Chapter VI: Chapter on Our Scandinavian Ancestors 293 (5)

The three lost ponies, that strayed from the Geysers, have just come in. I see them now scampering before the guide and passing the waterfall of the Oxerá, which thunders over the black rock-wall, about half a mile from the descent into the Almannagjá. The fall looks like a square sheet of burnished silver from the sacred Lögberg or Hill of Laws, on which I now sit writing, entrenched and moated round with deep volcanic chasms about two-thirds filled with clear water.

Skialdbreid—or Broadshield—Jökul, to the north-west, is mottled towards its base with black patches, but its summit and flanks are lit up with pure roseate light. Armannsfell, one of a range nearer and more to the north, is of a dark rich venetian red colour touched with bronze and exhibits a living glow, an effect I have never elsewhere seen equalled or even approached. Whereever the light falls, all is transfigured and glorious beyond description; yet there is no approach to hardness, either of line or tint, but an atmosphere of subduing softness, transparency, and purity, magically invests everything with an etherial spiritual beauty: such effects are peculiar to Iceland.

Having made a sketch of the lake, I retired to rest, the last of our party. We slept, without undressing, in our old quarters—on the floor of the pastor’s parlour.

_Tuesday morning._—Rose between five and six o’clock, and went out to gather ferns—_aspidium_ or _crystoperis_—on the Althing. The scene around was singularly wild, and yet strikingly picturesque in its desolate strangeness; while the tender green of the valley itself afforded a refreshing rest to the eye. On returning I made a sketch of the priest’s house;[13] examined the site of the little church which was being re-erected; strolled down by the river side, and performed my ablutions in it—laying my clothes in the priest’s fishing coble, which was lying hauled up on the bank.

I then paused at the simple churchyard close by, and tried to conjure up life and heart histories for those who had entered this “Saula-hleith”—or soul-gate, as the churchyard is beautifully named—while hymns were being chanted over them, and who were now resting peacefully beneath the green sod.

Conversation with the pastor was again attempted to be carried on in Latin. His morning salutation was “bonus dies,” or other remarks about the weather, as with ourselves. After squaring accounts, on leaving, we gave him—as a _nimbus_ for the rix-dollars—a mediaeval “pax-vobiscum,” in exchange for his many expressions of good-will towards us, and his rounded classical “vale!”

The glebe hay was being tedded, but the ground here as elsewhere is covered with little hummocks. Were it only levelled and drained, the soil, one would think, should raise turnips in quantity, and, certainly, larger hay crops would be obtained. During the short summer there is not time for the grain to ripen; but food suitable for cattle might readily be grown in the valleys; for it is chiefly by the rearing of stock, that Iceland, when she can muster the requisite enterprise and activity, will, in all probability, advance to commercial prosperity.

After sketching the gorge of the Almannagjá—see illustration, p. 81—we ascended it, crossed the lava plateau, and rapidly retraced our steps to the capital, only pausing now and again to take a sketch.

Over the last part of our journey, from the river which we forded just below the farm house on the hill, to Reykjavik, we rode like the wind—men and horses alike eager to get to the end of their journey. Our entry into the town was a regular scrimmage. It was a quarter to three P.M. when we got in, having done the distance from Thingvalla in six hours. By this time we had ceased to wonder at any feats performed by the ponies. Seldom, if ever, disconcerted, they go at anything in a most patient philosophical manner, and get over difficulties which elsewhere one would think insurmountable, and sheer madness to attempt. Thanks to mackintosh overboots—made specially for the purpose—at the end of the journey, I was the only one of our party whose feet were dry.

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Footnote 6:

“Di rado
Incontra, me rispose, che di nui
Faccia il cammino alcun per quale io vado.” L 19-21.

Footnote 7:

Pronounced Tingvatla.

Footnote 8:

In the same way a river in Perthshire is called Bruar; evidently from
the natural rock-bridge by which it is spanned.

Footnote 9:

Dr. Black’s analysis of the Geyser water is—

Soda, 0.95
Dry Sulphate of Soda, 1.46
Muriate of Soda, 2.46
Silica, 5.40
Alumina, 0.48
───────────────────────────
10.75

Footnote 10:

From the specific gravity of the globe, taken in connection with the
increasing ratio of heat as we descend from the surface, it is
calculated that all metals and rocks are melted at a depth of thirty
miles below the sea level, and that the fluid mass is chiefly _melted
iron_; while the temperature would indicate somewhere about 4000°
Fahrenheit.

Footnote 11:

The specimens nearly all became red before they got home, and Dr. R.
Angus Smith, F.R.S. &c., has since fully confirmed my surmise as to
the origin of the colours.

Footnote 12:

See Olafsen’s Reise, th. ii. p. 138-140. Finnsen’s Efterretning om
Tildragelserne ved Bierget Hekla. (Copenhagen 1767). Barry’s Orkney
Islands, p. 13; quoted by the author of Iceland, Greenland, and the
Faröe Islands, pp. 30-1.

Footnote 13:

See illustration at p. 84.

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

REYKJAVIK.

Mr. Bushby invited us to dine with him at the hotel, and Dr. Mackinlay kindly gave us his room to dress in.

How oddly things sometimes turn up! We saw lying on the floor a box of “Brown and Polson’s Patent Corn Flour,” which at once suggested two very different, although not incongruous, trains of ideas; one, the contrast between the hurry and bustle of railway stations in Britain, where the corn flour is everywhere so extensively advertised, and the primitive locomotion of Iceland, in which not a single steam engine has been erected; and the other, associating the beautiful locality where the flour is made—near Paisley, at the foot of “the Braes of Gleniffer” celebrated in song by Tannahill, one of Scotland’s sweetest minstrels—with some of the loveliest scenes we had lately witnessed. For here, are we not in the land of Eddas and Sagas! and is not the Poet found singing wherever there are human hearts!

A gentleman told me, that having obtained permission, he had, that afternoon, caught seventy trout in the salmon river—three of them from his pony’s back; he had only to throw the fish over his head on the grass behind him, as fast as he could whip them up. He had seen a fisherman get 130 at one haul of the net. I saw the manager of the fishery, an active intelligent Scotchman, whom, from his appearance, one would take to be the mate of a vessel. He told me he had been three years in Iceland, and had some of his family here with him.

Mr. Bushby procured us several specimens of double refracting Iceland spar, obtained from the other side of the island. It polarizes light, and is valuable in various ways, both to science and the arts.

Mr. Murray and Mr. Cleghorn set out after dinner to visit the sulphur mines of Krisuvik; I, on the principle of letting well alone, preferred remaining at Reykjavik to undergoing the fresh fatigue of such a ride immediately after the Geyser journey. Three of us spent the evening, by invitation, at the Governor’s—the Count Von Trampe. I had a long conversation with him in German, during which he mentioned that all the old Saga and Edda MSS. had been removed to Copenhagen; and, in answer to sundry enquiries, told me that the “lang spiel” is the only Icelandic musical instrument now in use. It is something like a guitar or banjo, has four strings, and is played with a little bow. The airs now played are chiefly Danish dance music, and other foreign melodies.

The Icelanders, like the natives of Madagascar, have adopted the music of our “_God save the Queen_” as their national air. The words to which it is sung were composed in the beginning of the present century, by the late Biarni Thorarensen, Governor of the northern province of the island, when he was a student at the university of Copenhagen. The song is called “Islands Minni,” or the “Remembrance of Iceland;” and finely illustrates the intense love of country displayed by Icelanders, who, wherever they may travel or sojourn, always sooner or later return home though but to die; for to them, as their own proverb has it, “Iceland is the best land on which the sun shines.” We here give the words of this national song, which, calling up in foreign lands memories of sweet home, is no less to the Icelander, than is the _Ranz de Vaches_ to the Swiss when far away from the one chalet he loves best in the world, perched, it may be, on the lofty mountain side, or lying peacefully in some green sunny valley.

ISLANDS MINNI.

I.

Eldgamla Isafold,
Astkæra fósturmold,
Fjallkonan fríd!
Mögum thín muntu kær,
Medan lönd girdir sær
Og gumar girnast mær;
Gljár sól á hlíd.

II.

Hafnar úr gufu hér
Heim allir girnumst vér
Thig thekka ad sjá;
Glepur oss glaumurinn,
Ginnir oss sollurinn,
Hlær ad oss heimskinginn
Hafnar slód á.

III.

Leidist oss fjall-laust frón,
Fær oss opt heilsutjón
Thokulopt léd;
Svipljótt land synist mér
Sífelt ad vera hér,
Sem neflaus ásynd er
Augnalaus med.

IV.

Ödruvís er ad sjá
A thjer hvítfaldinn há
Heid-himin vid;
Eda thær krystalls ár,
A hverjar sólin gljár,
Og heidar himin-blár,
Há-jökla rid.

V.

Eldgamla Isafold,
Astkæra fósturmold,
Fjallkonan fríd!
Agætust audnan thér
Upp lypt, bidjum vér,
Medan ad uppi er
Oll heimsins tíd![14]

From the literal prose-rendering into English which follows, the reader will be able to gather how beautiful such thoughts must be, when clothed in the flowing rhythmic music of the original stanzas.

THE REMEMBRANCE OF ICELAND.

I.

Old land of ice,
Dearly beloved native land,
Fair maid of the mountains!
Dear thou shalt be to thy sons
As long as land is surrounded by sea;
As men love women;
Or sun-gleam falls on the hill-side.

II.

Here, from the midst of Copenhagen’s smoke,
We all yearning after home
Long, dear one, again to behold thee.
The noisy din irks us;
Revelry tempts us in vain;
And the fool jeers contemptuously at us
In the streets of Copenhagen.

III.

We are tired of a mountainless land;
We are constantly losing our health
In this smoky thick atmosphere;
I find this country everywhere
To be destitute of fine features,
A land like a face without nose,
And even without eyes.

IV.

How different it is to see
Thy high-peaked head-dress of snowy white[15]
Reaching the cloudless sky;
Or the crystal rivers
Which sparkle in the sunshine;
And the bright blue heavens
Over the jökul’s brow.

V.

Old land of ice,
Dearly beloved native land,
Fair maid of the mountains!
The best luck attend thee
Ever, we pray,
As long as shall last
All the years of the world!

One or two old Icelandic airs linger amongst the people, but are seldom heard; and as there was—so I understood the Governor to say—no musical notation to hand them down, little reliance can be placed on their accurate transmission.

I was introduced to the Compte d’Ademas of the _Artemise_ frigate, an officer who speaks English well. He is Lord Dufferin’s cousin. There were several other French officers present. After leaving the Governor’s, we called for M. Randröp, the state’s apothecary, who received us in the wonted hospitable Icelandic manner. Madam Randröp kindly played to us on the piano-forte “Robin Adair,” “Cheer Boys,” “Fin chan dal vino,” “Hear me, Norma,” a Danish dance, and an Icelandic song. Her two daughters, the Misses Müller, are learning English, and her son is going south by our steamer to attend the university at Copenhagen.

The _Arcturus_ having left the bay and gone somewhere for cargo, and the few bedrooms upstairs at the hotel being all occupied, as it was late, we resolved to sleep down stairs on the narrow sofa-seat which runs round the assembly room.

Through a large door, that opened into the billiard-room, came the loud clicking of ivory balls, noisy vociferations from the French sailors, and strong fumes of tobacco; notwithstanding which, we somehow contrived to fall asleep, and knew no more till the morning, when we beheld blue-eyed flaxen-haired Thea, the maid-of-all-work, standing before us. She was clad in a close fitting dress of home-made stuff, wore the common little jaunty black cap with its silver ornament and long silk tassel flowing down at the side of her head, and her waist-belt was covered with richly-wrought filigreed bossy silver ornaments.

She brought in a cup of coffee and milk and a biscuit, depositing them on a little table which she placed beside my long narrow couch. This good old Norse custom is called “the little breakfast;” and, from the experience of years, I can testify that in no way does it interfere with or spoil the regular breakfast which follows, while the benefit at the time is undeniable.

Then followed water, soap and towels, indicating that we were expected to get up; and as breakfast was to be served in the apartment where we lay, Thea’s hint was speedily taken.

After breakfast I called for Mr. Sivertsen, who procured for me some coarse mits, made with two thumbs but no finger-divisions. These are the customary wear of the fishermen, who, when the line cuts the one side, are thus enabled to turn them and use the other. I also obtained a curious snuff box like a bottle,[16] made of walrus-tooth; a collection of stuffed birds, with a large black skua, a pair of Richardson’s skua-gulls, a pair of jer-falcons, an eider duck and drake, a puffin, an arctic gull, and a pair of pheasant-tailed ducks among them; also silver bracelets and brooches of exquisite workmanship. These trinkets are made of Danish dollars by native silver-smiths, who have certainly arrived at great proficiency in their art.

I found that the few English Testaments I had brought with me to give away, were greatly prized by those who were acquiring our language; the cheapest edition of the New Testament in Icelandic costs between three and four shillings.

Last night Captain Launay, of the _Agile_ French war brig, had called at the hotel and invited us to visit him, on board his vessel, to-day at 11 o’clock. At the appointed time we went down to the jetty and found a ten-oared boat waiting for us. Our party consisted of Dr. Mackinlay, Captain Forbes, Mr. Haycock, Rector Jonson and his daughter, Professor Chadbourne, and myself. We were kindly received and shown over the brig; everything on board was neat and clean; the sailors were, for the most part, diminutive in size, like Maltese, and, although lithe and agile, wanted the physical build and stamina of British sailors. The men were at mess and seemed to be well cared for.

In the captain’s cabin, cakes, bonbons, and champagne were produced, and we were entertained by the officers with that frank and graceful hospitality peculiar to the French. Captain Launay showed us collections of geological specimens from Faröe, from the east of Iceland, and also from the neighbourhood of Reykjavik; all kept distinctly separated, and laudably labelled as such specimens ever ought to be. He offered me what of them I wished, and then addressing Professor Chadbourne, added, “Take all, and leave me one, I am only an amateur”! He gave me some Faröese sea-weeds of his own preserving, and I also accepted one or two little geological specimens as mementos of a pleasant hour spent with one who is deservedly a favourite with all who know him.

The sailors, he told me, called him Captain Long-life, because he has been five years in the north without losing a man. His present crew is a hundred, but during that period, he has, one way and another, passed a thousand men through his hands. This happy result he attributes partly to the regular use of lime juice, which he flavours and renders palatable by mixing it with a little brandy or rum. The addition of the spirits adds nothing to its virtue, probably the reverse, but the sailors like it so, and are thus induced to take it. In many ships, he added, the men, if not watched, throw it over their heads into the sea.

A boat came alongside with an invitation from Captain Véron for us also to visit his frigate the _Artemise_. It has a crew of 250. The men were at mess between-decks; and, both seats and tables being swung, the perpendicular ropes made the whole look not unlike the floor of a great factory. An officer took me over the ship and through the stores. What an immense establishment is a war ship!

The French officers are well paid, and have a handsome allowance per day for mess, over and above their pay. On this station they have double pay, are put to little expense, consequently save money fast, and get leave of absence now and again to go home and spend it. Here we were again offered champagne but declined it; and, at half-past one P.M., were rowed ashore in a ten oared gig, much pleased with the kind frank attentions of all the officers.

When we landed I called for Mr. Sivertsen, and afterwards visited the library with Dr. Mackinlay. The Rev. Olaf Pálsson dean and rector of the cathedral, and Mr. Jón Arnason, secretary to the Bishop and also librarian, were there before us by appointment and kindly gave us every information we required. There were no manuscripts to be seen here older than the fifteenth century, and these were chiefly genealogies, or translations of mediæval tales or romances such as “Charlemagne.” We saw a fine folio edition of Snorro Sturleson’s writings, and hastily looked over the work on Iceland got up by the French expedition under Gaimard. It embraces views of places, natural history, manners and customs, costumes &c. Some views of localities we had visited were very good, but others were inaccurate and careless, being only modified compositions instead of faithful representations of the places indicated. Ere leaving, I received several original little works, in Icelandic, both from the dean and the librarian; those from the former were inscribed in English “with the author’s best respects;” and those from the latter with a legend of similar import in Icelandic.

As the althing or parliament, which ceased to meet at Thingvalla in A.D. 1800, was now assembled here, we went to see it. The place of meeting is an oblong hall in the same building as the college. You enter by the side, and see, facing you, a raised platform where the president and two or three officials sit at a table covered with papers and writing materials. Portraits in oil of the King and Queen of Denmark hung behind them. On two rows of seats, like school forms with simple spar backs, sit the members, forming an oblong square around the table; visitors find places outside this square. There are several writing desks and other conveniencies in the room.

The most of the deputies were sturdy intelligent looking men—peasant-farmers dressed in brass buttoned wadmal jackets, and wearing cow-skin shoes. On rising to speak, many of them expressed themselves in an animated manner, which seemed to us, with the aid of Mr. Brynjúlfsson’s explanations and interpretations, to be at once fluent, pointed, eloquent, and effective.

The population of Iceland is, as already stated, 64,603. Parliament meets every second year, and is composed of a deputy from each of the eighteen syssels or counties into which the island is divided, and six deputies, generally officials, nominated by the King. The members are elected by household suffrage, but, on account of the great distances, and the bad roads, few people care to vote. Dr. Mackinlay mentioned one case, at last election, where a member had only one single vote—and that his own!! This indifference to matters political, as contrasted with the stirring old times when the Althing was supreme—being then both deliberative and executive, “parliament and high court of justice in one”—may be accounted for, by the fact that it does not now possess legislative power. The result of its deliberations is merely a petition to the King, suggesting that certain things should be done; and only under certain circumstances, can they levy taxes or recommend them.

The island is divided into three governments, each government being in civil matters quite independent of the others. The governor or stiftsamptsman who resides at Reykjavik, is at the head of the civil administration, “conducts all public affairs, presides in the supreme courts of justice, watches over the execution of the laws, the collecting and expenditure of the public revenue, and, along with the Bishop, directs the school, and appoints the clergy” throughout the whole island. The governor is sometimes a native of the island, though oftener a Dane. “He continues in office five years, with a salary of about £300 per annum, and is entitled to promotion on his return to Denmark. Under him are the amptmen, of whom there ought to be four, but as the governor holds this office in the southern province, and the northern and eastern are united, there are only two others. These have the superintendence of the inferior officers, and nearly the same duties in their province as the governor exercises in relation to the whole island. Subordinate to them are the sysselmen or sheriffs, nineteen in number, who are empowered to hold courts, appoint justices of the peace and notaries, and to administer the laws concerning inheritances. They are chosen by the crown from among the principal proprietors in the district. Under these are the hrepp-stiorar or bailiffs, who assist the sheriff in preserving the peace and public order, and have at the same time, the charge of the poor.

“All causes civil and criminal, come in the first instance before the sysselman in the Heradsthing, one of which is held regularly, once in twelve months, though extraordinary sessions are also called. This court consists of the sheriff as judge, with four assistants named meddomsmen. The landfoged or steward, who is receiver-general of the island, and police-master of Reykjavik, holds a similar court in that town. From their decision there is an appeal to the highest tribunal, instituted in A.D. 1800, on the suppression of the althing, and which consists of the governor as president, who takes no part in the proceedings, a chief-justice, two assessors, a secretary, and two public pleaders. Cases are here decided according to the native laws, or Jonsbook, introduced in A.D. 1280, and the latter royal ordinances; and from their judgment the last appeal lies to the supreme court of Copenhagen. The high moral character of the people renders the last court nearly a sinecure,—not more than six or eight cases, public or private, occurring annually. The crimes are mostly sheep-stealing and small thefts, and the only punishments inflicted in the country are whipping or fines. Those condemned to hard labour are sent to Copenhagen; and a peasant, being capitally convicted many years ago, for murdering his wife, it was found necessary to carry him to Norway for execution.

“The taxes collected in the island, being very inconsiderable, impose little burthen on the inhabitants. They are principally levied on property according to several old customs; and payment is chiefly made in produce of various kinds, which is converted into money by the sysselman, and transmitted, after deducting a third for his own salary, to the landfoged or treasurer. The whole amount does not exceed 50,000 rix-dollars, and does not even suffice for the support of the civil government of the island.”[17]

The machinery of civil government is well arranged; but the people are peaceable, and to a large extent govern themselves; thus rendering the duties of the officials very light. In reference to this pleasant state of matters, Dr. Mackinlay quaintly remarked, “Each country is presided over by a sysselman or sheriff, who, besides his judicial duties, has to discharge the duties of lord lieutenant and revenue officer, postmaster, poorlaw guardian and head constable. As the average population of each syssel is only 3700, he has, after discharging all his duties, time enough on hand to be his own clerk and message boy!”

At five o’clock, Dr. Mackinlay, Mr. Haycock, Dr. Livingston, Professor Chadbourne, and myself, dined at the hotel, with Gísli Brynjúlfsson, Mr. Bushby, and Captain Forbes; it was our last dinner at Reykjavik. The _Arcturus_ is to sail with us to-night at ten o’clock for the east of the island. All last things have a touch of sadness about them; we have been happy together, and shall not likely all meet again.

Mr. Murray and Mr. Cleghorn have not yet returned from Krisuvik. Gísli Brynjúlfsson the poet is an M.P., and at present here to attend the althing. He is employed, as already mentioned, by the government at Copenhagen in connection with Icelandic antiquities and literature, and has a work on these subjects in preparation. He speaks English fluently, and gave us much interesting information.

After dinner Dr. Mackinlay called with me for Mr. Jón Gudmundsson, editor of the “Thióthólfr,” a Reykjavik newspaper—a quarto sheet of 8 pp.—in which, along with other news, the proceedings of the althing now sitting are reported in a condensed form. No particular time is fixed for publication, so that it appears at irregular intervals when there is news to communicate. Mr. Gudmundsson is an advocate, and holds an official appointment in the althing. He presented us with several numbers of his paper. The type is clear and the paper good, so that it and another Reykjavik newspaper the “Islendingur,” a folio of 8 pp.,—both printed at the same government office—are without exception the most beautifully printed newspapers I ever saw anywhere.

In Mr. Gudmundsson’s house we saw medallions of Finn Magnusen, Finnsen, and other distinguished Icelanders. He was exceedingly polite and courteous, but, as we knew he must be much occupied at present, we made our visit a short one.

We then saw Dr. Hjaltalin, chief physician of the island, and well known for his antiquarian and scientific acquirements. He and Rector Jonson are good, tall, portly specimens of humanity. The latter good-naturedly told me that when some one called him a John Bull, although he did not quite understand the phrase, he knew that it somehow associated him with England, and, for that reason, felt “flattered—very much flattered!”

Our friends returned while we were making calls, and describe their moonlight ride of thirty miles to Krisuvik as more like a wild dream of chaos than a reality. Their path lay among lava chasms, along the tops of narrow lava ridges, irregularly jugged like a saw; through huge lava blocks, like ten thousand Stonehenges huddled together; over volcanic sand and cinder heaps; over hollow lava domes, and through great burst lava bubbles, or extinct craters. Lava everywhere, parts seemed like a troubled sea which had been suddenly spelled into stone, and then roasted, baked and cracked. This scene has been aptly characterized by an old traveller as “a congealed pandemonium.” In a boggy valley were seen several boiling mud-caldrons, which exhale sulphurious fumes. These gases condense in the atmosphere and deposit a crust of sulphur, in layers of various thickness, on the coloured clay banks on the side of the hill. Many jets of steam and smoke rose around; while on their right lay the lovely blue lake of Kleifervatn. Mr. Bushby had kindly furnished them with a letter to his agent, which procured for them such shelter and creature comforts as his iron house could afford.

It was now about 9 o’clock; and, not without sincere regret, on pushing off from the shore, did we bid adieu to those kind-hearted, learned, yet simple-minded gentlemen at Reykjavik, who had done so much to make our visit to their island a pleasant one.

While some ponies were being taken on board from a large boat alongside, the steam was suddenly blown off; the noise frightening them, one jumped into the sea and swam ashore, a distance of a mile, with a boat after it. However it was got on board again, none the worse for its adventure. It turned out to be a pony which Mr. Murray had purchased, and was taking south with him to Long-yester.

Mr. Brynjúlfsson had accompanied me to the steamer, and, before starting, Mr. Arnason also came on board to bid us another adieu!

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Footnote 14:

See note at foot of page 65.

Footnote 15:

Alluding to the old Icelandic female head-dress which is now again
being introduced—See illustration p. 68.

Footnote 16:

See illustration at p. 53.

Footnote 17:

Hassel, vol. 10. p. 231-233. Mackenzie, p. 312-323. Henderson, vol. 1.
p. xxvi. Barrow, pp. 293-305. Iceland, Greenland, and the Faröe
Islands, pp. 209-10.

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JÖKUL-RANGES AND VOLCANOES ON THE SOUTH COAST.

At ten o’clock P.M., _August 3_, the anchor was heaved and we sailed for the east of the island.

The bay at Reykjavik is very lovely. Every crevice of the Essian mountains is distinctly shown; while the positive colours and delicate tints of these and other heights rising far inland, which the eye takes in, in sweeping round the semicircle from Snæfell to Skagi, are bright, varied, and beautiful beyond description. Deep indigoes dashed with purple, violet peaks, pale lilac ranges; and, relieved against them, cones of dazzling snow and ice glittering like silver, side by side with rosy pinks and warm sunny browns, all rising over a foreground of black lava. The sky overhead is blue; and the northern horizon lit up with a mellow glow of golden light.

The frigate _Artemise_, the brig _Agile_, the Danish schooner _Emma_, and several trading vessels lying at anchor, animate the scene.

Snæfell Jökul—rising to the north-west on the extreme of yonder narrow ridge that runs out due west into the sea for nearly fifty miles, separating the Faxa from the Breida fiord—dome-shaped, isolated and perpetually covered with snow, is now touched with living rosy light.

At its foot lie the singular basaltic rocks of Stappen, somewhat like the Giant’s Causeway, or the island of Staffa in the Hebrides. Indeed, stapp is the same word as staff, and indicates the character of the columnar formation.

For the first time, since leaving home, we see the stars. One or two, only, are shining in the quivering blue overhead, with a quiet, subdued, pale golden light. I made a sketch of Snæfell as it appeared from the quarter deck of the steamer at a distance of fifty miles; it seemed a low cone rising from the sea. As the evening was calm and beautiful, ere retiring, we walked the deck till a late hour, musing on the structure and marvellous phenomena of this half-formed chaotic island, where Frost and Fire still strive for the mastery before our very eyes.

_August 4._—On getting upon deck, I found we were past Cape Reykjanes, and making for the Westmanna Islands. Eldey—the rock like a meal-sack—lies, in the distance, far astern.

My place at table is between Dr. Mackinlay and Mr. Haycock, the latter being next the chairman Rector Jonson who is going to Copenhagen; Mr. Murray, Mr. Cleghorn, Professor Chadbourne and Dr. Livingston sit opposite. The Danes are all congregated at the other end of the table with the captain.

Half-past three P.M. Saw Eyafialla Jökul, and Godalands Jökul, Myrdals Jökul, and Kötlugjá. These form part of the most southern range of snow-mountains in the island, and rise distinctly over a dark greenish and purple range of hills, away to the east on our port bow. Eyafialla is the second highest mountain in Iceland, being next in height to Oræfa Jökul. It has a distinct crater. Only one violent eruption, that of A.D. 1612, is recorded previous to A.D. 1821. “But on the night between the 20th and 21st December, of that year, the lofty Eyafialla Jökul, of which the movement of A.D. 1612, was the only one formerly known, burst its icy covering, and began to cast out ashes, stones, and dust, accompanied with a strong flame. It continued till January throwing out great quantities of pumice ashes, which covered all the surrounding fields; and in February 1822, a lofty pillar of smoke still rose from the crater. In June of the following year it again began to burn, and on the 26th of the same month, destroyed a part of the adjacent land; but after pouring out some streams of water, in the beginning of July, it was once more quiet. In this month also the Kötlugjá, after sixty-eight years repose, threw out sand and ashes, covering nearly one hundred square miles of ground.”[18]

Kötlugjá—the gjá, fissure, or chasm of Kötlu—is not a separate mountain with a crater, but simply a yawning rent, so large as to resemble an extensive valley, situated on the north-west shoulder of Myrdals-Jökul, which is a lofty ice-mountain. From its inaccessibility it has never been explored, having been only examined from a distance. The rent is visible from the sea.

Records of volcanic eruptions occurring throughout the island have, in general, been carefully kept by the Icelanders from the earliest times; but in this case, from the proximity of numerous other volcanic vents, and the distance of the spectators, along with the long continued and intermittent nature of single eruptions—sometimes lasting for years—there appears to be some confusion in the various accounts, which renders it difficult to reckon the number of

KÖTLUGJÁ’S ERUPTIONS.

The first outbreak, which, by the way, is the earliest recorded date of an eruption in the island—being before Eldborg to which that honour is usually assigned—occurred in the year A.D. 894, and the last in A.D. 1823.[19] The number of them during that period is reckoned by the best authorities at fourteen, the longest interval between two eruptions being 311 years, and the shortest 6. As its devastations have only been less terrible than those of Skaptár, we shall now, after presenting a concise table of dates, glance at the various eruptions of Kötlugjá, extracting or briefly condensing from reliable sources, dwelling more particularly on those of A.D. 1625, and 1755, two of the most fearful and destructive.

For the table, and the collecting of many of the facts and paragraphs which follow relating to Kötlugjá, I am indebted to my friend Dr. Lauder Lindsay.

1st eruption A.D. 894. Interval since previous eruption.
2d ” 934. ” ” 40 years.
3d ” 1245. ” ” [20]311 ”
4th ” 1262. ” ” 17 ”
5th ” 1311. ” ” 49 ”
6th ” 1416. ” ” 105 ”
7th ” 1580. ” ” 164 ”
8th ” 1612. ” ” 32 ”
9th ” 1625. ” ” 13 ”
10th ” 1660. ” ” 35 ”
11th ” 1721. ” ” 61 ”
12th ” 1727. ” ” [21]6 ”
13th ” [22]1755. ” ” 28 ”
14th ” 1823. ” ” 68 ”

The first eruption, in A.D. 894, destroyed the pasture lands between the hill called Hafrsey, and the Holmsá river. Eight farms were abandoned, and the district of country in question is still almost entirely a sandy desert.

The second, A.D. 934, was also a formidable one, and formed the extensive sandy desert now known as the Solheima-sand, a tract about twenty miles long; and formed altogether of volcanic sand, ashes, or lapilli, and pumice.

The third, in A.D. 1245, covered a tract of country, though of what extent we are not informed, with sand and ashes to the depth of six or eight inches.

The fourth, A.D. 1262, or, according to some writers, 1263, was attended by such an ejection of dust and ashes, that the sun could not be seen at mid-day in serene weather. During this eruption, the large river called Fulilækr, the Jökulsá—or Jökul river—which divides the Skoga-sand from the Solheima-sand, suddenly made its appearance.

The fifth, in A.D. 1311 (some say 1332), appears to have been more destructive to life than any of the previous ones. Many farms were destroyed in the district called Myrdals-sand; several sand-hills and other hills were formed, and several marshes sprang into existence. It vomited ashes and sand during the greater part of the winter, and, melting the ice about the crater, the inhabited tract in the vicinity was inundated, and all the inhabitants except two perished in the flood. Another account states that this eruption was known as “_Sturluhlaup_,” from only _one man_ of the name of Sturla having been saved, of those overwhelmed by the volcanic ejections.

The sixth, A.D. 1416. The lava or water-floods took the direction of Hjörleifshöfdi, an isolated hill and promontory on the coast of the Myrdals-sand, considerably to the south-east of Kötlugjá.

The seventh, A.D. 1580. During this eruption it is stated that Myrdals Jökul was rent asunder, and as the name Kötlugjá is now first given to the crater or fissure of eruption, it is probable that at this date the chasm was first recognised or discovered, if not formed. This eruption was characterized by fire, darkness, and a rain of ashes, as well as by water-floods; one of which latter went eastward toward the monastery of Thyckvaboe, and another southward to Myrdal. Many farms were destroyed, but there appears to have been no loss of human life.

The eighth, in 1612, was attended, it is conjectured, by a subsidence to some extent of the Fall-Jökul, which is situated between Eyafialla and Myrdals Jökul, as well as of the lower lands between Langanes and Thorsmerkr. The accompanying fire was such, that the eruption was visible extensively in the north of Iceland.

The ninth, in A.D. 1625, was “one of the grandest and most devastating eruptions of Kötlugjá that has ever occurred.” Its historian is Thorsteinn Magnússon, at the time sysselman or sheriff of Skaptafells-syssel (or district), who lived in the monastery of Thyckvaboe. His account was published in Copenhagen in A.D. 1627. According to him, ‘at daybreak on the second of September it began to thunder in the Jökul; and about 8 o’clock A.M. floods of water and ice were poured down upon the low country, and carried away upwards of 200 loads of hay[23] which lay in the fields about Thyckvaboe. These floods continued to be poured forth like a raging sea till past one o’clock in the afternoon, when they gradually diminished, but were succeeded by terrible darkness, earthquakes, thunder, flames, and showers of sand. Nor was it in the immediate vicinity of the crater alone that the fire appeared, but down in the inhabited tract, at the distance of nearly twenty miles from the mountain, igneous vapours were seen attaching themselves to the clothes of the inhabitants. (?) This dreadful scene continued, with little variation, till the 13th of the month. It was frequently so clear at night that the mountains, with all their clefts and divisions, were seen as distinctly at the distance of twenty miles as they were in the clearest day. Sometimes the flames were pure as the sun, sometimes they were red, and at others they discovered all the colours of the rainbow. The lightenings were visible now in the air, and now running over the surface of the ground; and _such as witnessed them were more or less affected in such parts of their bodies as were uncovered_. [!] These flashes were accompanied by the loudest claps of thunder, and darted backwards and forwards; now to the ground, and now into the air, dividing sometimes into separate bolts, each of which appeared to be followed by a separate report; and after shooting in different directions, they instantly collected again, when a dreadful report was heard, and the igneous appearance fell like a waterspout to the ground, and became invisible. While the showers of sand lasted, it was frequently so dark in the day time that two individuals holding each other by the hand could not discover each other’s face.’ Dr. Hjaltalin states that the water-floods, bearing large masses of ice, ‘surrounded the monastery of Thyckvaboe, with its adjacent farms, one of which was overflowed by the stream; but the people saved themselves on a high hill, where the flood could not reach them. The flood was followed by such heavy shots and continual thunder, that the people thought the heavens would burst to pieces, and they were surrounded with continual flashes of lightning. The pasturages were so covered with ashes and pumice, that cattle, horses, and sheep could not get any food, and were seen running about in wild confusion. During the eruption such a darkness prevailed sometimes that days were darker than nights; and it is related that showers of ashes from this eruption reached the town of Bergen in Norway, which is the greatest distance to which volcanic ashes were ever thrown from Iceland.’ The account in the ‘Islendingur’ of June 16, p. 45, mentions further, that the mixed water and ice flood flowed in cascades and waves over Myrdals-sand; that the inhabitants fled to the heights for safety; that the depth of the water-flood, which surrounded the monastery of Thyckvaboe, was such that a large ocean-vessel might have sailed between the byres and the principal building, and that there was an excessive falling of sand in the district to the north-east of Kötlugjá, called the Skaptártunga. This eruption thus lasted for about twelve days, wholly destroying many farms, and partially destroying or rendering temporarily useless others. The damage done was greatest in the low lands to east, north-east, and south-east of Kötlugjá.

The tenth, A.D. 1660—commencing on 3d November—“appears scarcely to have been less formidable than the preceding eruption. Water-floods overwhelmed and destroyed the farm and church of Höfdabrekka, which latter was cast into the sea immediately adjoining, apparently by an earthquake-shock. Only such articles were saved from the building as could, at the moment, be snatched away by the clergyman Jón Salamonsson. The quantity of sand, ashes, and sulphur, thrown out and deposited on the coast about Höfdabrekka was such, that what formerly was a depth of twenty fathoms of sea water, became at once dry land. Such is the account in the ‘Islendingur.’ Dr. Hjaltalin says the clouds of pumice, ashes, and sand, rendered the atmosphere, in the vicinity of Kötlugjá, very dark during nine days. Many farms were destroyed. Flames and ashes were ejected during the greater part of winter. Henderson asserts, that ‘the quantity of ice, &c., carried down by the inundation, was so great, that where it was deposited, it rose to the height of forty-nine fathoms above the surface of the former depositions. The church of Höfdabrekka’ constructed wholly of wood, and of limited dimensions, ‘was observed to swim among the masses of ice, to a considerable distance in the sea, ere it fell to pieces.’ The volcano appears, with some intermission, to have erupted sand the two following years.”

The eleventh, A.D. 1721, began at nine A.M. on the 11th May. Dr. Hjaltalin says “the narrative of this eruption proceeds from certain of the inhabitants of the _north of Iceland_, who observed the phenomena from the distance of about 100 English miles! These distant witnesses, state that the eruption was preceded by heavy shots, like shots of artillery, lasting less or more for several days, and distinctly heard by them in the north of the island. These sounds were followed by a heavy fire—which expression seems translateable as _vivid flames_—also visible at the great distance above named. The flames or fire were followed by clouds of ashes, so dense and so extensive, as to have produced complete darkness for some hours, at the remoteness of 80 or 100 miles.” “The ‘Islendingur’ refers to an earthquake chiefly felt in Myrdal, but extending eastward to Lidu, and westward to Fljótshlíd. About noon of the same day—11th May—the earth became fissured at various points; loud sounds were heard, and lastly, flames, with steam or smoke, were seen to issue from Kötlugjá. A water-flood now descended from the volcano, bearing huge pieces of ice, resembling in bulk small islands; which icebergs sailed along as rapidly as a ship in a good breeze. These icebergs were borne by the flood from Höfdabrekka eastward to Hjörleifshöfdi and Hafrsey. One village was destroyed in the east of the Myrdals-sand district.” Again, Henderson states, p. 213,[24] the “inundations lasted nearly three days, and carried along with them such amazing quantities of ice, stones, earth, and sand, that the sea was filled with them to the distance of three miles from the shore. The sun was darkened by the smoke and ashes which were thrown into the air; sand and pumice were blown over almost the whole island; and the ice and water desolated a considerable tract of grass land, over which they flowed.”

The twelfth, A.D. 1727, is believed to have been of little intensity or importance.

The eruption which follows—the thirteenth, that of 1755—is the “most celebrated of all the outbreaks of Kötlugjá, on account alike of its grandeur, its duration, and its frightful results—an eruption which has since caused Kötlugjá to be dreaded by the Icelanders as one of their most dangerous volcanoes, if not their most dangerous one.” It began about noon on the 17th of October, and “continued, with intermissions, till 25th August 1756—its duration, therefore, being nearly a year. The ‘Islendingur’ gives a very short reference merely; but the accounts of Dr. Hjaltalin and of Henderson are comparatively full. According to Dr. Hjaltalin, the eruption was preceded by a series of earthquakes, beginning in September; they were especially severe in the north-east of Iceland, near Cape Langanes, about 150 or 180 miles distant from Kötlugjá. In this district they overthrew several farms; and in a milder degree they were felt over a considerable extent of country. The eruption itself began at ten A.M. of 17th October, about a fortnight prior to the earthquake which destroyed Lisbon. Vivid flames shot towards the sky, accompanied by severe earthquakes, sounds like thunder, and lightnings. The volcano was enveloped in smoke or steam; showers of ashes and pumice fell constantly, while volcanic bombs were hurled high into the air. The latter must have been of great size, for they were seen bursting, and the accompanying detonating reports were heard at a distance of upwards of a hundred miles. The days, it is said, were darker than the nights; and the flames and bombs gave so unearthly a character to the scene, that the poor inhabitants fancied that the day of judgment had arrived, and that our globe was bursting into atoms. Over large tracts of country, the soil was covered with sand and ashes to a depth of two or three feet; cattle, horses, and sheep, consequently died in great numbers. This devastation caused a famine and pestilence among the inhabitants, who perished by the hundred. The eruption was violent for fourteen days. The water-floods overflowed the district of Myrdals-sand, which is about twenty miles long and sixteen broad. Five parishes were more or less devastated, and fifty farms were destroyed. These were the more local disasters; but, in addition to this, the sand and ashes were spread over a great portion of the island, producing fatal epidemics and epizöotics,[25] and it is said even the wild-fowl fled from many parts of the island. The earthquakes were characterized by distinct wave-like motions of the land, which fluctuated like an agitated ocean, and the same earthquake-waves were propagated from the coasts outward to sea, to the serious damage of the shipping.” Henderson says—vol. 1. p. 314—“The inhabitants of the track about Kötlugjá were first apprised of the impending catastrophe on the forenoon of the 17th October, by a number of quick and irregular tremifactions, which were followed by three immense floods, from the Jökul, that completely overflowed Myrdals-sand, and carried before them almost incredible quantities of ice and gravel. Masses of ice, resembling small mountains in size, pushed one another forward, and bore vast pieces of solid rock on their surface. After the rocking had continued some time, an exceedingly loud report was heard, when fire and water were observed to be emitted alternately by the volcano, which appeared to vent its rage through three apertures situated close to each other. At times the column of fire was carried to such a height that it illuminated the whole of the surrounding atmosphere, and was seen at the distance of one hundred and eighty miles; at other times the air was so filled with smoke and ashes that the adjacent parishes were enveloped in total darkness. Between these alternations of light and obscurity, vast red-hot globes were thrown to a great height, and broken into a thousand pieces. The following night presented one of the most awful and sublime spectacles imaginable. An unremitting noise, like that produced by the discharge of heavy artillery, was heard from the volcano. A fiery column of variegated hues rose into the atmosphere; flames and sparks were scattered in every direction, and blazed in the most vivid manner.”

“The eruption continued with more or less violence till the 7th of November, during which period dreadful _exundations of hot-water_ were poured forth on the low country; and the masses of ice, clay, and solid rock, that they hurled into the sea, were so great that it was _filled to the distance of more than fifteen miles_; and, in some places, where it was formerly forty fathoms deep, the tops of the newly deposited rocks were now seen towering above the water. A violent eruption happened again, on the 17th of November, when the volcano remained inactive till the following year, during which it emitted fire and water five times—viz., on January 15, June 28 and 29, and August 12 and 25.”

“The principal damage occasioned by these eruptions, consisted in the destruction of the pasture-grounds throughout the most part of the syssel—or district. Numbers of the cattle were carried away by the deluge; and the mephitic substances, with which everything was impregnated, brought on a raging mortality in different parts of the country. On the breaking forth of the water, a number of people fled for refuge to an insulated mountain called Hafrsey, where they were obliged to stay seven days without either meat or drink; and were exposed to the showers of stones, fire, and water which fell around them. The lightning, which was very violent during the eruption, penetrated through solid rocks, and killed two people and eleven horses, three of which were in a stable. One of the persons killed was a farmer, whom it struck dead as he left the door of his house. What is remarkable, his upper clothes, which were of wool, bore no marks of fire, but the linen he had under them was burned; and when he was undressed, it was found that the skin and flesh of his right side were consumed to the very bone. [!] His maid-servant was struck with the lightning at the same time; and though her clothes were instantly changed, it continued to burn in the pores of her body, and singed the clothes she put on. [!] She died a few days afterwards, having in the meantime suffered inexpressible pain.”

This eruption, Henderson very truly remarks, becomes the more noteworthy from “the terrible convulsions to which at the same time a great part of the terrestrial globe was subjected. Not only were the British isles rocked by repeated and violent shocks of an earthquake, houses thrown down, rocks split, and the waters of the sea and lakes[26] heaved up; but in Norway, Sweden, Germany, Holland, France, and Italy, the same phenomena were experienced. Spain and Portugal, however, suffered most from the shocks. Numerous villages, convents, and churches were demolished; the largest mountains shaken from the foundations, and the low grounds inundated by the swelling and overflowing of the rivers. Lisbon, in particular, exhibited a scene the most tragical and melancholy. The most ponderous edifices were heaved up and shaken; steeples, towers, and houses thrown down; the ground and streets danced under the feet of the inhabitants; and many thousands of them were buried in the ruins. Nor was the earthquake confined to Europe. It stretched over into Barbary, and destroyed upwards of a dozen of cities on the coasts of Africa. Its concussions were also felt in Persia, in the West Indies, and in America.”[27] Sir George S. Mackenzie and Sir William Hooker[28] both also describe this eruption in their respective works of travel, but the incidents do not differ from those given above. The latter writer characterizes the sounds accompanying the eruption as “most frightful and horrible roarings.” The illuminations at night were so vivid, “that heaven and earth seemed to be equally in a state of conflagration.” On the 19th of October a column of smoke issued from the volcano, which column was black by day; but the smoke was intermixed with balls and sparks of fire, which by night lighted up the whole of the Myrdal district, while the country to the east thereof was in darkness both day and night. “Ashes fell like rain” in Faröe, 300 miles distant, and subterranean noises were heard as far as the Guldbringu and Kiosar syssels—80 to 90 miles distant.