There is a singular cone-shaped mountain called Brimnæs Fjall at the mouth of the fiord, showing masses of clay-rock alternating with and pushing up trap, which is deposited in thin layers of perpendicular structure. Several pillars or shafts are left standing singly on the very summit, and present a very curious appearance, distinctly relieved against the amber light of the sky. At Dr. Mackinlay’s request I made a sketch of it.
BRIMNÆS FJALL.
A vessel of Mr. Henderson’s, which had been given up as lost, now unexpectedly came in sight, which necessitated Mr. Jacobson and a young Iceland lad, who were en route to Copenhagen, to get on board her and return to Seydisfiord to look after her cargo, evidently much to their disappointment.
The wild scenery of the coast, especially at Reydarfiord, was strikingly picturesque.[[41]]
Mr. Murray, Professor Chadbourne, Mr. Henderson and I walked the deck till a late or rather an early hour, and watched the fast receding mountain-ranges of Iceland—pale lilac, mauve, or deep purple—and the distant horns, shading through similar tints from rose to indigo, all distinctly seen athwart the golden light of the horizon which for hours has been ebbing slowly and softly away, but is now on the turn, and about to flow again.
Sabbath, August 7. The weather is fine; no land or sail in sight all day; whales playing about the ship. Had many pleasant deck-walks and talks, and several quiet hours, sitting perched on the stem, reading, or watching the prow, below, cutting and cleaving through the clear green water like a knife.
Monday morning, August 8. We are sailing between two of the Faröe islands, bright sunshine lighting up all the regularly terraced trap-rocks, caves, and crevices of this singular group.
I have now got a pet to look after, and, without Shakspere’s authority for it, we know that
“Young ravens must have food.”