But neither he, “nor any other man,” could enlighten my curiosity as to the island which Pontanus, or rather his mapper, Giorgius Carolus Flandrus, places off the north-west coast. All being mere drongs and skerries, I was forced to the conclusion that “Insula Gouberman” is only the Gunnbjörn Skerries of Ivar Bardsen forced hundreds of miles to the east.
It was nearly ten P.M. when we steamed out of the Ísafjörð. We passed a number of shallow-branched firths, combining to form the Jökulfirðir, which well merits its name; at the bottom to the south-east rise the roots and outliers of the Dránga snow-dome. After some two hours’ steaming we turned to the east and entered the “Cronian Sea,” where old Saturn, planter of the vine, lies sleeping in his pumice cave. There was a solemn charm in this end of the world of men. An arch of golden gleam in the west threw a slanting light upon the noble bluff of Kögr (the “dogger”); and the giant range of trap bluffs which faces the Pole, forms a worthy barrier to the icy ocean. The profile showed a thick ribbed curtain, topped by chevaux de frise, sharp-topped pyramids, sheer to the fore, as we might expect on a shore exposed to the whole fury of the north; the front view separated the three shells of cliff by hollows, with a dreary attempt at verdure. The Horn[82] was signed by a knob or chimney below the highest point; all present who knew the two, preferred Icelandic Cap Nord to the Nord Cap of Norway, though the latter lies far nearer to the Pole (N. lat. 71° 10´ 15´´). As we gazed our full, a solid wall of sea-fog, which to the north wore the semblance of an island, and to the south-west mimicked an ice-floe, rose from the horizon and gradually wrapped in its grey pall the golden glories that clothed the splendid cliffs. The last look at the three waving heads sent me berth-wards to dream of the limestone billows of Syrian Blúdán and Marmarún.
July 1.
The culminating point of excitement had now passed. We were tired with craning necks backwards, and in the chill and cheerless weather of the next morning we cast languid glances at the coast. But for “earth’s period,” the Horn, we might have admired the tall and bizarre form of Kaldbakshorn (cold hill-peak) and the remarkable pyramid of Sandfell. We were now running down the great gulf Húnaflói, bounded west by the Stranda Sýsla and east by the long tongue of Húnavatn’s Sýsla, which separates it from the Skagafjörð (naze firth). The shores are garnished with a multitude of unimportant islands, and cut with secondary firths and creeks, the western side being again much more torn and frayed than the eastern shore. At two P.M. we entered the narrow Hrútafjörð (ram’s firth); the dreary low-banked sea-arm looked like the estuary of a mighty stream, yet it conducts only the mildest of streamlets draining the smallest of lakes. “Go to Hrútafjarðarháls!” I may mention, is here equivalent to sending a man to Jericho or—Halifax. The bluff eastern point rejoices in the short and handy name of Bálkastaðaneshöfði, head of the naze of Bálkastaðir or Balk-(bulk-head) stead.[83] On the western of the two dwarf holms, Hrútey, appeared a cross, warning us to respect the eider-duck; both belong to the Sýslumaðr, whose Bær is on the left bank opposite. From a little hollow in the right bank curled the thin blue vapour of the Reykir (hot springs), and south of it stood Thóroddstaðir, a house with five gables and large tún.
After eighteen hours’ run we anchored in rapidly shoaling water, over a bottom of deep mud outlying black sand, at Borðeyri, the table-spit, so called because that article of furniture was found there: a miniature copy of our last Eyri, based upon the western side, projects a few yards to the south-east. Three plank-pierlets without caissons and removed, as usual, in winter, outlie two establishments; in Messrs Shepherd’s (1862) and Baring-Gould’s day (1863) there was only a single shed, deserted when the season ends. One is salmon-coloured, the other yellow-white; one flies a flag; both are double-storied, and both are surrounded by peat-houses. The scene is wonderfully animated; this is the opening of the “Handelstid,” or annual fair, attended by all the country-side; one long day’s ride brings men from Stykkishólm, and in forty-eight hours they can make Grafarós. Strings of ponies, somewhat better grown than usual, are descending the hills, and groups of farmers and peasants flock in to the two comptoirs, buying and selling for the year. They exchange rough greetings, stand on the shore staring with intense inquisitiveness, and scramble, like climbing bears, over the laddered sides of the two Danish brigantines, which have affected the place during the last nine years. This, with a considerable amount of hard drinking and loud hymn-singing at night, form the only visible humours of the foire in the far north. The stations of the Spekulants or shop-ships, and their length of stay, are fixed by law, and all are Danes, the Icelanders have too little spirit for this work: the primitive system reminded me of the banyans at Berberah and of the trade-boats on the Amazonas. The holds are fitted up like shops, with desk and counter; the stores supply all the wants of a primitive people—dry-goods, clothes and caps, saddlery, wool-carders, querns of basalt, and spinning-wheels; sugar, grain, tobacco, and, especially, the rye-spirits, with which all purchasers, male and female, are copiously drenched. These, and a multitude of notions, are exchanged for wool and eider-down, dried-meat, salt-fish, and a few fox-skins.
We landed, for nearer inspection, in a dingy propelled by a single scull aft; a common style called Rempe Ruðir, which the little Reverend, who has a queer manner of “wut,” translates “progressio podiciana.” On shore the violent flaws and grains were stilled, and the sun shone with a genial warmth. The Sýslumaðr, in gold-laced cap and uniform buttons, made acte de presence, to keep order. The peasant women wore white headkerchiefs over the usual black fez, and instead of shawls short fichus, which reached only to the waist; they managed their baggy petticoats with some art as they swarmed over the gunwale of the store ships; and their side-saddles had unusually elaborate foot-boards, with backs of worked brass. Dry meat hung in plenty, but it was very like donkey, or the roast-beef of Sierra Leone. Heaps of wool lay upon the ground for sale; it is a very poor article, half-rotten before it is plucked off: after “gathering,” it is scalded, or rather boiled, in caldrons, placed in frames, rinsed with cold water, and dried on stones or turf. The owners asked one shilling per pound, and consulted us about the chance of making money at Hull: a more likely spec. here would be to import wool.
We then strolled up country, beginning with the bare Melbakki, so common along the shores of these northern Fjörðs, a low dorsum of earth and stone, from which the snow has only just melted; too steep for turf, and kept bare by the furious winds. Often, as in this case, it is the bank of an old torrent-bed. To the north-west the land again seemed to offer a fair walk: “old Experience” had taught us that we shall have to bog-trot from tussock to tussock, to paddle through ankle-deep waters, and to cross turf-fens, which look solid and yet admit you to the calf. The drainage of these hills would supply a little river, but, as usual, it sinks, or rather lies. The turbaries, so deadly to the growth of trees, were judged by the French expedition the only safe stations for observations of magnetism; elsewhere the cellular dolerite, containing oxydulated titaniferous iron, deflected the needle 1° to 1° 30´. Upon the slope we found what appeared to be a Lögberg (law-mount), artificially raised above the swamp; partly revetted on the top with turf, which had been stripped off for use, and encircled by a remnant of similar vallum. Ice appeared at the foot of the basaltic rises.
The summit, denoted by the usual “Varðas,” commanded the nearer Heiði, a desolate land, a scatter of moor-ponds and bogs, everywhere alternating with heaps and swathes of stone, and with dark mounds wearing cravats of névé. To the south-south-east was a grand view of amphitheatral snow mountains; the western flank rose in a shallow dome of purest white: we judged it to be the Eyriksjökull, whose romantic and, of course, murderous tale has often been told; while to the east Balljökull (hard Jökull?), a lower elevation, showed dark-blue rocks, which had worn their winter garb to strips. These outliers were backed by a radiant semicircle of peaks, which, in the slanting sun, assumed splendid rainbow hues.
July 2.
The “Jón” made a long halt at Borðeyri; she found only two shore-boats for discharging goods, and these were dingies towed by a rope: it was past two P.M. before we steamed out into the great Húnaflói. “Skyey influences” appear to be peculiarly capricious on the shores of the Cronian Sea. Morning; cloudy, with southerly wind, and clear with north-easter, suggesting a “lady’s passage.” Noon; thermometer in sun 81° (F.), in shade 60°, although snow is upon the shore; with the sea, as at Granton, in alternate stripes of deep-blue and silvery azure. Afternoon; a Mediterranean, plus the normal long roll, and a biting breath from the north; and, later still, the sea-fog and a return of warmth under the protection of Skagafjörð. At five P.M. we had turned the point Vatnsnes,[84] a long low projection from a high talus of stepped rock: hence we sighted the southern Jökulls towering above the lowlands and inlets of the shore—mighty masses of solid cloud, with true cloud floating above and around them. To the north-west, over the teeth and pyramids which jagged the shore of the Húnaflói, rose the Dránga Jökull, apparently supporting the firmament, Atlas-like, upon its vaulted head.
We then doubled at a respectful distance the long peninsula of Húnavatn, which, hilly and broken at the root, thins out into a cliffy point, and projects near Rifsnes the dangerous reefs of Skalli (the scald or bald head). Two French schooners from Dunquerque sailed leisurely by, with their rigging a mass of drying fish: after safe return these cod-fishers will pilgrimage to Nôtre Dame des Dunes. The behaviour of the ice-fog gave us some concern, we were now in N. lat. 66° 10´, and this was the only night that would offer a chance of enjoying the midnight sun. The mist came up in a white transparent line raised by the abnormal heat, and at times a low, solid bank, precisely imitating floe-ice in all points except being stationary, threatened, as is its wont when the light of day lies low, to invade the land.
As time neared the noon of night, the burnished circle, utterly shorn of its beams, seemed almost to stand still: when suspended about a diameter and a half above the ocean, it changed to a long oval, to a mushroom with distinct columella, to half a sovereign, and finally to a fragment of golden egg, which seemed to indent the blue horizon. In the latter phase it held its own till the bell struck, when the light of night began to rise once more. The spectacle was a lecture upon such Eddaic and Skáldic phrases and periphrases for the precious metal, as the Eld Særar, “ocean or water flame;” the “sea’s bright beams,” or “lowe of the waves;” the “swanbath’s rays;” the “ore of the Rhine” (any river); and the “resplendent radiance of the flood.”
This was our farthest northern point—
We failed to sight inhospitable little Grímsey, which employs its spare hours in adorning porridge-pots with the Runic knot or snake.
When abreast of long, high, and broken Málmey (Malm or sand isle), bluff at both ends, we had fairly entered the Skagafjörð, which my classical friend translates “Sinus qui eminet;” he is less happy with Grafarós, ostium sepulturæ; Gröf, as in “Grafar-lækr,” here means the deeply-encased bed of a stream. A little farther we left to starboard a triad of islands classical in Iceland story. The northern rock-needle bears the common name Karl (old man), whose hip, the Kerlíng (carline), to the south, suggests a ship under sail. The middle, and by far the largest, feature is Drángey, an area of 800 square yards, rising steep-to some 600 feet high, and inaccessible except on the south, where the cliff breaks, and where adventurous cragsmen swarm up to rob birds’ nests. It is one of the richest of its kind, and it is known far and wide as the last refuge of Grettir Ásmundarson, popularly “Grettir the Strong.” The millennial lithograph simply says of this strong man, “outlaw for twenty years, and died in this capacity.” While telling the tale of his well-merited death, the Icelandic speaker’s eyes, to my wonder and confusion, filled with tears: I could not but think of my poor friend James Hunt, who died of a broken heart because “Anthropology” was not welcomed by the “British Ass.” The “Oxonian” abridges the prodigious long yarn spun by the Gretla, and shows the “William Wallace of Iceland,” as the outlaw is called by the admirers of muscular un-Christianity, to have been, pace Mr Morris, even for Iceland, a superior ruffian. With few exceptions, we may say the same of the Saga heroes generally, and it is ethnologically interesting to contrast their excessive Scandinavian destructiveness with the Ishmaelitic turn of the Bedawin—the reader has only to glance at the pages of Antar, translated by Terry Hamilton. But the Arab, though essentially a thief and a murderer, boasting that blood is man’s only dye, and that battle is to him like manna and quails, has a soft corner in his heart which the Iceland poet lacked; he was chivalrous as a knight-errant in his treatment of women; he was great upon the subject of platonic love, whose place in the hyperborean north is poorly occupied by friendship, however tender and true; his poetry was inspired by the sun, not by eternal ice and snow; and, like all the peoples of the glowing south, his fiery savagery is gloomed by a peculiar and classic shade of sadness. Witness this address of the dying Bedawi to his fellow-clansmen:
We may compare the sentiment with that of the Roman epitaph,
And one might quote by the score such inscriptions as—
which breathe only the most tender melancholy. This sentiment, apparently unknown to the rugged and realistic soul of the north, is felt deepest in the brightest climates, for instance, amongst the Hindús, and generally the races which inhabit the “Lands of the Sun.” Nor amongst the Arabs do we find the abominable heroines of Scandinavia; “the grimmest and hardest hearted of all women,” adulteresses all and murderesses, justifying the Norsk proverb, “Woman’s counsel is ever cold (cruel).”
The eastern shore of the Naze Firth then showed Thórðarhöfði, a majestic headland of black lava, coiled and writhed, whose central hollows are striped with yellow clay washed from above; whose upper crags lodge the eagle and his brood, and whose base is caverned by the ceaseless onslaughts of the waves. At first it seems an island, backed by its lakelet, the Höfðarvatn, but it is connected with its mainland by strips of natural causeway to the north and south, not unlike Etruscan Orbetello. Wild strawberries are said to flourish in the well-sheltered hollows. From about Grafarós it wears the aspect of a couchant lion, and doubtless it was of old, like Helgafell, a Holy Hill. The Thórðr who gave it a name was an “illuster and vailzeand compioun” of Irish blood and fifth in descent from Ragnar Loðbrok (hairy-breeks),[85] one of the most unpleasantly truculent persons in Scandinavian myth. His epicedium or death-song, of course composed for and not by him, the only refrain of whose twenty-nine stanzas is—
very adequately represents his sentiments and his career: it reads as if it had been inspired by the Destroying Angel. The sooner this style of literature, which deals in every manner of—— cide from parricide to vulpecide, becomes obsolete in Iceland the better. Imagine a decent, respectable Protestant paterfamilias, by way of whiling away the long winter evenings, reading out these revolting and remorseless horrors to his wife and daughters: I should feel as if treated to the Curse of Ernulphus.
The next feature was Hofsós, a scattered settlement, with its chapel, first a pagan temple and then a Catholic church; it is marked by a hill rising bluff above the Unadalr (“Wone” or dwell vale), a little stream which accounts for the term “oyce.” A mile or so farther south lies Grafarós, and here we anchored, after a pleasant cruise of fourteen hours from Borðeyri. This comptoir, chosen by Mr Henderson of Glasgow, is very badly placed: the norther raises a surf which can make landing impossible for a fortnight, and, as we could see, the south wind at once breaks the Skagafjörð into dangerous waves. Surely safe ground could be found under the lee of the grand Thórðar-head.
July 3.
Apparently the rule in Iceland is, that a fine day brings foul weather, and July 3 was no exception. As we rose, a solid bank of rain stood high in the north, and presently the Storm-King rode forth, beating down the white heads of the angry billows. It was Ahriman waging eternal war with Hormuzd; the battle of Osiris and Typhon; the war of Baldur and Loki. In the course of the day, the gale forged round almost to the south, and the alternations of mist, drizzle, and bright sunshine formed an Ossianic framing highly appropriate to the picture: like the Scottish Highlands, it would have looked ridiculously out of place under an Italian sky.
The Skagafjörð is held to be one of the most picturesque, as well as fertile and populous, districts in Iceland, wanting only the “hair of the earth animal”—wood. The firth, a riverine sea-arm, ten miles broad, is the embouchure of that formidable stream the Jökulsá Vestri (western), which, like the Blandá or Blandwater, drains the central Hofsjökull—the southern face, Arnarfellsjökull, discharging the much more important Thjórsá. Flowing from south to north, before feeding the bay, it bifurcates, forming a delta known as Hegranes (Hern-naze) Island, and famed for beauty. On both sides, rugged and precipitous shores are divided by ravines and valleys which, after an hour’s rain, pour turbid yellow streams into the dull-green receptacle. The southern part of the western bank is subtended by the Tindastóll (peak-host), a well-known name: older travellers talk of “precious stones, probably opals,” being found in abundance among its ravines, of onyx, zeolite, and chalcedony, and of “caves containing curious crystals.” To the north and south, the wall-coping is broken and jagged; the middle length shows straight and regular lines, with numerous strata symmetrically piled.
The eastern shore of Skagafjörð, near the anchorage-ground, is of black sand and shingle, with columnar basalt in places, and capped by a long bare “Melbakki” some seventy feet high: its background rises in detached hills and lines of bluff, counter-parts of the Tindastóll in miniature, and copiously streaked with snow. The regular steps and stratified lines here dip to the north.
The bottom of the firth disclosed a grand landscape of sky. Now a glint of sunshine settled upon snowy top and glaucous slope, then a white mist robed and capped the shadowy mountains, catching the reflection of Bifrost, the bridge of the gods, a fragment of gaudy rainbow. Anon a span of pale-blue firmament contrasted with the mackerels’ backs and mares’ tales to windward; whilst to leeward the dark curtain of purple cloud, hanging in rugged edges over the red and black hills, made the distances dim, dimmer, and dimmest. The inevitable accompaniments of this feature were the ghostly forms of pale birds fighting with the wind; the âmes perdues which attract the voyager’s eye on the beautiful Bosphorus.
We landed to inspect the “one-horse” settlement of Grafarós, which consists of a small temporary landing-place, a tarred store, sundry stone-and-peat huts, and a double-storied red house flying a flag; a few farms are scattered about inland, as well as on the shore. A single schooner lay at anchor. North of the comptoir, and forming a bay in the bare raised bank, is the “ostium” of the Deildardalr (dole-dale)[86] river, a tenth-class Icelandic stream, which, despite its low degree, can look first-rate in violence. There is a ford near the settlement, but elsewhere the water courses over a succession of steps and ledges, which would deter anything but that wild horse who is known to swim the wilder flood. By this time we had seen enough of “Hofs,” and we contented ourselves with strolling up the warm and genial valley, a bed of violets.
Grafarós was formerly, and is still at times, frequented by English smacks in search of whale and seal oil. These cockle-shells, manned by four and five men, the “little friggits” of our ancestors, not larger than the Icelandic “sharker,” work their course by dead reckoning and often come to grief. It is the terminus of our voyage, and we could only regret that the “Jón” had not orders to make a circuit of the island—regrets tempered, however, by the thought that we had seen by far the fiercer and the more interesting half. No better or easier way than this to form a general idea of the formation; it requires only supplementing by a few cross-cuts through the interior.
The students had all left us, and here our now pleasant party broke up. The bishop’s daughter and her two friends had the choice of riding some twenty miles round the Skagafjörð head, or of crossing it by boat, an easy process which, however, did not seem to have charms for them. We bade affectionate farewell to Síra Guttormr, whose beat is from Rípr (the crag) in Helganes to Keta near the north-eastern extremity of the Húnavatn peninsula—he seems to look upon it as a mean place. The reverend has no pay, properly so called, and his “living” is expressed by the contributions of his parishioners: truly a man must have a vocation for such a life!
Late in the afternoon the “Jón” turned his head northwards, and on July 6 steamed into Reykjavik harbour. We shook hands with our excellent captain, and heartily wished him every success, and bade an adieu which was destined to be an au revoir.
This is indeed a Cockney trip, but a visit to Iceland without it would be much like Dante’s Commedia with the Inferno omitted.
Mr Chapman and I determined to secure comparative novelty by a “hysteron proteron,” beginning with the “Cope” and ending with the Gusher and the Thingplain Lake.
We hastily collected the small quantity of harnoys de gueule absolutely required—man eats less when travelling, and more when voyaging. Our stores represented a ham, one serving for one mouth per month; a couple of sausages, to be avoided when thirst is threatened; four loaves of rye-bread (each 6 lbs. = one man per week); snuff, cigars, and pigtail for friendship; small change for £5; and, lastly, two mighty kegs of schnapps, the load of one-twelfth our carriage. The Fylgjumaðr (leader) was Paudl (Páll) Eyúlfsson, before mentioned as the “French guide;” our Lestamaðr (“last” driver) was “Smalls,” alias Sigrbjörn Björnsson, fourteen years old, and four feet nothing: we are careful to see that they do not monopolise the very best of the eight riding-horses. We ourselves at once become Martednn (Marteinn) Kaupmansson and Ríkarður Burtonsson; and thus having borrowed as much local colouring as possible, we leave, nothing loath, the hard-soft bosom of semi-civilisation.
Spurring hotly over ground now familiar (July 8, 1872), we delayed a few minutes at Foss-vogr to inspect the “sedimentary and sandstone stratifications,” found so interesting by older travellers in a purely volcanic island. They suggested, in early times, to daring spirits that granite might not be Plutonic, and they made the devil-may-care doubt even the eruptive origin of basalt. The travels of Von Waltershausen have settled Foss-vogr and its Palagonite.
There was nothing to keep us at Hafnafjörð, after a longing glance at the “Jón Sigurðsson,” which lay in harbour. A man happened to mention that the one herd of reindeer still haunting this part of the island had been lately seen; it was not our fate to sight them.
At four P.M. we inspected the Kaldá—an exceptional feature. Rising from a little tarn in the northern flank of the lone hill Helgafell, it winds westward down a shapely river-valley. Half of the stream suddenly disappears in a hollow of the right bank, a little below the farm crossed by the high road or path, and the remainder follows suit about two miles farther down. The feature suggested a limitation of the accepted dictum, “Calcareous rocks are almost the only ones in which great caverns and long winding passages are found.” This is true of water-made passages, where carbonic acid has dissolved the limestone; the cooling of the upper lava crust has the same effect in Plutonic formations. The course of the Kaldá is very badly traced in the great map; nor does the latter show where the lower stream reappears.
The next feature of importance was the Lángahlíð, a stepped and buttressed block of trap like Esja, the Akrafjall, and the Skarðsheiði. A tolerably regular triangle to the south-west, it acts bastion to the great lava-plateau which extends from the Thingvallavatn, and our morrow’s ride will subtend its southern flank. Immediately below the western slopes, which are regular, lies the Kleifavatn (cliff-water),[88] a lake of intensely gloomy shore. The dark waters, ending south in a swamp, were lashed by the wind into mimic waves, and the shores were grisly masses, standing and fallen, of dark Palagonite, a conglomerate of small and large breccia, easily washed into gaps and clefts, arches and caverns. I could not but remember the Lake of Hums so similar, and yet so different, under the glowing Syrian sky; the picturesque contrasts of cultivation and desert contrasting with the lava-bound water, and the memory-haunted stream which once found a mouth at Rome—
Cutting across a hill-brow we sighted a tall, white plume whose fibrils, causing many a cough, suggested the end of this day’s march. The Icelandic traveller who has not read “The Great Sulphur Cure” of Dr Robert Pairman, often lands with the idea that inhaling sulphur-vapour is unwholesome, as the sulphuric acid and the sulphuretted hydrogen are decidedly unpleasant: he soon corrects the impression, finding the people of the two great brimstone centres exceptionally healthy. The Krísuvík diggings are upon a line of volcanic hills, running from north-north-east to south-south-west, and their irregular and tormented flanks contrast sharply with the monotonous Lángahlíð wall, rising opposite them. The “Ketill” (caldron) of Krísuvík, a huge “corrie,” whence the puffs come, lies high up: the four “Brennisteins Námur” are low upon the eastern flank, with the little blue pond, Grænavatn, farther to the south. The scene is that of solfataras generally, a distempered land of disordered cuticle, bright red, brass-yellow, slate-grey, pink, purple, pale green, brown-black, and leprous white; the water is milky and slimy, and even the dwarf willow and juniper cease to grow. “Exhalations of sulphurous acid, sulphuretted hydrogen, steam, and sulphur, burst in wild disorder from the hot ground.”[89] Martednn looked at Ríkarður, and vice versâ; both had expected not a single block, a mere patch, but a sulphur region to be measured by many square miles.
We passed two huts, one of iron, the other of wood, with ore-heaps lying around them, and, scrambling through a bog, we rode up to the Krísuvík chapel and the three-gabled farm-house of a little widow, Mrs Ingveldr Hannesdóttir. The district is tolerably populous; on the flanks of the various rises we counted five farms, fringed with haystacks, under sticks and turf, and white ponies dotted the long, swampy expanse, between the Krísuvíkfell, a lump north of the chapel, the Arnarfjall to the south-east, capped by a spitz or bec, and the long slope leading to the Krísuvíkurberg, the precipice some 200 feet tall which boldly faces the Deucaledonian main. Unhappily Henderson’s fine port is utterly absent; on the other hand, it is said that an easy line of tramway has been traced from the head of the Kleifavatn to Hafnafjörð.
The day’s work surprised us, we had not yet realised the shortness of the distances travelled over. This mild march also has been called a “maniac ride”—“one of the wildest in the world.” It is, however, only fair to own that we took the lake road, which is not laid down in the map, and that a few yards on either side of the way would offer as many difficulties as the horseman, however ambitious, could desire.
The steepleless chapel, which was not worse than that of Blúdán, had lost its key, and when the latter was found, the cabin proved a store and a lumber-room: clothes hung to the seats, milk stood to cream, and salt barrels cumbered the floor. A coffin, unfurnished, also stood on a beam: the idea underlying this premature precaution is that it prolongs the owner’s life. Here the chapel is the “mountain-stove” of Norway, the Indian traveller’s bungalow, and the Sind mosque in which Kafirs ate pork and drank wine. We pitched the tent near the byres, where broken bottles showed the habits of civilisation, and slept despite the normal evil, cold feet caused by riding in a hard head-wind. The frequent weary halts to adjust pack-saddles should be utilised for restoring circulation. “Les picotements sont plus incommodes que le froid lui-même,” justly remarks M. Gaimard’s expedition; and the French doctor advises the feet to be gradually warmed, or they will swell and cause demangeaisons, which prevent rest. Above all things avoid the Brazilian wrinkle, so valuable against damp in tropical climates—a glassful of spirits poured into the riding-boots. We must not leave the sulphur-field without some notice of the supply.
From Captain, now Commodore, Commerell’s Reports, dated Leith, July 9, 1857, we learn that “the mines of Krisuvik were worked from 1723 to 1730, with considerable profit; during that year, all the sulphur consumed in Denmark and Norway and the Duchies was obtained from there, but one of the owners, who had also been the director in Iceland, dying, the mines were abandoned in consequence.
“In 1833, a merchant of Copenhagen, a Mr Kenidzen, obtained one large cargo of sulphur from Krisuvik; the affair was managed through an agent or factor, whose mismanagement was the principal cause of failure, since then only a few tons having been taken by the peasants for home use.
“The actual extent of the sulphur beds it is quite impossible to calculate; but from Krisuvik to Hengill (the mountain mass south-west of the Thingvallavatn) forty-seven have been discovered, the distance of the latter (former?) place to Havnefiord (Hafnafjörð) is from fourteen to fifteen miles, but the road is much more hilly. The deposit of sulphur I personally saw at Krisuvik must amount to many thousand tons; hitherto the sulphur taken away has been reproduced in two or three years, all the mines, or nearly all, being in a living state. Sulphur in a pure state, I have little doubt, could be supplied at Havnefiord for £1 per ton.”
We are also told that “Dr Hjaltalín, an Icelander and mineralogist, who was ordered by the Danish Government to report on the sulphur beds, informed Captain Commerell that those at Krisuvik could be worked very easily, producing a large amount of sulphur, and as a speculation would pay very well indeed.”
I need not here enter into the history of the Krísuvík diggings since the date of Commander Commerell’s report, or during Mr Bushby’s concession. Suffice it to say that the concession has now been granted to Englishmen, and that Messrs Randall and Thorne, Curtis and Seymour, are the actual owners. Until 1873, I believe, nothing has been done in the working line—we shall hope to see more activity soon.
After expressing my surprise, as bound to do, at the smallness of the Krísuvík area, it is only fair to own that Commander Commerell’s third paragraph, if correct, is most hopeful. The supply which is puffed away in air can be controlled by walls and roofs, upon which the vapour would be deposited, and thus the period of renewal would probably be reduced from two or three years to the same number of months. As regards Dr W. Lauder Lindsay’s assertion that whilst crude Sicilian sulphur contains 80 to 90 per cent, of pure ore, and that of Krísuvík from 96·39 to 98·20, I am unable to pronounce judgment; but my suspicion is that severely picked specimens were used as averages.
Since my return from Iceland, Mr Charles W. Vincent, F.C.E., published in the Journal of the Society of Arts (January 17, 1873), a valuable paper “On the Sulphur Deposits of Krisuvik, Iceland.” It is here reprinted with his express permission: the importance of the subject will excuse its length, and the reader will exercise his undoubted right of “skipping.”
“The canton of Krisuvik, in the south-west corner of Iceland, has long attracted great interest, on account of its boiling mud caldrons, hot springs, and above all, its ‘living’ sulphur mines; these are all arranged in lines, evidently corresponding to the great volcanic diagonal line stretching from Cape Reykjanes to the Lake of Myvatn.[90] At the present time the greatest amount of volcanic activity is manifested at the southern end of this line.
“In the last century it was the northern end of the volcanic diagonal, near about Myvatn, where, according to the Icelandic records, the kind of pseudo-volcanic action was most vigorous, by which the boiling springs are set in operation and the sulphur deposits are formed; but a violent eruption of the mud volcano Krabla, to a great extent buried the then active strata beneath enormous masses of volcanic mud and ashes, so that the energy has been probably transferred along the line southwards.[91]
“The Krisuvik springs are in a valley beneath some high mountains. They are reached by a track, so narrow that there is no more than room to enable horses to pass along it—across the brink and along the side of a vast hollow, termed the ‘kettle.’ Following this rude track, the ‘Ketilstip,’ the summit of the range of hills, is reached which overlooks Krisuvik. In the midst of a green and extensive morass, interspersed with a few lakes, are caldrons of boiling mud, some of them fifteen feet in diameter, numberless jets of steam, and boiling mud issuing from the ground, in many instances to the height of six or eight feet. Sir George Mackenzie (who was accompanied by Sir Henry, then Doctor, Holland, now the President of the Royal Institution), in his justly-celebrated ‘Travels in Iceland, in 1810,’ gives a vivid word-picture of the scene. ‘It is impossible,’ he writes, ‘to convey adequate ideas of the wonders of its terrors. The sensation of a person, even of firm nerves, standing on a support which feebly sustains him, where literally fire and brimstone are in incessant action, having before his eyes tremendous proofs of what is going on beneath him, enveloped in thick vapours, his ears stunned with thundering noises—these can hardly be expressed in words, and can only be conceived by those who have experienced them.’[92]
“On the other side of the mountains subterranean heat is also manifested, and hot springs, accompanied by sulphur beds, are also found; but they have not been as thoroughly examined
as those in the valley, and are represented as being less active.
“Mr Seymour, who has spent many months at Krisuvik, tells me that the sulphur beds on this side have been submerged by the clays washed down by the winter rains, and are, for the most part, now completely overgrown with grass. On digging beneath the surface, however, the sulphur earth is found to be only a short distance down, and on analysis the percentage of sulphur in one bed, 116 yards long, running up the side of the mountain, was discovered to range between 64 and 65·5. Here the earth was completely cold, and all further deposition of sulphur appeared to have ceased.
“In the valley itself the springs are not always visible at the surface, being so completely covered by the earth that it is only by piercing through the crust of indurated sulphur earth, that their presence is discovered. Sometimes the explorer is made unpleasantly aware of the insecure nature of his footing by falling through, and thus opening up a fresh thermal spring. The late Sir William Hooker, when visiting this place, in endeavouring to escape a sudden gust of strongly odorous vapour, jumped into a mass of semi-liquid hot earth and sulphur—and but for his presence of mind, in throwing himself flat upon the ground, would have sunk to a considerable depth; as it was, the difficulty of extricating himself was very considerable.
“The surface of the ground is covered in many places with a crust of two to three feet in depth of almost pure sulphur; and in the valley, where the steam jets are protected from the extreme violence of the wind, the sulphur is deposited tolerably evenly over the whole surface. If it were not for the ever-varying direction of the wind, the sulphur would, Captain Forbes is of opinion, be precipitated in regular banks, but it hardly ever falls for twenty-four hours in one direction, the wind capriciously distributing the shower in every direction.
“It has been suggested by those who wish to utilise the immense sulphur-producing power of this wonderful locality, that chambers should be erected (Sir George Mackenzie), or walls built up (Dr Perkins), by which means the force of the wind being broken, the sulphur would be quietly floated to the ground, instead of being carried up the sides of the hills, and thus more widely distributed.
“With little variation the general appearance of the ‘solfataras’ over the space of twenty-five miles along the volcanic diagonal is much alike: an elevation about two feet high and three feet in diameter, which is composed of a dark-bluish-black viscid clay, forms a complete circle round the mouth of a medium-sized spring. The water is sometimes quiescent, and sunk about two feet within the aperture; at other times it is ejected, with great hissing and roaring noise, to the height of from five to eight feet. At all times clouds of steam, strongly impregnated with sulphuretted hydrogen and sulphurous acid gas, issue from the orifice, both of which, during an eruption of the water, are greatly augmented in quantity. From the dark coloured and elevated margin of the fountain the yellow crust of crystallised sulphur extends a great distance in every direction. Columns of steam ascend from numberless points in the whole district, which are thus impregnated; and thus it is that, apparently for ages past, sulphur has been gradually heaped up in this locality till there are actually hills, which, as far as they have yet been pierced, show sulphur earth to be their main constituents. Hence they have acquired the name of the Sulphur Mountains.
“The soil is of different colours, but most generally white. It is, in the vicinity of the springs, a viscid earth, less plastic than clay, and more readily broken.
“When excavations are made into this earth, it is found to be composed of multitudinous layers, of different colours or shades of colour, each layer being quite distinctly divisible from those above and below it, though frequently no more than an inch or two in thickness.
“It is much to be regretted that the good example set by Olafsen and Povelsen of investigating the nature of the earth’s crust round about the solfataras, by piercing the soil, has not been more frequently carried out. In the summer of last year one of the suggestions which I made for the instruction of an expedition to this place, was that boring implements should be taken out and extensively used; but accident prevented the necessary appliances being forthcoming at the right time. I believe, however, that one of the chief features in the expedition which is to set out in March, will be the thorough examination, to as great a depth as practicable, of the strata in various parts of the Sulphur Valley.
“The spring chosen by Olafsen and Povelsen as the subject of their first experiment, was one which had made its appearance since the preceding winter, and which was just beginning to be surrounded by other mud springs and jets of steam. The ground was still covered with lovely verdure, and charming flowers were abundant, even at the very verge of the caldron of hideous hue and odour. A short distance from this opening they established their boring apparatus. The sequence of the layers was as follows:
“1. Three feet of reddish-brown earth, of a fatty consistence—of the ordinary temperature; at the bottom heat was perceptible to the touch.
“2. Two feet of a firmer kind of earth, nearly the same in colour as the first layer, unctuous to the touch.
“3. One foot of a lighter kind of soil.
“4. Five feet of a very fine earth of different colours, the first two feet being veined red and yellow, with streaks of blue, green, red, and white intermingled. The lower portion of this earth was somewhat firmer than that which covered it. The heat of this thick bed was so great that the soil extracted by the auger could not be handled until it had been for some time exposed to the air.
“5. One foot of a compact greyish-blue earth.
“6. In tapping this bed, which was four feet nine inches in thickness, and consequently at a depth of about twelve feet, water was first met with. It was found by comparison that the level of the water in the boiling mud spring coincided at this time with that of the water thus discovered. The heat was now very great, and a constant hissing and bubbling could be heard as proceeding from the bottom of the hole which had been made.
“7. Nine inches of greyish-blue earth.
“8. One foot six inches of a similar unctuous earth, containing many small white stones. This was the hottest layer of any yet pierced; the buzzing, humming noise was now much louder than before.
“9. Three feet of the same kind of clay, but much harder and more compact; this layer was also full of small, round, white stones.
“10. Six inches of a violet tinged earth, very greasy to the touch. In this bed the heat sensibly diminished.
“11. One foot six inches of red and blue clay intermingled. The heat continued to diminish very fast.
“12. One foot of reddish-looking clay, the temperature remaining about the same.
“13. Six inches of yellow and red clay.
“14. One foot of a greenish coloured earth, much less coherent than the previous layers. Here the heat again began to increase.
“15. One foot six inches of blue clay, filled with small pieces of white tufa. This bed was much hotter than either that above or that below it.
“16. One foot three inches of soft blue clay.
“17. Nine inches of an earth, easily pulverised when dry, which, whilst moist, was of a violet colour; on exposure to the air, however, this rapidly changed to a chocolate brown. The heat was again augmented as the centre of the bed was approached.
“At thirty-two feet the full length of the boring implements was used up; but from the set of the country in the vicinity, the experimenters believed they were close upon basaltic rock, when the heat probably ceased.
“In digging for the peculiar kind of brown coal which they call ‘surturbrand’ (a kind of fuel very much resembling Irish bog-oak, which can be used for like purposes), the inhabitants frequently go as deep as twenty-eight feet. They report that before reaching this depth they frequently pass through three or four beds of blue, yellow, and brown clay, and almost invariably find that the layers of blue clay are much hotter than any of the other strata.
“A second trial of the soil was made in the neighbourhood of some recent springs, farther to the east. The activity of the agencies at work here appeared to be greater than in the former case, and to have been longer in operation. The whole surface was thickly covered with sulphur, in a finely-divided state; there was much gypsum, and a large efflorescence of feathery alum. Thousands of very minute holes were discoverable on close examination, through which continuous jets of steam, sulphuretted hydrogen and sulphurous acid gases were emitted.
“An attempt was made to dig with spades; but the soil was found to be so hot, whilst the footing was at the same time so insecure, that it could not be persisted in. A spot some distance farther off was therefore pitched upon, where the earth was firmer and colder. The borer pierced through six feet of blue clay with great facility, the lowest portion being extremely hot. After this depth the earth became rapidly softer, at the depth of seven feet the same peculiar bubbling noise before noticed was heard. Continuing to bore, the bottom of the hole appeared to be in a state of ebullition, a boiling liquid being ejected in the narrow space around the handle of the auger with extraordinary violence, and no sooner was the tool withdrawn than a thick black fluid was ejected from the orifice to the height of several feet. A short time afterwards the jet ceased, the subterranean fire appeared to have expended its fury, but it soon recommenced with redoubled activity to dart forth fresh jets of steam and black, muddy water, continuing to boil and dance with but slight intermission. It appeared, therefore, evident that the result of this experiment was the premature formation of a fresh hot spring, which would otherwise have been, perhaps, a considerable time in forcing its way to the surface.
“It is somewhat to be regretted that no one amongst the numerous eminent men, men accustomed to experimental investigations and acute observers, who have since traversed this region, should have investigated the question of the origin of these hot springs and sulphur deposits from the point of view which was thus displayed by these careful and painstaking philosophers.
“The phlogistic theory being generally accepted in their day, and the chemistry of the earths and metals being in a very undeveloped state, we cannot now accept to its full extent the explanation they put forth of these phenomena; but the facts they disclose appear to me to be of the highest value, and to afford a clue which, if carefully followed, may lead to discoveries of much importance in the domain of volcanic energy.
“The conclusion they drew from their investigation is, that the hidden fires of Iceland dwell in the crust of the earth, and not in its interior; that the boiling springs and the mud caldrons certainly do not derive their heat from the depths of our globe, but that the fire which nourishes them is to be found frequently at only a few feet below the surface, in fermenting matters, which are deposited in certain strata.
“By their theory the gases from the more central parts of the earth penetrate these beds by subterranean channels, and so set up the chemical action, producing fermentation and heat, these channels also forming the means of intercommunication between the separate sites of activity, and equalising and transferring pressure.
“To return to their facts. They further observed that the heat is invariably found to be greatest in the blue and bluish-grey earth; that these earths almost always contain sulphuric acid; that they contain also sulphur, iron, alum, and gypsum; and lastly, that finely-divided particles of brass-coloured pyrites are visible throughout the whole of the beds when heat exists.
“Sulphuric acid is found in the hot beds above and below that which is the hottest, but this latter manifests no acidity that is sensible to the taste.
“Sulphuretted hydrogen is continually evolved from the clays containing the brass-coloured pyrites. Silver coins dropped into a hole made in these strata become rapidly reddened, and brass becomes quite black if held over it for a short time.
“Lastly, not only does the heat increase and diminish in various successive layers of the earth, in the neighbourhood of the active springs, but the locality of the heat, as might be expected from their previous observations, travels very considerably in different years.
“The solfatara of Krisuvik, with the mountains about it, is shown in the accompanying sketch by M. Eugène Roberts. It appears from afar to occupy the place of an ancient crater, but, as we have already seen, it is not near the crater, about the centre of the drawing, but at a considerable distance from the old volcanic centre, that the thermal springs and sulphurous exhalations have their present origin.
“Wherever they may have been previously, the springs are now situated between two mountains, the one Badstofer, on the right, originally composed of lava, the other, Vesturhals, on the left, of basaltic formation. Both, by the action of the thermal springs, are undergoing a process of disintegration and reconstruction.
“The kind of hills which form the solfataras, properly so called, increase in extent day by day; by the addition to the disintegrated rock of sulphur and of sulphurous and sulphuric acids.
“The yellow sulphur earth contains about four per cent. of free sulphuric acids; sometimes a little free hydrochloric acid, and a variety of sulphates, as might be supposed. Treated with distilled water, the filtered solution reddens litmus strongly; on addition of acetate of lead a flocculent precipitate is produced, which, when heated with carbon, disengages sulphurous acid.