Chapter VI: Chapter on Our Scandinavian Ancestors 293 (6)

The fourteenth, A.D. 1823, began on the 1st and ended on the 26th July. The phenomena were, as usual, chiefly water-floods, showers of ashes, slight earthquakes, and vivid lightnings, which latter struck several persons. Only one farm, Solheimar, was destroyed, and comparatively little damage was done elsewhere; altogether the eruption was one of the mildest and most innocuous hitherto recorded of Kötlugjá.

These glimpses of the recorded volcanic history of that one spot on which we now gaze, will convey to the reader some idea of the terrific visitations to which the islanders are exposed; even when there are not lava streams licking up rivers, pastures, farms, and people in their fiery floods, filling up whole valleys or rushing out into the sea and forming capes, hissing, the while, louder than the Midgard Serpent, which encompasses the whole earth.

* * * * *

White fleecy clouds come and go, at times muffling the summit of these jökuls, which are deemed the most picturesque in Iceland, if we except Snæfell on the west coast, and Oræfa on the south-east.

After passing the Westmanna islands and the east-most mouth of the Markarfliót river, which sweeps round the north and west sides of Eyafialla Jökul, the south-east mountain ranges, on which we have long been gazing, begin; the general character of the coast, north of this point, having been low like the Guldbringu syssel. This district has been rendered classic ground, as the scene of Njal’s Saga,[29] and we only wish it were permitted us to land and visit Bergthorsknoll and Lithend, to cross the rivers, scamper over the plains, or scale the Three-corner mountain. It is now clear, and one can take in the general character of the whole district at a glance.

The colour of the sea now assumed a light green aspect, broken here and there by white crested waves. Snow patches lay on the rugged purple hills; these, again, were touched with lines of intense fiery gold, actually excandescent. Sea-birds flitted past like white gleams; and, altogether, the scene, flooded with golden light, presented a magnificent study of colour. I made jottings of the outlines, tints, and atmospheric effects, for a water colour drawing; to be painted “some day”—that unattainable period when so many things are to be done, but which ever recedes from us like the horizon line; luring us on and on, and cheating us from day to day with a vague phantom shadow of

“Something evermore about to be.”

The Skogar-foss—force or waterfall—yonder, falling sheer over the rock cliffs into the sea, gently sways to and fro in the wind. It falls from so great a height that it appears to lose itself in vapour or dust, like the Staubach. There is an old tradition that an early colonist—Thrasi—before dying, buried a chest of gold and jewels in the deep rock-basin into which this magnificent sheet of water tumbles.[30]

Sun-gleams rest on the snow-mountains and play on the ice of the glaciers. These are very numerous near the coast, the ice being generally of a light whity-green colour and corrugated in wavy lines.

As the weather is clear and bright, we see the coast near Portland to more advantage than on our first approach to the island. The wild fantastic promontories, rock-islets, and needle shaped drongs—serrated, peaked and hummocky—resemble the ruins of old castles and cathedrals. The likeness of one of them to Iona, already remarked upon, is now even still more apparent. Behind these rocks is a low range of hills, beyond which rise the jökuls.

The summits of these mountains are white with perpetual snow. The shoulders shade downwards into pale green ice, which terminates abruptly at the edge of a dark rugged precipitous line of rock that descends sheer into the valley behind the low range of hills next the sea. The precipice looked as if the sides of the mountains had, in some way, been sliced down, say from a third of their height, leaving the snowy summits and icy shoulders untouched.

Glaciers were formed, wherever the nature of the slope would admit of them. In some instances they seemed to approach the brink of the precipice and overhang it; but more frequently they chose places where rents, chasms, irregularities, or depressed spaces, occurring between any two mountains in the range, broke the wall, and thus afforded an incline plane all the way down to the valley.

Many whales continue to sport round the vessel, spouting up jets of water, tumbling about and showing the whole of their large tails. At times they leap nearly altogether out of the sea, and fall with a great splash. They often remain perfectly motionless for a considerable time. When diving down, both the rounded shape of the fish, and the peculiar parabolic motion with which it rises and falls, make the ridge of the back with its dorsal fins resemble the segment of a great black revolving disk, like a monster saw-wheel. Gulls, skuas, and pheasant-tailed ducks are flying about.

A lot of beer-drinking and meerschaum-smoking Danes are on board, going to Copenhagen. The smell of tobacco is felt everywhere, above, below, and at all hours. Their voices are frequently heard during the day calling for “snaps.” They consider a glass of this spirit indispensible for breakfast, and take it every morning to begin with. However, the hours passed very pleasantly on shipboard. The following

ICELANDIC STATISTICS

will interest the reader. From the last census—1855—we learn that the population of the island is 64,603; of that number 52,475 live by farming, and 5,055 by fishing, thus accounting for nearly three-fourths of the whole population. In exact figures the number is only 923 short of that proportion.

There were then in the island 65 persons deaf and dumb, and 202 blind. Curious to observe that, although there previously had been and again may be, there was not then a single watchmaker on the island. The extreme paucity of common tradesmen—less than 11 to the 1000—indicates a very primitive pastoral state of society amongst the islanders; home wants being generally supplied by home skill. The following table is constructed, from data contained in the census, to show at a glance the various occupations of the Icelanders, and also what relative proportion these bear to each thousand of the population.

Total numbers in Proportion to each
the island at 1000 of the whole
census in 1855. population.

Clergymen, professors and
teachers at the college, and
employés at churches 2,365 36.61

Civil officers 454 7.03

Do. out of office 140 2.17

Farmers who live by agriculture 52,475 812.27

Farmers who depend chiefly on
the fisheries 5,055 78.25

Tradesmen as follows:

Bakers 10 0.16

Coopers 35 0.55

Gold and silversmiths 80 1.24

Carpenters 61 0.94

Blacksmiths 80 1.24

Masons 6 0.09

Millers 4 0.07

Turners 8 0.13

Boat builders 38 0.59

Shoemakers 18 0.28

Tailors 27 0.41

Joiners 174 2.69

Saddlers 46 0.71

Weavers 20 0.30

Men who live by other
industrial occupations 103 1.59

Merchants and innkeepers 730 11.30

Pensioners, and people
living on their own means 356 5.51

Day labourers 523 8.09

Miscellaneous occupations
not classed 586 9.07

Paupers 1,207 18.68

Prisoners 2 0.3

——— ———

64,603 1000

There are only sixty-three native Icelandic surnames. Few people have got any; the custom is, after telling one’s own christian name, when asked whose son are you? to answer in old Hebrew fashion, son of, or daughter of so and so. There are 530 men’s christian names, and 529 women’s names in use; so that there need be no lack for choice of names in a large family. Many of them, slightly modified in spelling, are familiar to us, but chiefly as surnames, _e.g._ Kettle, Halle, Ormur, Gils, Olafur, &c.

The number of individuals bearing certain names, is all duly recorded in the last census. I note a few of them, from which the reader may infer that Casa’s droll extravaganza, depreciating the name John under its various forms, is as applicable to Iceland as to Italy; and that Sigridur, Kristin, and Helga, are favourite names among the ladies.

The figures in the following list indicate the total number of persons, in the whole island, who bear these respective names.

Andros, 136; Ausumunder, 125; Bjarni, 869; Einer, 878; Eiriken, 351; Gísli, 681; Gunnar, 150; Halldor, 428; Johann, 494; Johannus, 498; Jón, 4827; Magnus, 1007; Odin, 169; Olafur, 992; Thordur, 445; Thorwaldsen, 106 &c.

Female names:—Anna, 869; Elin, 438; Elizabeth, 194; Gróa, 269; Halldóra, 515; Helga, 1135; Johanna, 630; Kristin, 1615; Rosa, 269; Sigridur, 2641; Lilja, 120; Soffia, 182; Thorbjörg, 436; Sessilja, 326 &c.

* * * * *

Half-past 6 P.M. Looking back to Portland Huk, over the light-green sea with its white crested waves, the reddish brown fantastic islets, and the singular arched opening in the rock—Dyrhólaey—show distinctly and beautifully against the amber light of the horizon.

As we paced the deck, talking about the old Norse language—which is still spoken in Iceland as it used to be in the eighth and ninth centuries in Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, in the Orkney, Shetland, and Faröe islands, in the two northern counties of Scotland, and in other Scandinavian settlements along the British coast—Dr. Mackinlay remarked, that “so well had the language been preserved, an Icelander of the present day had no difficulty in understanding the most ancient writings of his country.” This can be said of no other tongue in western Europe.

To this—the very language of the Vikings—both the old lowland Scotch, and, at a further remove, our modern English, chiefly owe their directness, expressiveness, and strength.

Many words, which we now use with a secondary or restricted meaning, still retain their primitive signification in Icelandic. Thus the word “smith”—a contraction for smiteth—which with us is restricted to a worker in metals, in Icelandic still retains its old sense of handcraftsman. Hence the Icelander not only talks of a goldsmith as a guldsmidr, a silversmith as silfursmidr, but of a saddler as södlasmidr, a cooper as a koparsmidr, a shoemaker as a skórsmidr, a joiner as a trésmidr, a builder as a husasmidr, a printer as a prentsmidr, a blacksmith as a jarnsmidr, a cabinet-maker as a skrinsmidr, a watchmaker as an ursmidr, and, in a metaphorical sense, of a poet or ode-writer as an odarsmidr; just as the Anglo-Saxons talked of a warrior as a war-smidr.

Over a narrow strip of low sand-beach, the near snow-mountains and icefields, like frosted silver burnished in parts, now lie gleaming with dazzling brightness in the sun; coloured here and there with living gem-like streaks of opal, amber, crimson, and orange which glow yet more intensely, as if the snow and ice had been magically touched with an unextinguishable pencil of fire.

Portland point is left astern, and over it, dark clouds, of a leaden hue and ruddy edges, came down to within a short distance of the transparent glowing horizon. The coast-range and islets, off the point, are deep purple, relieved against a narrow golden belt of light below the leaden cloud. In it, hang motionless a few cloud streaks—light, fleecy, purplish gray—and, lower down, others of only a lighter amber than the pure ether in which they float.

The sea is of a light sap green; the level sun-glare slants across the wake of the steamer, and touches the crested waves; while a line of light, like a silvery mist, marks the edge of the sea, by running along the coast at the foot of the snow-capped hills. Sea-gulls flying about are following the vessel, and screaming with delight or expectation. All is a perfect study of colour—warm purples, glowing ambers, fiery crimsons, and cool greens—each heightened by neutral tints in the clouds, and crests of white foam, little more than a ripple, on the green sea. I walked the deck for two hours with the captain, and turned in at eleven o’clock.

_Friday morning._ We are passing Oræfa Jökul, which, by the latest measurement, rises 6,405 English feet above the sea level, and is the highest mountain in the island. It is an immense mass, covered with snow and ice, and exhibiting glaciers creeping down to the sea. Sometimes the internal heat of this volcano melts and cracks the surface ice-mail, so that it splinters and rushes down the sides as an avalanche of ice and water, filling up hollows and valleys. When in action it only ejects ashes and pumice; never lava.[31] By the side of the mountain is a gently sloping snow-field, with several pointed black peaks rising abruptly out of it. This field stretches away far inland. Dr. Mackinlay tells me that, from the land-side, Oræfa appears a double-peaked broad shouldered mountain; one of the peaks or ridges presenting a deep scarped side like that of Salisbury Crags.[32]

With but few interruptions, a chain of snow-mountains stretches across the island, from Snæfells Jökul in the west, to Thrandar Jökul in the east; while the central desert or plain, running across from sea to sea between this range and that on the south-east, is nearly 100 miles broad, from 2000 to 2200 feet above the sea level, and only 400 or 500 feet from the snow-line. The south-east corner of the island is an enormous unexplored snow or ice plateau, called Klofa or Vatna Jökul, of about 2400 square miles, chiefly covered with, or at all events surrounded by ranges of jökuls, over which Oræfa, the most southern jökul of this unexplored region and the king of Iceland mountains, keeps watch and ward.

Away to the north-west, bounding this icy region on the west, rises Skaptár Jökul, by far the most destructive volcano in the island.[33] And “in no part of the world,” remarks Dr. Lindsay, “are volcano phenomena on so gigantic a scale as in Iceland. In it there are lava streams fifty miles long, twelve to fifteen miles broad and six hundred feet deep. Portions of these streams sometimes form hills as high as Arthur’s Seat or Salisbury Crags; and such is the persistence of the heat, that rents in the lava have been found still smoking, or filled with hot water, so long as eleven years after an eruption. In no part of the world of the same extent, are there so many widely separate vents or foci—about twenty—of subterranean igneous action. The boiling springs which are most numerous, show of themselves that such action is going on under the whole island. The calculations of Professor Bischoff show, that the mass of lava thrown up by the eruption of Skaptár Jökul, A.D. 1783, was greater in bulk than Mont Blanc. A larger mass of lava by far, than was ever thrown out from a single volcano, at any time, in any part of the world.”

As a particular example of the ravages produced by these terrible convulsions of nature may give the reader a clearer and more vivid idea of their action, than any general description, we shall select the

ERUPTION OF SKAPTÁR JÖKUL,

in 1783; it having been not only very violent, but the one of which we possess the fullest and most authentic accounts.

“The preceding winter and the spring of that year had been unusually mild, and nothing seemed to foretell the approaching danger, till towards the end of May, when a light bluish fog was seen floating along the ground, succeeded in the beginning of June by earthquakes, which daily increased in violence till the 8th of that month. At nine in the morning of that day numerous pillars of smoke were noticed rising in the hill country towards the north, which, gradually gathering into a dark bank, obscured the atmosphere, and proceeding in a southerly direction against the wind, involved the whole district of Sida in darkness, showering down sand and ashes to the thickness of an inch. This cloud continued to increase till the 10th, when fire-spouts were observed in the mountains, accompanied by earthquakes. Next day the large river Skaptaá, which in the spring had discharged a vast quantity of fetid water, mixed with gravel or dust, and had lately been much swollen, totally disappeared. This incident was fully accounted for on the 12th, when a huge current of lava, burst from one side of the volcano, and rushed with a loud crashing noise down the channel of the river, which it not only filled, but even overflowed, though in many places from four to six hundred feet deep and two hundred broad. The fiery stream after leaving the hills, threatened to deluge the low country of Medalland, when a lake that lay in its way intercepted it during several days. But at length the incessant torrents filled the basin, and proceeded in two streams, one to the east, where its progress was for a short time interrupted by the Skalarfiall, up which, however, the accumulating flood soon forced its way, rolling the mossy covering over the mountain before it like a large piece of cloth. The other current directed its progress towards the south, through the district of Medalland, passing over some old tracts of lava, which again began to burn, whilst the air in its cavities escaped with a strange whistling noise, or suddenly expanding, threw up immense masses into the air to the height of more than 120 feet. The waters of the rivers, swollen by the melting of the Jökuls in the interior, and intercepted in their course by the glowing lava, were thrown into a state of violent ebullition, and destroyed many spots spared by the fire. In this district, the liquid matter continued to flow to the 20th of July, following principally the course of the Skaptaá, where it poured over the lofty cataract of Stapafoss, filling up the enormous cavity the waters had been hollowing out for ages. During the whole of this eruption, the atmosphere was filled with mephitic vapours, or darkened with clouds of ashes, by which the sun was either concealed from the miserable inhabitants, or appeared like a blood-red globe, adding to their terror and consternation.

“The molten elements had so long confined their fury to the Skaptaá, that the inhabitants of the eastern district on the Hverfisfliot, though much incommoded by the showers of ashes, hoped to escape its more immediate visitations. But on the 28th of June, a cloud of sand and smoke caused so thick a darkness, that in the houses at noon, a sheet of white paper, held opposite the window, could not be distinguished from the black walls, whilst red-hot stones and dust burnt up the pastures, poisoned the waters, and threatened to set fire to the dwellings. On the 3d of August a thick vapour rising from the Hverfisfliot, the entire disappearance of its waters, and a foaming fire-stream, which on the 9th rushed with indescribable fury down its bed, overflowing the country in one night to the extent of more than four miles, converted the fearful anticipations of the natives into dreadful realities. The eruptions of sand, ashes, pumice, and lava continued till the end of August, when the volcano appeared completely exhausted; but flames were still seen in February, 1784, and thick clouds of smoke, even in July of that year. The whole catastrophe closed in August with an earthquake of such extreme violence that men were thrown to the ground.

“The immediate source whence this enormous mass of matter issued is entirely unknown, being situated in that great central desert of sand and snow which none of the natives have ever penetrated; and no traditions of any former occurrence of this kind have been preserved. Some persons who went up into the mountains during the continuance of the eruption were, in consequence of the thick smoke, compelled to return, and some subsequent attempts met with no better success. It is not even known whether the current that flowed from the Skaptaá and that in the Hverfisfliot proceeded from the same crater; it is, however, probable their sources were different though closely connected.

“The extent of the lava can only be accurately known in the inhabited districts. The stream that flowed down the Skaptaá is calculated at about fifty miles in length, by twelve or fifteen at its greatest breadth: that in the Hverfisfliot at forty miles in length by seven in breadth. In the narrow channel of the Skaptaá it rose to 500 or 600 feet; but in the plains its extreme height does not exceed 100, and in many places is only eight or ten feet. From its immense thickness, it was a long time in cooling, being so hot in July 1784, twelve months after the eruption, that Mr. Stephenson could not cross it, and even then sending up a thick smoke or steam. In the year 1794 it still retained an elevated temperature, emitting vapours from various places, and many of its crevices being filled with warm water. This long retention of heat will appear more extraordinary, when we consider the numerous globular cavities and fissures it contained, permitting a free circulation of the water and atmosphere.

“The destructive effects of this volcano were not confined to its immediate vicinity, vast quantities of sand and ashes being scattered over the remoter parts of the country, and some were conveyed to the Faröe islands, a distance of nearly 300 miles.[34] The noxious vapours that for many months infected the air were equally pernicious to man and beast, and covered the whole island with a dense fog which obscured the sun, and was perceptible even in England and Holland. The steam rising from the crater, or exhaled from the boiling waters, was condensed in the cooler regions of the atmosphere, and descended in floods that deluged the fields and consolidated the ashes into a thick black crust. A fall of snow in the middle of June, and frequent showers of hailstones of unusual magnitude, accompanied with tremendous thunder-storms, tearing up huge fragments of rock, and rolling them down into the plains, completed the scene of desolation. The grass and other plants withered, and became so brittle that the weight of a man’s foot reduced them to powder; and even where the pastures seemed to have recovered, the cattle refused to touch them, dying of actual starvation in the midst of the most luxuriant herbage. Small unknown insects covered many of the fields, while other portions of the soil, formerly the most fertile, were changed by the ashes into marshy wastes overgrown with moss and equiseta. A disease resembling scurvy in its most malignant type attacked both men and cattle, occasioned in the former no doubt by the want of food, and the miserable, often disgusting, nature of that which alone they could obtain. Many lived on the bodies of those animals which had perished from hunger or disease, whilst others had recourse to boiled skins, or substances still more nauseous and unwholesome. The numerous earthquakes, with the ashes and other matter thrown into the sea, caused the fish to desert many parts of the coast; whilst the fishermen, seldom daring to leave the land enveloped in thick clouds during most of the summer, were thus deprived of their usual stock of winter provisions. We cannot better conclude this frightful catalogue of evils, than by the following summary of the numbers of men and cattle more or less immediately destroyed by it in two years. The most moderate calculation makes these amount to 1300 human beings, 19,488 horses, 6,801 horned cattle, and 129,937 sheep.” Stephenson makes these numbers still higher and says, “9,336 men, 28,000 horses, 11,461 cattle, and 190,488 sheep.”[35]

Fine dust and vapour from this terrific eruption overspread Asia, Europe, and America during the whole summer. Franklin speculated on the cause of this haze, and Dr. Mackinlay reminded me that Cowper, who frequently refers to it in his letters, has, in the second Book of the “Task,” a beautiful allusion to it, and also to the earthquake in Calabria which occurred nearly at the same time as the Skaptár eruptions:

“Fires from beneath, and meteors from above,
Portentous, unexampled, unexplained,
Have kindled beacons in the skies; and th’ old
And crazy earth has had her shaking fits
More frequent, and foregone her usual rest.
Is it a time to wrangle, when the props
And pillars of our planet seem to fail,
And Nature, with a dim and sickly eye,
To wait the close of all?”

A.D. 1784, the year after the outbreak of Skaptár, which left the whole island in mourning, was almost as memorable for earthquakes, not only in Iceland, but in many parts of the world widely separated from each other, as 1755 had been in connection with the eruption of Kötlugjá.

Most of the Icelandic mountains are volcanic, and, from the native history, we learn the frequency with which they have manifested this character. Let us glance at the following brief sketch of their

VOLCANIC HISTORY,

chiefly compiled by the author of “Iceland, Greenland, and the Faröe Islands.”

Of these mountains, this writer says, “most of them seem now to be in the state of intermittent activity, in which more or less violent paroxysms occur at intervals of longer or shorter duration; and, but for the uncertainty of these periods, we might consider some as in a state of complete repose. These alternations of movement and rest seem common to the separate members and to the whole system; there being many years in which the island remains undisturbed, whilst at other epochs it appears as if entirely devoted to the fury of contending elements. The most terrible of the volcanoes known in ancient times were Hekla, Oræfa-Jökul, and the Kötlugjá; to which have recently[36] been added Krabla, Leirhnukr, and Skaptáfells, which commenced only in the 18th century. The earliest record of such an occurrence is that of Eldborg,[37] in the western part of the island, said to have happened in the 9th or 10th century. This was followed by the eruption from the mountains in Guldbringu syssel in the year 1000, at the time when the althing was deliberating as to the reception of the Christian religion. In the 11th century Hekla appeared in a state of violent commotion, which extending, in the middle of the 12th, to many others, devastated the land from north to south, and was accompanied by destructive earthquakes. In the beginning and at a later period of the 13th century, the south-western quarter was particularly excited; whilst in the middle of the succeeding one, the island was desolated by the most terrible convulsions, concluding in 1391 with a violent earthquake, felt over the whole country. From this date till the beginning of the 16th, the volcanoes were comparatively quiet; but at that period, and in the end of the century, they raged both in the south and the north. The 17th was again an interval of repose, in which only the southern ones were active; but the eighteenth age proved that their energies had undergone no diminution, by eruptions even more violent than those of the fourteenth. Between 1720 and 1730 the same mountains were in incessant action, accompanied by earthquakes; whilst in the north, Krabla and Leirhnukr began their devastations. In the years 1753 and 1755 the Skeidará and Kötlugjá Jökuls poured out every variety of volcanic matter. In 1766 Hekla again commenced, and the destructive outbreak of the Skaptár in 1783 closed these frightful scenes. From that time till 1821, with the exception of some slight agitations, and probably a few inconsiderable eruptions in the desert part of the country, no displays of volcanic action occurred.”

Eyafialla Jökul continued in eruption from A.D. 1821 till 1822. In July 1823 it again began to burn. In the same month Kötlugjá, covered nearly 100 miles of ground with sand and ashes. “In July 1825, both sides of the island were visited by earthquakes, accompanied by destructive hurricanes and floods; whilst on the 13th of February 1827, there was an eruption of the Skeidará Jökul.”

The subjoined list of Icelandic volcanoes, with the dates of their eruptions, is transcribed from the same source, and presented to the reader, not by any means as complete, but as the best to which I at present have access. It will aid him in realizing the fearful results of these terrific energies so frequently at work.

“Hekla, 1004, 1029, 1105, 1113, 1157, 1206, 1222, 1294, 1300,
1340, 1374, 1390, 1436, 1510, 1554, 1583, 1619, 1625, 1636,
1693, 1728, 1754, 1766.

Guldbringu Syssel, 1000.

Eyafialla Jökul, 1821.

Solheima Jökul, about 900, 1245, 1262, 1717.

Kötlugjá or Myrdals-Jökul, 894, 1311, 1416, 1580, 1625, 1661,
1721, 1727, 1755, 1823.

Skaptár-Jökul, 1783.

Sida-Jökul, in tenth century, and in 1753.

Skeidarár-Jökul, 1725, 1727, 1827.

Oræfa-Jökul, 1362, 1720, 1727, 1755.

Hnappafell’s-Jökul, 1332, 1772.

Heinaberg’s-Jökul, 1362.

Trolladynger, 1151, 1188, 1340, 1359, 1475, 1510.

Herdubreid, 1340, 1510, 1717.

Krabla, and Leirhnukr, 1725-1730.

Grimsvatn, 1716.

Eldborg, end of ninth or beginning of tenth century.

Submarine eruption, Breida fiord, 1345.

Submarine Reykjanes, 1211, 1226, 1238, 1240, 12—, 1340, 1422,
1583, 1783, 1831.”

Here are records of nineteen vents and seventy-seven
eruptions. “These have occurred in about ten centuries, or,
on an average, one in thirteen years. The most violent
paroxysms seem to have occurred in 1340, 1362, 1725-1730,
and 1754-1755. To complete this view of internal activity,
we may add, that the following years were distinguished by
violent earthquakes; 1181, 1182, 1211, 1260, 1261, 1294,
1300, 1311, 1313, 1339, 1370, 1390, 1391, 1552, 1554, 1578,
1597, 1614, 1633, 1657, 1661, 1706, 1755, 1784, 1789, 1808,
1815, 1825.”

-----

Footnote 18:

“Iceland, Greenland, and the Faröe Islands,” p. 37.

Footnote 19:

Since our visit, there has been another eruption of Kötlugjá in 1860,
the particulars of which have been collected by Lauder Lindsay, Esq.
M.D., F.L.S. &c., and published in the Edinburgh “Philosophical
Journal” for January. From his interesting and admirable scientific
paper, which treats the subject largely, we learn that this eruption,
like that of 1823, was “mild and innocuous.” It began on the 8th, and
continued to the 28th or 29th of May, and was preceded for several
days by earthquakes. On the morning of the eighth a dark cloud was
seen to rise from the mountain, which at the same moment sent forth an
enormous flood of water, with very large pieces of ice, running with
the water-stream into the sea. Some of the pieces of ice were so large
that they were stranded at a twenty fathom depth in the sea. On the
12th of May the flames could be seen from Reykjavik, although this
town is no less than about eighty English miles distant. During the
evenings flashes of lightning were seen in the same direction. On the
16th May, the smoke was about twenty-four thousand (?) feet high; it
was sometimes of a dark colour, but at other times it resembled steam.
At this time the fire was seen from several places at a distance of
about 80 English miles. The wind being northerly during the eruption,
the sand and ashes fell chiefly in Myrdals-sand, which was the
direction also taken by the water-floods. Sulphur was found floating
in the sea, and the fish disappeared from certain parts of the
neighbouring coasts. A large quantity of cinders was mixed with the
water-floods. Cinders and balls of fire, as well as smoke, were thrown
up; but the cinders and ashes, from being carried by the wind partly
into the sea and partly to the neighbouring snow-fields, did
comparatively little damage to the lowland farms; although the
well-known devastations of former eruptions, especially those of 1665
and 1755, gave rise to extreme alarm and the most serious
apprehensions among the poor inhabitants.

Footnote 20:

Longest interval.

Footnote 21:

Shortest interval.

Footnote 22:

Most important eruption.

Footnote 23:

‘In estimating the seriousness of such a loss, it is necessary to bear
in mind that the hay harvest is, so far as the vegetable kingdom is
concerned, the _only_ harvest in Iceland; and that hay is almost the
sole provender for horses, sheep, and cattle during three-fourths of
the year.’

Footnote 24:

Founding his statements on the manuscript of the Surgeon Sveinn
Pálsson, and on Horrebow’s Natural History of Iceland—p. 12: London
1758.

Footnote 25:

From the Greek επι and ζωον—a term applied to diseases among animals;
_e.g._ _murrain_, in which cattle are preyed upon by parasites.

Footnote 26:

‘The celebrated agitation of the waters of our own Loch Ness occurred
contemporaneously with the great earthquake of Lisbon, here also
referred to.’

Footnote 27:

Stukesley’s “Philosophy of Earthquakes,” 3d ed., London 1756, 8vo, pp.
9-30.

Footnote 28:

“Journal of a Tour in Iceland in the Summer of 1809,” 2d ed., 2 vols.,
London 1813, by Sir William Jackson Hooker, K.H., D.C.L., L.L.D., &c.,
the present distinguished Director of the Royal Botanic Garden at Kew.

Footnote 29:

See Dasent’s admirable translation of “Burnt Njal,” since published.

Footnote 30:

Mr. Brynjúlfsson had the following lines—intimating the hopelessness
of searching for the treasure concealed below—repeated to him, when
recently visiting the locality. They are thus literally rendered by
him into English.

“Thrasa kista audug er “Thrasi’s chest wealthy is
Under forsi Skoga Under foss of Skogar;
Hver sem thángad fyrsti fer Whosoever thither first goes
Fiflsku hefir nóga.” Foolishness has enough.”

Footnote 31:

There was a slight eruption of this mountain on March 23, 1861, which
only lasted a few days. The smoke and sulphurous gases which it
exhaled tarnished metal at 50 miles distance.

Footnote 32:

See illustration, p. 160.

Footnote 33:

See illustration p. 134, where Skaptár is represented as rising in the
distance, over a hill-range on the other side of a level plain, which
in the wood-cut resembles and might be mistaken for water.

Footnote 34:

This also happened during the eruption of Hekla in 1693.

Footnote 35:

“Greenland, Iceland, and Faröe,” pp. 38-42: chiefly abridged from
Stephenson’s “Account of the Eruption,” published at Copenhagen in
1785, which will be found translated in Hooker’s Journal, vol. ii.,
124-261. See also Henderson, vol. i., pp. 272-290; and Gliemann, pp.
107-109.

Footnote 36:

Second ed. published in 1841.

Footnote 37:

Should be Kötlugjá. A.J.S.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE EAST COAST. BREIDAMERKR—SEYDISFIORD.

Sailing north-east along the coast, we see the Breidamerkr ice-plains, and the mouth of the river Jökulsá, which is only a mile or two long. Dr. Mackinlay informs us that the most dangerous rivers in Iceland are the shortest. They spring, full formed, from the bosom of the thick-ribbed ice. The Jökulsá, which crosses Breidamerkr-sandr, is one of the most dreaded of these. It springs from Breidamerkr-Jökul, which, however, is not a snow-mountain, but only a high field of ice projected southward into the plain from the great snow-range to the north. Some years it is eight or ten miles from the sea, in others only one; the length of the river varies accordingly. It is half a mile broad. Sometimes this river gets dammed up, then bursts from caverns of ice with a noise like thunder, carrying along with it masses of ice with uncontrollable fury to the sea. Sunshine melting the ice swells such rivers more rapidly than rain. The near view of this cold icy region—so dreary, lone and still—made one almost feel cold, although the sun was bright and the thermometer, at noon, stood at 100 degrees.[38] The dazzling whiteness of the snow and the ice-blink, made our eyes ache. It was literally

“A waste land where no one comes
Or hath come since the making of the world.”

As we approach Hornafiord the character of the mountains changes; instead of great white massive ranges, many isolated, sharp-pointed, rugged peaks, called horns, now rise. They are almost free from snow, and of richly varied tints, chiefly lilacs and browns, glowing in the sunshine.

The general character of the mountain-ranges at this point, and indeed along the entrances to the fiords of the east coast, as far as Seydisfiord, resembles Goatfell and the Holy Island in Arran—firth of Clyde—only it is higher, wilder, even more serrated, and, in addition, exhibits many curious fantastic pointed rocks or _drongs_. Fleecy clouds often rested on the peaks, or rolled, incense-like, among them.

The western half of the island is diversified by a great network of lakes, on whose lonely waters, Dr. Mackinlay remarked, “thousands of milk white swans sport in the summer sunshine,” while the eastern half is broken up by isolated volcanoes whose smouldering fires are capped with snow.

The western coast is scooped out into two enormous gulfs, the Faxa and Breida fiords; while that portion of the east coast, to which we have referred, viz.: from Hornafiord to Seydisfiord, is all along closely indented with little fiords or arms of the sea. These run inland for a distance of from ten to eighteen miles, and average say about two miles in breadth. They are separated from each other by lofty mountain ridges, such as we have described, running far out into the sea, and ending in sheer precipitous headlands or lofty horns. Let the reader lay his hand flat down on this page with his fingers stretched apart, let him then suppose each of the fingers to represent a mountain range, and the interspaces fiords, and he will be able to form an idea of the way in which the coast is indented. At Reydar and Berufiords, these ridges appear to be about 2000 feet high, with many sheer precipices, half that height, from which a stone could be pitched into the sea. It will thus be seen, that the fiords are shut in on both sides by steep mountain ridges like walls of rock, the summits of which are often veiled in dark clouds, and in some places are covered with perpetual snow. These rocky heights are as bare as if they had newly been splintered—not a tree or shrub on their sides—and the lone stillness of the fiords is only broken by the wild “water lapping on the crag,” the cataract roaring and leaping down rock gulleys, or the streamlet trickling down the broad stair-like ledges of the trap, dripping from step to step like a white glassy fringe. These fiords appear to have been rents formed when the island was first heaved up; and, where the arm of the sea terminates, they are continued further into the interior as green valleys down which rivers flow. In places where mountain-tracks are utterly impracticable, these river-courses serve for bridle-paths in passing from one valley or fiord to another.

The tender herbage affords delightful pasture for sheep; fish, chiefly cod, are to be had in abundance in the fiords, and the streams abound in trout. Vessels can sail up and find sheltered havens in which to lie, thus affording water carriage for the exchange of commodities, and bringing the advantages of the coast to the interior.

In the country one never meets anything approaching to a village. It is a populous district where you see a farm in a valley, another group of turf hovels, called a _thorpe_, a few miles further up, and perhaps, a homestead of some kind perched on the green slope of a neighbouring hill-side. Should there be, in addition to these, a black wood building near the edge of the water, with a white flagstaff before it—it is a merchant’s factory and gives to the place the importance of a market-town.

It was now between 2 and 3 o’clock in the morning, but as the sky was clear and lovely, and we were sailing along a coast, the striking features of which, although singularly picturesque, we had never seen described in books, I remained on deck most of the night, and only, from a forced sense of duty, lay down for a short time without undressing.

These fiords on the east coast are very similar in character; most of the features we have noted being common to them all. I shall therefore simply enumerate, in their order, the names of those we passed between Hornafiord and Seydisfiord, a distance of about 100 miles, for the first 75 of which the steamer’s course lay north-east, and for the remaining 25 nearly due north:—Skardsfiord, Papafiord, Lonfiord, Altafiord, Hamarsfiord, Berufiord, Stödvarfiord, Faskrudsfiord, Reydarfiord, Nordfiord, and Mjofifiord.

On Saturday morning, between 5 and 6 o’clock, we entered Seydisfiord, sailed up to the head of it and dropped anchor, having now reached the extreme point of our destination.

This lonely fiord on the north-east of Iceland, is land-locked like Lochgoil or Teignabraich in Scotland. The valley at the head, with hills on either side, makes a bend to the north, so that there are high hills all round us. Those on the south—our left hand side—sweep round, forming an amphitheatre, till they are apparently met by those of the north-side; the fiord is thus shut in on the west, and the continuation of the valley, beyond it, shut out.

The hill-sides are terraced with sixteen or eighteen trap-steps, which run in regular horizontal layers and yet further complete the resemblance of the head of the fiord to a great amphitheatre. From these steps, water, glassy-white, may be seen trickling down, every little way, all round; with here and there a mountain cataract which has made a deep gully for itself. The hill-range on the left, which sweeps round and bounds the view, is capped with a series of singular rocky cones, occurring at regular intervals, and in shape resembling the chimneys of a glass work. They are mottled with snow-patches; mist streaks float athwart them; while in the west, not only those chimneys, but the top of the ridge itself is now hid from view, muffled up in dense clouds which form the curtain of the amphitheatre. A river flows into the fiord from the valley, which, although green and yielding a hay-crop, is marshy and much in want of draining. From the sloping nature of the ground, this could easily be done at little expense, and would, we doubt not, prove a highly remunerative investment.

Near the beach are three stores, or factories as they are called; two belong to Danes, and the other to Mr. Henderson, one of the owners of the _Arcturus_, who has been here for sometime but is going south with us to-night. The factories are one-storey houses, built of wood. A traffic in produce, chiefly fish and wool, is carried on with the farmers, whose sod-covered dwellings are sparsely scattered along the neighbouring coast, or in valleys above the fiords. Customers are sometimes attracted from much greater distances; we saw long strings of ponies riding down water-courses, and crossing the shoulders of bare hills where one would think there was scarcely footing for a goat.

Before breakfast Dr. Mackinlay and I had a swim in the fiord, and found the water much warmer than we anticipated; indeed, it was pleasanter in this respect than the last bath I had in the sea at Teignabraich. We then breakfasted with Mr. Henderson, who gave us a most cordial welcome. The steamer was several days later in arriving than the time he had expected her, so that he had almost begun to despair of her ever coming for him, and was conjuring up gloomy visions of being obliged to winter here, and fancying all sorts of things. Now, for him, all was changed and bright. I tried to masticate a bit of raw dried stock-fish, which the Icelanders commonly use, eating it as we do bread. I also tasted “snaps,” of which the Danes are so fond, for the first and last time; it seemed like a mixture of gin and kirchen-wasser, flavoured with coriander seed. The breakfast before us was a most substantial one, there being no lack either of welcome, which is the best of cheer, or of mutton, fish, beer, coffee, milk, and stale black rye-bread. Be it remembered that this breakfast was neither Icelandic, Danish, nor Scotch; but, exhibiting some of the characteristics of all three, seemed marvellously adapted to our present requirements in this distant habitat.

We stepped into the store, and saw exposed for sale hardware and soft goods of all kinds. In a corner were standing lots of quart-bottles gaudily labelled “essence of punch,” whatever that may be. Mr. Henderson showed me some specimens of double refracting calc, or Iceland spar, which is obtained in the neighbourhood. It only occurs in one place of the island, filling a fissure of greenstone from two to three feet wide and twenty to twenty-five feet long, on the north bank of the Reydarfiord, about a thousand feet above the sea level. There, a cascade rushes over the rock, bringing down fragments of the spar from time to time. The mass itself gets loosened, bit by bit, through the action of frost on the moisture which enters edgeways between the laminae, wedging them apart in the direction of the cleavage of the crystals. Transparent specimens more than a few inches in size are rare and valuable. Mr. Henderson presented me with a beautiful large semi-transparent chalcedony weighing 1 lb 7 oz., and some pebbles.

His partner, Mr. Jacobson, an Icelander, also gave me a young raven to make a pet of. It was this year’s bird and quite tame. I called it Odin; and, having got hold of an old box, improvised a door from a few spars, that it might have a sheltered place to roost in at night till it got to the end of its voyage.

I now wandered up the valley, for an hour or two, alone, and sat down on a slope, on the right side of it, to look around me and rest. The river, near where I sit, flashes down over a steep rock and forms a fine waterfall, the roaring of which is echoed from the chimney-capped amphitheatre of hills opposite. Beneath the fall, it flows peacefully along, runnelling and rippling on, to the blue fiord, through the quiet green valley. White streamlets of water trickle down the trap hill-sides, every forty or fifty yards; the whole producing a continuous quiet murmur or undertone, not unlike that from the wings of an innumerable swarm of gnats playing in the sunshine on a warm summer’s day, but ever broken in upon by the clear liquid tinkle of the streamlets nearest us, heard drip, dripping, with a clear metallic sound which might be compared to the chirp of the grasshopper. This solitary glen, now lying bathed in light, is fanned by the gentle breeze, fragrant with the smell of tedded hay, and richly variegated with wild flowers—harebells, butter-cups, wild thyme, cotton-grass, and forget-me-nots—a gathered bunch of which is now lying beside me on a moss-cushioned rock. Quietly musing here on all, of strange or new, I have seen since leaving home, and dwelling more particularly on the great kindness I have received at all hands, I feel grateful to God, who has hitherto opened up a way for me and given me friends amongst strangers wherever I chanced to wander.

We saw specimens of surturbrand, which crops out on the top of a steep mountain, at the mouth of the fiord, on the north side, and obtained a few more geological specimens and plants.

After dinner, I strolled for a quarter of a mile up the valley with Mr. Henderson and Dr. Mackinlay, to visit the farm behind the store. It consists of a group of hovels, the walls are stone and turf, the gables wood, and the roofs covered with green sod. The entrance is a dark muddy passage leading into a ground-floor apartment as dark and muddy, where, in winter, cattle are kept. The kitchen is a dirty, smoky, sooty hole, with fish hanging in it to smoke and dry; a pot of seal-blubber stands steaming in a corner. The fire is raised on a few stones above the floor, like a smithy-forge; while there is a hole in the roof for the smoke. Picking our way through another long passage, dark and dirty, we found a trap-ladder and ascended to a little garret, where I could only walk erect in the very centre. The apartment was floored and fitted up with bunks all round the sides and ends. In these box-beds, at least seven people—men, women and children—sleep at night, and sometimes a few more have to be accommodated. The little windows in the roof are not made to open, and no regard whatever is paid to ventilation. Dr. Mackinlay prescribed for an old man we found lying ill in this abominable fetid atmosphere, where his chances of recovery were very slight. He was an old farm servant about whom nobody seemed to care anything.

In a little apartment shut off from this one, and in the gable portion of the building which in this case constitutes the front of the house, an old woman at the window sits spinning with the ancient distaff,[39] precisely as in the days of Homer.

To amuse the farmer’s daughters I showed them my sketches, with which they seemed much interested.

I understood part of their remarks, and could in some degree make myself understood by them, with the few Danish and Icelandic words I kept picking up. On receiving a little money and a few knick-knacks, they, all round, held out their hands and shook mine very heartily. This, the Icelanders always do, on receiving a present of anything however trifling.

After sketching the farm-house, I took two views of Mr. Henderson’s store; one of them from a height behind, looking down towards the fiord, and the other from the brink of it, looking up the valley. In the latter, a part of the same farm-house appears, and thus indicates its exact position.[40] With the assistance of these three sketches taken together, the reader will be enabled to form some idea, of the appearance presented by this arm of the North Sea.

SEYDISFIORD, BY FARÖE TO LEITH

We sailed from Seydisfiord at half-past six P.M. on Saturday night, direct for the Faröe islands.

There is a singular cone-shaped mountain called Brimnæs Fjall at the mouth of the fiord, showing masses of clay-rock alternating with and pushing up trap, which is deposited in thin layers of perpendicular structure. Several pillars or shafts are left standing singly on the very summit, and present a very curious appearance, distinctly relieved against the amber light of the sky. At Dr. Mackinlay’s request I made a sketch of it.

A vessel of Mr. Henderson’s, which had been given up as lost, now unexpectedly came in sight, which necessitated Mr. Jacobson and a young Iceland lad, who were _en route_ to Copenhagen, to get on board her and return to Seydisfiord to look after her cargo, evidently much to their disappointment.

The wild scenery of the coast, especially at Reydarfiord, was strikingly picturesque.[41]

Mr. Murray, Professor Chadbourne, Mr. Henderson and I walked the deck till a late or rather an early hour, and watched the fast receding mountain-ranges of Iceland—pale lilac, mauve, or deep purple—and the distant horns, shading through similar tints from rose to indigo, all distinctly seen athwart the golden light of the horizon which for hours has been ebbing slowly and softly away, but is now on the turn, and about to flow again.

_Sabbath, August 7._ The weather is fine; no land or sail in sight all day; whales playing about the ship. Had many pleasant deck-walks and talks, and several quiet hours, sitting perched on the stem, reading, or watching the prow, below, cutting and cleaving through the clear green water like a knife.

_Monday morning, August 8._ We are sailing between two of the Faröe islands, bright sunshine lighting up all the regularly terraced trap-rocks, caves, and crevices of this singular group.

I have now got a pet to look after, and, without Shakspere’s authority for it, we know that

“Young ravens must have food.”

The last thing I did last night was to shut _Odin_ in his box, and the first thing this morning to let him out again and give him the freedom of the ship. The bird knows me, is pleased when I scratch his head, and confidingly runs hopping to me for protection when the boys about the ship teaze him more than he likes. His fellow traveller, a young Icelandic fox brought on board at Reykjavik to be sent to the Marquis of Stafford, also runs about the ship during the day. At first we had some misgivings on the subject; for

“Treason is but trusted like the fox—
Who ne’er so tame, so cherished, and locked up,
Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.”

However, these fears were soon dissipated; for _Odin_ can hold his own, and when the fox, approaching furtively, uses any liberty with his tail feathers, he suddenly gets a peck from the bird’s great formidable beak, which he does not seem much to relish. The salutary fear continues for a short time, is forgotten, and again the dab comes as a reminder. We were often greatly amused, watching their individual habits and droll ways, when the one intruded upon the other. It was half play, half earnest, a sort of armed neutrality with a basis of mutual respect.

On the west coast of Stromoe is the roofless ruin of the church of Kirkuboe. It was begun in the twelfth century, but never finished. It is built of stone, has five large windows and several small ones below; a little farm house or hut, with red tiles on the roof, stands near it. What a strange lonely place for a church! Thorshavn lies on the other—the east—side of the island. It is only five miles distant as the crow flies, but as we have to sail round the south point, and Stromoe is twenty-seven miles long, we do not reach it till near noon.