Volcanic Origin of the Island.—The Klofa Jökul.—Lava-streams.—The Burning Mountains of Krisuvik.—The Mud-caldrons of Reykjahlid.—The Tungo-hver at Reykholt.—The Great Geysir.—The Strokkr.—Crystal Pools.—The Almannagja.—The Surts-hellir.—Beautiful Ice-cave.—The Gotha Foss.—The Detti Foss.—Climate.—Vegetation.—Cattle.—Barbarous Mode of Sheep-shearing.—Reindeer.—Polar Bears.—Birds.—The Eider-duck.—Videy.—Vigr.—The Wild Swan.—The Raven.—The Jerfalcon.—The Giant auk, or Geirfugl.—Fish.—Fishing Season.—The White Shark.—Mineral Kingdom.—Sulphur.—Peat.—Drift-wood.

Iceland might as well be called Fireland, for all its 40,000 square miles have originally been upheaved from the depths of the waters by volcanic power. First, at some immeasurably distant period of the world’s history, the small nucleus of the future island began to struggle into existence against the superincumbent weight of the ocean; then, in the course of ages, cone rose after cone, crater was formed after crater, eruption followed on eruption, and lava-stream on lava-stream, until finally the Iceland of the present day was piled up with her gigantic “jökuls,” or ice-mountains, and her vast promontories, stretching like huge buttresses far out into the sea.

In winter, when an almost perpetual night covers the wastes of this fire-born land, and the waves of a stormy ocean thunder against its shores, imagination can hardly picture a more desolate scene; but in summer the rugged nature of Iceland invests itself with many a charm. Then the eye reposes with delight69 on green valleys and crystal lakes, on the purple hills or snow-capped mountains rising in Alpine grandeur above the distant horizon, and the stranger might almost be tempted to exclaim with her patriotic sons, “Iceland is the best land under the sun.” That it is one of the most interesting—through its history, its inhabitants, and, above all, its natural curiosities—no one can doubt. It has all that can please and fascinate the poet, the artist, the geologist, or the historian; the prosaic utilitarian alone, accustomed to value a country merely by its productions, might turn with some contempt from a land without corn, without forests, without mineral riches, and covered for about two-thirds of its surface with bogs, lava-wastes, and glaciers.

The curse of sterility rests chiefly on the south-eastern and central parts of the island. Here nothing is to be seen but deserts of volcanic stone or immense ice-fields, the largest of which—the Klofa Jökul—alone extends over more than 4000 square miles. The interior of this vast region of névè and glacier is totally unknown. The highest peaks, the most dreadful volcanoes of the island, rise on the southern and south-western borders of this hitherto inaccessible waste; the Oraefa looking down from a height of 6000 feet upon all its rivals—the Skaptar, a name of dreadful significance in the annals of Iceland, and farther on, like the advanced guards of this host of slumbering fires, the Katla, the Myrdal, the Eyjafjalla, and the Hecla, the most renowned, though not the most terrible, of all the volcanoes of Iceland.

As the ice-fields of this northern island far surpass in magnitude those of the Alps, so also the lava-streams of Ætna or Vesuvius are insignificant when compared with the enormous masses of molten stone which at various periods have issued from the craters of Iceland. From Mount Skjaldebreith, on both sides of the lake of Thingvalla as far as Cape Reykjanes, the traveller sees an uninterrupted lava-field more than sixty miles long, and frequently from twelve to fifteen broad; and lava-streams of still more gigantic proportions exist in many other parts of the island, particularly in the interior. In general, these lava-streams have cooled down into the most fantastic forms imaginable. “It is hardly possible,” says Mr. Holland, “to give any idea of the general appearance of these once molten masses. Here a great crag has toppled over into some deep crevasse, there a huge mass has been upheaved above the fiery stream which has seethed and boiled around its base. Here is every shape and figure that sculpture could design or imagination picture, jumbled together in grotesque confusion, whilst everywhere myriads of horrid spikes and sharp shapeless irregularities bristle amidst them.”

By the eruptions of the Icelandic volcanoes many a fair meadow-land has been converted into a stony wilderness; but if the subterranean fires have frequently brought ruin and desolation over the island, they have also endowed it with many natural wonders.

In the “burning mountains” of Krisuvik, on the south-western coast, a whole hill-slope, with a deep narrow gorge at its foot, is covered with innumerable boiling springs and fumaroles, whose dense exhalations, spreading an intolerable stench, issue out of the earth with a hissing noise, and completely hide the view.

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40. EFFIGY IN LAVA.

The Námar, or boiling mud-caldrons of Reykjahlid, situated among a range of mountains near the Myvatn (Gnat-Lake), in one of the most solitary spots in the north of the island, on the border of enormous lava-fields and of a vast unknown wilderness, exhibit volcanic power on a still more gigantic scale. There are no less than twelve of these seething pits, all filled with a disgusting thick slimy gray or black liquid, boiling or simmering with greater or less vehemence, and emitting dense volumes of steam strongly impregnated with sulphurous gases. Some sputter furiously, scattering their contents on every side, while in others the muddy soup appears too thick to boil, and after remaining quiescent for about half a minute, rises up a few inches in the centre of the basin, emits a puff of steam, and then subsides into its former state. The diameter of the largest of all the pits can not be less than fifteen feet; and it is a sort of mud Geysir, for at intervals a column of its black liquid contents, accompanied with a violent rush of steam, is thrown up to the height of six or eight feet. Professor Sartorius von Waltershausen, one of the few travellers who have visited this remarkable spot, says that the witches in Macbeth could not possibly have desired a more fitting place for the preparation of their infernal gruel than the mud-caldrons of Reykjahlid.

Among the hot or boiling springs of Iceland, which in hundreds of places gush forth at the foot of the mountains, some are of a gentle and even flow, and can be used for bathing, washing, or boiling, while others of an intermittent nature are mere objects of curiosity or wonder. One of the most remarkable of the latter is the Tungo-hver, at Reykholt, in the “valley of smoke,” thus named from the columns of vapor emitted by the thermal springs which are here scattered about with a lavish hand. It consists of two fountains within a yard of each other—the larger one vomiting a column of boiling water ten feet high for the space of about four minutes, when it entirely subsides, and then the smaller one operates for about three minutes, ejecting a column of about five feet. The alternation is perfectly regular in time and force, and there are authentic accounts of its unfailing exactitude for the last hundred years.

But of all the springs and fountains of Iceland there is none to equal, either in grandeur or renown, the Great Geysir, which is not merely one of the curiosities71 of the country, but one of the wonders of the earth, as there is nothing to compare to it in any other part of the world.

At the foot of the Laugafjall hill, in a green plain, through which several rivers meander like threads of silver, and where chains of dark-colored mountains, overtopped here and there by distant snow-peaks, form a grand but melancholy panorama, dense volumes of steam indicate from afar the site of a whole system of thermal springs congregated on a small piece of ground which does not exceed twelve acres. In any other spot, the smallest of these boiling fountains would arrest the traveller’s attention, but here his whole mind is absorbed by the Great Geysir. In the course of countless ages this monarch of springs has formed, out of the silica it deposits, a mound which rises to about thirty feet above the general surface of the plain, and slopes on all sides to the distance of a hundred feet or thereabouts from the border of a large circular basin situated in its centre, and measuring about fifty-six feet in the greatest diameter and fifty-two feet in the narrowest. In the middle of this basin, forming as it were a gigantic funnel, there is a pipe or tube, which at its opening in the basin is eighteen or sixteen feet in diameter, but narrows considerably at a little distance from the mouth, and then appears to be not more than ten or twelve feet in diameter. It has been probed to a depth of seventy feet, but it is more than probable that hidden channels ramify farther into the bowels of the earth. The sides of the tube are smoothly polished, and so hard that it is not possible to strike off a piece of it with a hammer.

Generally the whole basin is found filled up to the brim with sea-green water as pure as crystal, and of a temperature of from 180° to 190°. Astonished at the placid tranquillity of the pool, the traveller can hardly believe that he is really standing on the brink of the far-famed Geysir; but suddenly a subterranean thunder is heard, the ground trembles under his feet, the water in the basin begins to simmer, and large bubbles of steam rise from the tube and burst on reaching the surface, throwing up small jets of spray to the height of several feet. Every instant he expects to witness the grand spectacle which has chiefly induced him to visit this northern land, but soon the basin becomes tranquil as before, and the dense vapors produced by the ebullition are wafted away by the breeze. These smaller eruptions are regularly repeated every eighty or ninety minutes, but frequently the traveller is obliged to wait a whole day, or even longer, before he sees the whole power of the Geysir. A detonation louder than usual precedes one of these grand eruptions; the water in the basin is violently agitated; the tube boils vehemently; and suddenly a magnificent column of water, clothed in vapor of a dazzling whiteness, shoots up into the air with immense impetuosity and noise to the height of seventy or eighty feet, and, radiating at its apex, showers water and steam in every direction. A second eruption and a third rapidly follow, and after a few minutes the fairy spectacle has passed away like a fantastic vision. The basin is now completely dried up, and on looking down into the shaft, one is astonished to see the water about six feet from the rim, and as tranquil as in an ordinary well. After about thirty or forty minutes it again begins to rise, and after a few hours reaches the brim of the basin, whence it flows down the slope of the mound72 into the Hvita, or White River. Soon the subterraneous thunder, the shaking of the ground, the simmering above the tube, and the other phenomena which attend each minor eruption, begin again, to be followed by a new period of rest, and thus this wonderful play of nature goes on day after day, year after year, and century after century. The mound of the Geysir bears witness to its immense antiquity, as its water contains but a minute portion of silica.
41. THE STROKKR.

After the Geysir, the most remarkable fountain of these Phlegræan fields is the great Strokkr, situated about four hundred feet from the former. Its tube, the margin of which is almost even with the general surface, the small mound and basin being hardly discernible, is funnel-shaped, or resembling the flower of a convolvulus, having a depth of forty-eight feet, and a diameter of six feet at the mouth, but contracting, at twenty-two feet from the bottom, to only eleven inches. The water stands from nine to twelve feet under the brim, and is generally in violent ebullition. A short time before the beginning of the eruptions, which are more frequent than those of the Great Geysir, an enormous mass of steam rushes from the tube, and is followed by a rapid succession of jets, sometimes rising to the height of 120 or 150 feet, and dissolving into silvery mist. A peculiarity of the Strokkr is that it can at any time be provoked to an eruption by throwing into the orifice large masses of peat or turf; thus choking the shaft, and preventing the free escape of the steam. After the lapse of about ten minutes, the boiling fluid, as if indignant at this attempt upon its liberty, heaves up a column of mud and water, with fragments of peat, as black as ink.

73 About 150 paces from the Great Geysir are several pools of the most beautifully clear water, tinting with every shade of the purest green and blue the fantastical forms of the silicious travertin which clothes their sides. The slightest motion communicated to the surface quivers down to the bottom of these crystal grottoes, and imparts what might be called a sympathetic tremor of the water to every delicate incrustation and plant-like efflorescence. “Aladdin’s Cave could not be more beautiful,” says Preyer; and Mr. Holland remarks that neither description nor drawing is capable of giving a sufficient idea of the singularity and loveliness of this spot. In many places it is dangerous to approach within several feet of the margin, as the earth overhangs the water, and is hollow underneath, supported only by incrustations scarcely a foot thick. A plunge into waters of about 200° would be paying rather too dearly for the contemplation of their fairy-like beauty.
42. ENTRANCE TO THE ALMANNAGJA.

The gigantic chasm of the Almannagja is another of the volcanic wonders of Iceland. After a long and tedious ride over the vast lava-plain which extends between the Skalafell and the lake of Thingvalla, the traveller suddenly finds himself arrested in his path by an apparently insurmountable obstacle, for the74 enormous Almannagja, or Allman’s Rift, suddenly gapes beneath his feet—a colossal rent extending above a mile in length, and inclosed on both sides by abrupt walls of black lava, frequently upward of a hundred feet high, and separated from about fifty to seventy feet from each other.
43. THE ALMANNAGJA.

A corresponding chasm, but of inferior dimensions, the Hrafnagja, or Raven’s Rift, opens its black rampart to the east, about eight miles farther on; and both form the boundaries of the verdant plain of Thingvalla, which by a grand convulsion of nature has itself been shattered into innumerable small parallel crevices and fissures fifty or sixty feet deep.
44. THE HRAFNAGJA.

Of the Hrafnagja Mr. Ross Browne says: “A toilsome ride of eight miles brought us to the edge of the Pass, which in point of rugged grandeur far surpasses the Almannagja, though it lacks the extent and symmetry which give the latter such a remarkable effect. Here was a tremendous gap in the earth, over a hundred feet deep, hacked and shivered into a thousand fantastic shapes; the sides a succession of the wildest accidents; the bottom a chaos of broken lava, all tossed about in the most terrific confusion. It is not, however, the extraordinary desolation of the scene that constitutes its principal interest. The resistless power which had rent the great lava-bed asunder, as if touched with pity at the ruin, had also flung from the tottering cliffs a causeway across the gap, which now forms the only means of passing over the great Hrafnagja. No human hands could have created such a colossal work as this; the imagination is lost in its massive grandeur; and when we reflect that miles of an almost impassable country would otherwise have to be traversed in order to75 reach the opposite side of the gap, the conclusion is irresistible that in the battle of the elements Nature still had a kindly remembrance of man.

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45. THE TINTRON ROCK.

“Five or six miles beyond the Hrafnagja, near the summit of a dividing ridge, we came upon a very singular volcanic formation, called the Tintron. It stands, a little to the right of the trail, on a rise of scoria and burnt earth, from which it juts up in rugged relief to the height of twenty or thirty feet. This is, strictly speaking, a huge clinker, not unlike what comes out of a grate—hard, glassy in spots, and scraggy all over. The top part is shaped like a shell; in the centre is a hole about three feet in diameter, which opens into a vast subterranean cavity of unknown depth. Whether the Tintron is an extinct crater, through which fires shot out of the earth in by-gone times, or an isolated mass of lava, whirled through the air out of some distant volcano, is a question that geologists must determine. The probability is that it is one of those natural curiosities so common in Iceland which defy research. The whole country is full of anomalies—bogs where one would expect to find dry land, and parched deserts where it would not seem strange to see bogs; fire where water ought to be, and water in the place of fire.”
46. FALL OF THE OXERAA.

“Ages ago,” says Lord Dufferin, “some vast commotion shook the foundations of the island; and bubbling up from sources far away amid the inland hills, a fiery deluge must have rushed down between their ridges, until, escaping from the narrower gorges, it found space to spread itself into one broad sheet of molten stone over an entire district of country, reducing its varied surface to one vast blackened level. One of two things then occurred: either, the vitrified mass contracting as it cooled, the centre area of fifty square miles (the present plain of Thingvalla) burst asunder at either side from the adjoining plateau, and sinking down to its present level, left two parallel gjas, or chasms, which form its lateral boundaries, to mark the limits of the disruption; or else, while the pith or marrow of the lava was still in a fluid state, its upper surface became solid, and formed a77 roof, beneath which the molten stream flowed on to lower levels, leaving a vast cavern into which the upper crust subsequently plumped down.” In the lapse of years, the bottom of the Almannagja has become gradually filled up to an even surface, covered with the most beautiful turf, except where the river Oxeraa, bounding in a magnificent cataract from the higher plateau over the precipice, flows for a certain distance between its walls. At the foot of the fall the waters linger for a moment in a dark, deep, brimming pool, hemmed in by a circle of ruined rocks, in which anciently all women convicted of capital crimes were immediately drowned. Many a poor crone, accused of witchcraft, has thus ended her days in the Almannagja. As may easily be imagined, it is rather a nerve-trying task to descend into the chasm over a rugged lava-slope, where the least false step may prove fatal; but the Icelandic horses are so sure-footed that they can safely be trusted. From the bottom it is easy to distinguish on the one face marks and formations exactly corresponding, though at a different level, with those on the face opposite, and evidently showing that they once had dovetailed into each other, before the igneous mass was rent asunder.

Two leagues from Kalmanstunga, in an immense lava-field, which probably originated in the Bald Jökul, are situated the renowned Surts-hellir, or caves of Surtur, the prince of darkness and fire of the ancient Scandinavian mythology. The principal entrance to the caves is an extensive chasm formed by the falling in of a part of the lava-roof; so that, on descending into it, the visitor finds himself right in the mouth of the main cavern, which runs in an almost straight line, and is nearly a mile in length. Its average height is about forty, and its breadth fifty feet. The lava-crust which forms its roof is about twelve feet thick, and has the appearance of being stratified and columnar, like basaltic pillars, in its formation. Many of the blocks of lava thus formed have become detached and fallen into the cavern, where they lie piled up in great heaps, and heavily tax the patience of the traveller, who has to scramble over the rugged stones, and can hardly avoid slipping and stumbling into the holes between them, varied by pools of water and masses of snow. But after having toiled and plodded to the extremity of this dismal cavern, his perseverance is amply rewarded by the sight of an ice-grotto, whose fairy beauty appears still more charming, in contrast with its gloomy vestibule. From the crystal floor rises group after group of transparent pillars tapering to a point, while from the roof brilliant icy pendants hang down to meet them. Columns and arches of ice are ranged along the crystalline walls, and the light of the candles is reflected back a hundred-fold from every side, till the whole cavern shines with astonishing lustre. Mr. Holland, the latest visitor of the Surts-hellir, declares he never saw a more brilliant spectacle; and the German naturalist, Preyer, pronounces it one of the most magnificent sights in nature, reminding him of the fairy grottoes of the Arabian Nights’ Tales.

From the mountains and the vast plateau which occupies the centre of the island, numerous rivers descend on all sides, which, fed in summer by the melting glaciers, pour enormous quantities of turbid water into the sea, or convert large alluvial flats into morasses. Though of a considerable breadth, their78 course is frequently very short, particularly along the southern coast, where the jokuls from which they derive their birth are only separated from the sea by a narrow foreland. In their impetuous flow, they not seldom bear huge blocks of stone along with them, and cut off all communication between the inhabitants of their opposite banks.

The chief rivers of Iceland are, in the south, the Thiorsa and the Hvita, which are not inferior in width to the Rhine in the middle part of its course; in the north, the Skjalfandafljot and the Jökulsa and the Jökulsa i Axarfirdi, large and rapid streams above a hundred miles long; and in the east the Lagarfliot. As may be expected in a mountainous country, containing many glacier-fed rivers, Iceland has numerous cascades, many of them rivalling or surpassing in beauty the far-famed falls of Switzerland.

One of the most celebrated of these gems of nature is the Goda-foss, in the northern part of the island, formed by the deep and rapid Skjalfandafljot, as it rushes with a deafening roar over rocks fifty feet high into the caldron below; but it is far surpassed in magnificence by the Dettifoss, a fall of the Jökulsa i Axarfirdi.

“In some of old earth’s convulsions,” says its discoverer, Mr. Gould,—for from its remote situation, deep in the northern wilds of Iceland, it had escaped the curious eye of previous travellers—“the crust of rock has been rent, and a frightful fissure formed in the basalt, about 200 feet deep, with the sides columnar and perpendicular. The gash terminates abruptly at an acute angle, and at this spot the great river rolls in. The wreaths of water sweeping down; the frenzy of the confined streams where they meet, shooting into each other from either side at the apex of an angle; the wild rebound when they strike a head of rock, lurching out half way down; the fitful gleam of battling torrents, obtained through a veil of eddying vapor; the Geysir-spouts which blow up about seventy feet from holes whence basaltic columns have been shot by the force of the descending water; the blasts of spray which rush upward and burst into fierce showers on the brink, feeding rills which plunge over the edge as soon as they are born; the white writhing vortex below, with now and then an ice-green wave tearing through the foam to lash against the walls; the thunder and bellowing of the water, which make the rock shudder under foot, are all stamped on my mind with a vividness which it will take years to efface. The Almannagja is nothing to this chasm, and Schaffhausen is dwarfed by Dettifoss.”

The ocean-currents which wash the coasts of Iceland from opposite directions have a considerable influence on its climate. The south and west coasts, fronting the Atlantic, and exposed to the Gulf Stream, remain ice-free even in winter, and enjoy a comparatively mild temperature, while the cold Polar current, flowing in a south-western direction from Spitzbergen to Jan Mayen and Iceland, conveys almost every year to the eastern and northern shores of the island large masses of drift-ice, which sometimes do not disappear before July or even August. According to Dr. Thorstensen, the mean annual temperature of the air at Reykjavik is +40°, and that of the sea +42°, while according to Herr von Scheele the mean annual temperature at Akureyre, on the north coast,79 is only +33°, though even this shows a comparatively mild climate in so high a latitude. But if Iceland, thanks to its insular position and to the influence of the Gulf Stream, remains free from the excessive winter cold of the Arctic continents, its summer, on the other hand, is inferior in warmth to that which reigns in the interior of Siberia, or of the Hudson’s Bay territories.

The mean summer temperature at Reykjavik is not above +54°; during many years the thermometer never rises a single time above +80°; sometimes even its maximum is not higher than +59°; and, on the northern coast, snow not seldom falls even in the middle of summer. Under such circumstances, the cultivation of the cereals is of course impossible; and when the drift-ice remains longer than usual on the northern coasts, it prevents even the growth of the grass, and want and famine are the consequence.

The Icelandic summer is characterized by constant changes in the weather, rain continually alternating with sunshine, as with us in April. The air is but seldom tranquil, and storms of terrific violence are of frequent occurrence. Towards the end of September winter begins, preceded by mists, which finally descend in thick masses of snow. Travelling over the mountain-tracks is at this time particularly dangerous, although cairns or piles of stone serve to point out the way, and here and there, as over the passes of the Alps, small huts have been erected to serve as a refuge for the traveller.

In former times Iceland could boast of forests, so that houses and even ships used to be built of indigenous timber; at present it is almost entirely destitute of trees, for the dwarf shrubberies here and there met with, where the birch hardly attains the height of twenty feet, are not to be dignified with the name of woods. A service-tree (Sorbus ancuparia) fourteen feet high, and measuring three inches in diameter at the foot, is the boast of the governor’s garden at Reykjavik; it is, however, surpassed by another at Akureyre, which spreads a full crown twenty feet from the ground, but never sees its clusters of berries ripen into scarlet.

The damp and cool Icelandic summer, though it prevents the successful cultivation of corn, is favorable to the growth of grasses, so that in some of the better farms the pasture-grounds are hardly inferior to the finest meadows in England. About one-third of the surface of the country is covered with vegetation of some sort or other fit for the nourishment of cattle; but, as yet, art has done little for its improvement—ploughing, sowing, drainage, and levelling being things undreamt of. With the exception of the grasses, which are of paramount importance, and the trees, which, in spite of their stunted proportions, are of great value, as they supply the islanders with the charcoal needed for shoeing their horses, few of the indigenous plants of Iceland are of any use to man. The Angelica archangelica is eaten raw with butter; the matted roots or stems of the Menyanthes trifoliata serve to protect the backs of the horses against the rubbing of the saddle; and the Icelandic moss, which is frequently boiled in milk, is likewise an article of exportation. The want of better grain frequently compels the poor islanders to bake a kind of bread from the seeds of the sand-reed (Elymus arenarius), which on our dunes are merely picked by the birds of passage; and the oarweed or tangle (Laminaria saccharina)80 is prized as a vegetable in a land where potatoes and turnips are but rarely cultivated.

When the first settlers came to Iceland, they found but two indigenous land-quadrupeds: a species of field-vole (Arvicola œconomus) and the Arctic fox; but the seas and shores were no doubt tenanted by a larger number of whales, dolphins, and seals than at the present day.

The ox, the sheep, and the horse which accompanied the Norse colonists to their new home, form the staple wealth of their descendants; for the number of those who live by breeding cattle is as three to one, compared with those who chiefly depend on the sea for their subsistence. Milk and whey are almost the only beverages of the Icelanders. Without butter they will eat no fish; and curdled milk, which they eat fresh in summer and preserve in a sour state during the winter, is their favorite repast. Thus they set the highest value on their cattle, and tend them with the greatest care. In the preservation of their sheep, they are much hampered by the badness of the climate, by the scantiness of winter food, and by the attacks of the eagles, the ravens, and the foxes, more particularly at the lambing season, when vast numbers of the young animals are carried off by all of them. The wool is not sheared off, but torn from the animal’s back, and woven by the peasantry, during the long winter evenings, into a kind of coarse cloth, or knit into gloves and stockings, which form one of the chief articles of export.

“While at breakfast,” says Mr. Shepherd, “we witnessed the Icelandic method of sheep-shearing. Three or four powerful young women seized, and easily threw on their backs the struggling victims. The legs were then tied, and the wool pulled off by main force. It seemed, from the contortions of some of the wretched animals, to be a cruel method; but we were told that there is a period in the year when the young wool, beginning to grow, pushes the old out before it, so that the old coat is easily pulled out.” The number of heads of cattle in the island is about 40,000, that of the sheep 500,000.

The horses, which number from 50,000 to 60,000, though small, are very robust and hardy. There being no wheel carriages on the island, they are merely used for riding and as beasts of burden. Their services are indispensable, as without them the Icelanders would not have the means of travelling and carrying their produce to the fishing villages or ports at which the annual supplies arrive from Copenhagen. In winter the poor animals must find their own food, and are consequently mere skeletons in spring; they, however, soon recover in summer, though even then they have nothing whatever but the grass and small plants which they can pick up on the hills.

The dogs are very similar to those of Lapland and Greenland. Like them, they have long hair, forming a kind of collar round the neck, a pointed nose, pointed ears, and an elevated curled tail, with a temper which may be characterized as restless and irritable. Their general color is white.

In the year 1770 thirteen reindeer were brought from Norway. Ten of them died during the passage, but the three that survived have multiplied so fast that large herds now roam over the uninhabited wastes. During the winter, when hunger drives them into the lower districts, they are frequently shot;81 but no attempts have been made to tame them: for, though indispensable to the Laplander, they are quite superfluous in Iceland, which is too rugged and too much intersected by streams to admit of sledging. They are, in fact, generally considered as a nuisance, as they eat away the Icelandic moss, which the islanders would willingly keep for their own use.
47. ICELANDIC HORSES.

The Polar bear is but a casual visitor in Iceland. About a dozen come drifting every year with the ice from Jan Mayen, or Spitzbergen, to the northern shores. Ravenous with hunger, they immediately attack the first herds they meet with; but their ravages do not last long, for the neighborhood, arising in arms, soon puts an end to their existence.

In Iceland the ornithologist finds a rich field for his favorite study, as there are no less than eighty-two different species of indigenous birds, besides twenty-one that are only casual visitors, and six that have been introduced by man.

The swampy grounds in the interior of the country are peopled with legions of golden and king plovers, of snipes and red-shanks; the lakes abound with swans, ducks, and geese of various kinds; the snow-bunting enlivens the solitude of the rocky wilderness with his lively note, and, wherever grass grows, the common pipit (Anthus pratensis) builds its neat little nest, well lined with horsehair. Like the lark, he rises singing from the ground, and frequently surprises the traveller with his melodious warbling, which sounds doubly sweet in the lifeless waste.
48. SHOOTING REINDEER.

The eider-duck holds the first rank among the useful birds of Iceland. Its chief breeding-places are small flat islands on various parts of the coast, where it is safe from the attacks of the Arctic fox, such as Akurey, Flatey, and Videy,82 which, from its vicinity to Reykjavik, is frequently visited by travellers. All these breeding-places are private property, and several have been for centuries in the possession of the same families, which, thanks to the birds, are among the wealthiest of the land. It may easily be imagined that the eider-ducks are guarded with the most sedulous care. Whoever kills one is obliged to pay a83 fine of thirty dollars; and the secreting of an egg, or the pocketing of a few downs, is punished with all the rigor of the law. The chief occupation of Mr. Stephenson, the aged proprietor of Videy, who dwells alone on the islet, is to examine through his telescope all the boats that approach, so as to be sure that there are no guns on board. During the breeding season no one is allowed to land without his special permission, and all noise, shouting, or loud speaking is strictly prohibited. But, in spite of these precautions, we are informed by recent travellers that latterly the greater part of the ducks of Videy have been tempted to leave their old quarters for the neighboring Engey, whose proprietor hit upon the plan of laying hay upon the strand, so as to afford them greater facilities for nest-building. The eider-down is easily collected, as the birds are quite tame. The female having laid five or six pale greenish-olive eggs, in a nest thickly lined with her beautiful down, the collectors, after carefully removing the bird, rob the nest of its contents, after which they replace her. She then begins to lay afresh, though this time only three or four eggs, and again has recourse to the down on her body. But her greedy persecutors once more rifle her nest, and oblige her to line it for the third time. Now, however, her own stock of down is exhausted, and with a plaintive voice she calls her mate to her assistance, who willingly plucks the soft feathers from his breast to supply the deficiency. If the cruel robbery be again repeated, which in former times was frequently the case, the poor eider-duck abandons the spot, never to return, and seeks for a new home where she may indulge her maternal instinct undisturbed.
49. EIDER-DUCK.

Mr. Shepherd thus describes his visit to Vigr, in the Isafjardardjup, one of the head-quarters of the eider-duck in the north of Iceland: “As the island was approached, we could see flocks upon flocks of the sacred birds, and could hear their cooings at a great distance. We landed on a rocky wave-worn shore, against which the waters scarcely rippled, and set off to investigate the island. The shore was the most wonderful ornithological sight conceivable. The ducks and their nests were everywhere in a manner that was quite alarming. Great brown ducks sat upon their nests in masses, and at every step started up from under our feet. It was with difficulty that we avoided treading on some of the nests. The island being but three-quarters of a mile in width, the opposite shore was soon reached. On the coast was a wall built of large stones, just above the high-water level, about three feet in height, and of considerable thickness. At the bottom, on both sides of it, alternate stones had been left out, so as to form a series of square compartments for the ducks to make their nests in. Almost every compartment was occupied; and, as we walked along the shore, a long line of ducks flew out one after another. The surface of the water also was perfectly white with drakes, who welcomed their brown wives with loud and clamorous cooing. When we arrived at the farmhouse we were84 cordially welcomed by its mistress. The house itself was a great marvel. The earthern wall that surrounded it and the window embrasures were occupied by ducks. On the ground, the house was fringed with ducks. On the turf slopes of the roof we could see ducks; and a duck sat in the scraper.

“A grassy bank close by had been cut into square patches like a chessboard (a square of turf of about eighteen inches being removed, and a hollow made), and all were filled with ducks. A windmill was infested, and so were all the outhouses, mounds, rocks, and crevices. The ducks were everywhere. Many of them were so tame that we could stroke them on their nests; and the good lady told us that there was scarcely a duck on the island which would not allow her to take its eggs without flight or fear. When she first became possessor of the island, the produce of down from the ducks was not more than fifteen pounds’ weight in the year, but, under her careful nurture of twenty years, it had risen to nearly one hundred pounds annually. It requires about one pound and a half to make a coverlet for a single bed, and the down is worth from twelve to fifteen shillings per pound. Most of the eggs are taken and pickled for winter consumption, one or two only being left to hatch.”

Though not so important as the eider, the other members of the duck family which during the summer season enliven the lakes and swamps of Iceland are very serviceable. On the Myvatn, or Gnat Lake, one of their chief places of resort, the eggs of the long-tailed duck, the wild duck, the scoter, the common goosander, the red-breasted merganser, the scaup-duck, etc., and other anserines are carefully gathered and preserved in enormous quantities for the winter, closely packed in a fine gray volcanic sand.

The wild swan is frequently shot or caught for his feathers, which bring in many a dollar to the fortunate huntsman. This noble bird frequents both the salt and brackish waters along the coast and the inland lakes and rivers, where it is seen either in single pairs or congregated in large flocks. To build its nest, which is said to resemble closely that of the flamingo, being a large mound, composed of mud, rushes, grass, and stones, with a cavity at top lined with soft down, it retires to some solitary, uninhabited spot. Much has been said in ancient times of the singing of the swan, and the beauty of its dying notes; but, in truth, the voice of the swan is very loud, shrill, and harsh, though when high in the air, and modulated by the winds, the note or whoop of an assemblage of them is not unpleasant to the ear. It has a peculiar charm in the unfrequented wastes of Iceland, where it agreeably interrupts the profound silence that reigns around.

The raven, one of the commonest land-birds in Iceland, is an object of aversion to the islanders, as it not only seizes on their young lambs and eider-ducks, but also commits great depredations among the fishes laid out to dry upon the shore. Poles to which dead ravens are attached, to serve as a warning to the living, are frequently seen in the meadows; and the Icelander is never so happy as when he has succeeded in shooting a raven. This, however, is no easy task, as no bird is more cautious, and its eyes are as sharp as those of the eagle. Of all Icelandic birds, the raven breeds the earliest, laying about the middle of March its five or six pale-green eggs, spotted with brown, in the inaccessible85 crevices of rocks. Towards the end of June, Preyer saw many young ravens grown to a good size, and but little inferior to the old ones in cunning.

In the gloomy Scandinavian mythology the raven occupies a rank equal to that of the eagle in the more cheerful fables of ancient Greece. It was dedicated to Odin, who, as the traditional history of Iceland informs us, had two ravens, which were let loose every morning to gather tidings of what was going on in the world, and which on returning in the evening perched upon Odin’s shoulders to whisper the news in his ear; the name of one was Hugin, or spirit; of the other, Mumin, or memory. Even now many superstitious notions remain attached to the raven; for the Icelanders believe this bird to be not only acquainted with what is going on at a distance, but also with what is to happen in future, and are convinced that it foretells when any of the family is about to die, by perching on the roof of the house, or wheeling round in the air with a continual cry, varying its voice in a singular and melodious manner.

The white-tailed sea-eagle is not uncommon in Iceland, where he stands in evil repute as a kidnapper of lambs and eider-ducks. He is sometimes found dead in the nets of the fishermen; for, pouncing upon a haddock or salmon, he gets entangled in the meshes, and is unable to extricate himself. The skins of the bird, which seems to attain a larger size than in Great Britain, most likely from being less disturbed by man, are sold at Reykjavik and Akureyre for from three to six rix-dollars.
50. THE JYRFALCON.

The jyrfalcon (Falco gyrfalco), generally considered as the boldest and most beautiful of the falcon tribe, has its head-quarters in Iceland. As long as the noble sport of falconry was in fashion, for which it was highly esteemed, the trade in falcons was worth from 2000 to 3000 rix-dollars annually to the islanders, and even now high prices are paid for it by English amateurs.

The rarest bird of Iceland, if not entirely extinct, is the Giant-auk, or Geirfugl. The last pair was caught about seventeen years ago near the Geirfuglaskers, a group of solitary rocks to the south of the Westman Isles, its only known habitat besides some similar cliffs on the north-eastern coast. Since that time it is said to have been seen by some fishermen; but this testimony is extremely doubtful, and the question of its existence can only be solved by a visit to the Geirfuglaskers themselves—an undertaking which, if practicable at all, is attended with extreme difficulty and danger, as these rocks are completely isolated in the sea, which even in calm weather breaks with such violence against their abrupt declivities that for years it must be absolutely impossible to approach them.

In 1858 two English naturalists determined at least to make the attempt, and settled for a season in a small hamlet on the neighboring coast, eager to86 seize the first opportunity for storming the Geirfugl’s stronghold. They waited for several months, but in vain, the stormy summer being more than usually unfavorable for their undertaking; and they were equally unsuccessful in the north, whither they had sent an Icelandic student specially instructed for the purpose. The giant-auk is three feet high, and has a black bill four inches and a quarter long, both mandibles being crossed obliquely with several ridges and furrows. Its wings are mere stumps, like those of the Antarctic penguins. Thirty pounds have been paid for its egg, which is larger than that of any other European bird; and there is no knowing the price the Zoological Society would pay for a live bird, if this truly “rara avis” could still be found.
51. THE GIANT-AUK.

The waters of Iceland abound with excellent fish, which not only supply the islanders with a great part of their food and furnish them with one of their chief articles of exportation, but also attract a number of foreign seamen. Thus about 300 French, Dutch, and Belgian fishing-sloops, manned with crews amounting in all to 7000 men, annually make their appearance on the southern and western coasts of Iceland, particularly those of the Guldbringe Syssel, or gold-bringing country: thus named, not from any evidence of the precious metal, but from the golden cod-harvests reaped on its shores. Between thirty and forty English fishing-smacks yearly visit the northern coast. When they have obtained a good cargo they run to Shetland to discharge it, and return again for more.

The Icelandic fishing-season, which begins in February and ends in June, occupies one-half of the male inhabitants of the island, who come flocking to the west, even from the remotest districts of the north and east, to partake of the rich harvest of the seas. Many thus travel for more than 200 miles in the midst of winter, while the storm howls over the naked waste, and the pale sun scarcely dispels for a few hours the darkness of the night. In every hut where they tarry on the road they are welcome, and have but rarely to pay for their87 entertainment, for hospitality is still reckoned a duty in Iceland. On reaching the fishing-station, an agreement is soon made with the proprietor of a boat. They usually engage to assist in fishing from February 12 to May 12, and receive in return a share of the fish which they help to catch, besides forty pounds of flour and a daily allowance of sour curds, or “skier.”

All the men belonging to a boat generally live in the same damp and narrow hut. At daybreak they launch forth, to brave for many hours the inclemencies of the weather and the sea, and while engaged in their hard day’s work their sole refreshment is the chewing of tobacco or a mouthful of skier. On returning to their comfortless hut, their supper consists of the fishes of inferior quality they may have caught, or of the heads of the cod or ling, which are too valuable for their own consumption. These are split open and hung upon lines, or exposed on the shore to the cold wind and the hot sun; this renders them perfectly hard, and they keep good for years. In this dried state the cod is called stockfish. About the middle of May the migratory fishermen return to their homes, leaving their fish which are not yet quite dry to the care of the fishermen dwelling on the spot. Towards the middle of June, when the horses have so far recovered from their long winter’s fast as to be able to bear a load, they come back to fetch their stockfish, which they convey either to their own homes for the consumption of their own families, or to the nearest port for the purpose of bartering it against other articles. Haddocks, flatfish, and herrings are also very abundant in the Icelandic seas; and along the northern and north-western coasts the basking shark is largely fished for all the summer. Strong hooks baited with mussels or pieces of fish, and attached to chains anchored at a short distance from the shore, serve for the capture of this monster, which is scarcely, if at all, inferior in size to the white shark, though not nearly so formidable, as it rarely attacks man. The skin serves for making sandals; the coarse flesh is eaten by the islanders, whom necessity has taught not to be over-nice in their food; and the liver, the most valuable part, is stewed for the sake of its oil.

“We had observed,” says Mr. Shepherd, “that the horrible smell which infested Jsa-fjordr varied in intensity as we approached or receded from a certain black-looking building at the northern end of the town. On investigating this building, we discovered that the seat of the smell was to be found in a mass of putrid sharks’ livers, part of which were undergoing a process of stewing in a huge copper. It was a noisome green mass, fearful to contemplate. The place was endurable only for a few seconds; yet dirty-looking men stirred up the mass with long poles, and seemed to enjoy the reeking vapors.”

The salmon of Iceland, which formerly remained undisturbed by the phlegmatic inhabitants, are now caught in large numbers for the British market. A small river bearing the significant name of Laxaa, or Salmon River, has been rented for the trifling sum of £100 a year by an English company, which sends every spring its agents to the spot well provided with the best fishing apparatus. The captured fish are immediately boiled, and hermetically packed in tin boxes, so that they can be eaten in London almost as fresh as if they had just been caught.

88 The mineral kingdom contributes but little to the prosperity of Iceland. It affords neither metals, nor precious stones, nor rock-salt, nor coal; for the seams of “surturbrand”, or “lignite”, found here and there, are too unimportant to be worked. The solfataras of Krisuvik and Husavik, though extremely interesting to the geologist, likewise furnish sulphur in too impure a condition or too thinly scattered to afford any prospect of being worked with success, not to mention the vast expense of transport over the almost impassable lava-tracks that separate them from the nearest ports. In 1839–40, when, in consequence of the monopoly granted by the Neapolitan Government to a French company, sulphur had risen to more than three times its usual price, Mr. Knudsen, an enterprising Danish merchant, undertook to work the mines of Krisuvik, but even then it would not answer.

In 1859, a London company, founded by Mr. Bushby,—who having explored the sulphur districts, had raised great expectations on what he considered their dormant wealth,—renewed the attempt, but after a year’s trial it was abandoned as perfectly hopeless. The “solfataras of Iceland”, says Professor Sartorius of Waltershausen, “can not compete with those of Sicily, where more sulphur is wantonly wasted and trodden under foot than all Iceland possesses. While the “Namars” of the north, which are far richer than those of Krisuvik, annually furnish scarcely more than ten tons, the sulphur mines of Sicily produce at least 50,000, and, if necessary, could easily export double the quantity.”

As coal is too expensive a fuel for any but the rich in the small sea-port towns, and peat, though no doubt abundantly scattered over the island, is dug only in a few places, the majority of the people make use of singular substitutes. The commonest is dried cow’s and sheep’s dung; but many a poor fisherman lacks even this “spicy” material, and is fain to use the bones of animals, the skeletons of fishes or dried sea-birds, which, with a stoical contempt for his olfactory organs, he burns, feathers and all. There is, however, no want of fuel in those privileged spots where drift-wood is found, and here the lava hearth of the islander cheerfully blazes either with the pine conveyed to him by the kindly Polar currents from the Siberian forests, or with some tropical trunk, wafted by the Gulf Stream over the Atlantic to his northern home.