, and the nearness of the lake renders a Lavapés (rivulet) unnecessary. Plough, harrows, watering-pot, and hay-cart are also evidences of civilisation, but the kail-yard is nude of potatoes—probably they require too much hard labour. Shabbier than the windmill, the church, bearing date 1825, lacks cross, and wants tarring; it has no windows to speak of, and the turf walls are built after an ancient fashion, now rare, the herring-bone of Roman brickwork. The cemetery around it is indecently neglected, and bones, which should be buried, strew the ground. Baring-Gould (1863) gives an account of its chasubles and other ecclesiastical frippery, which may still be there, unless sold to some traveller. It is a lineal descendant of that “church which in an almost miraculous manner escaped the general conflagration” of 1724-30. Henderson adds the question, “Who knows but the effectual fervent prayer of some pious individual, or some designs of mercy, may have been the cause fixed in the eternal purpose of Jehovah for the preservation of this edifice?” I may simply remark that lava does not flow up hill; the stream split into two at the base of the mound, without “being inspired with reverence for the consecrated ground,” and united in the hollow farther down. Yet travellers of that age derided the Neapolitan who placed his Madonna in front of the flowing lava; and when she taught him the lesson of Knútr (Canute) the Dane,[163] tossed her into the fire with a ‘naccia l’anima tua, etc., etc., etc. Superstition differs not in kind, but only in degree.

The reason for the tent-pitching soon appeared. The burly farmer has a lot of lubberly sons, and two surly daughters; “Cross-patch” and “Crumpled-horn” being attended by half-a-dozen suitors and women friends, bouches inutiles all. If we look into the kitchen, these Lucretias make a general bolt. There is extra difficulty in getting hot-water, although Nature, as “Reykjahlíð” shows, has laid it on hard by; and even the cold element is brought to us in tumblers. The coffee is copiously flooded; this is feminine economy, which looks forward to the same pay for the bad as for the good; and cups, which suggest “take a ’poon, pig,” poorly supply the place of the pot. One of the sons speaks a little English: we tried him upon the lake, and after two hours’ rowing he was utterly exhausted. Besides, there are lots of loafers, jolter-headed, crop-eared youngsters,