The great object of interest at Kirk Göboe is the ancient church, from which the place derives its name; a long, low stone building, whitewashed and covered with a sod roof, but, owing to repeated repairs, now presenting no particular traces of antiquity, although reported to have been built in the eighth century. I have no data in reference to this interesting relic, and am not aware that antiquarians have ever attempted to trace out its origin. The probability is that it was built by some of those Culdee anchorites of whom Dasent speaks as the first settlers of Iceland.
The interior of the church contains an altar, and some wooden carvings on the head-boards of the pews, evidently of great antiquity. It is impossible to conjecture from their appearance whether they are five hundred or a thousand years old—at least without more research than a casual tourist can bestow upon them.
There is also within a few steps of the farm-house a much larger and more picturesque ruin of a church, built in a later style of architecture. The only information I could get about this ruin was that it dates back as far as the fifteenth century. The walls are of rough stone well put together, and now stand roofless and moss-covered, inhabited only by crows and swallows. The doors and windows are in the Gothic style. A sketch made from the door of the old church first mentioned, embracing the residence of the Petersen family, with a glimpse of the cliffs and rugged ledges behind upon which their flocks graze, will give the best idea of the whole premises.
FARM-HOUSE AND RUINS.
Having thus pleasantly occupied a few hours at Kirk Göboe, I bade adieu to the worthy family who had so hospitably entertained me, and was about to set out for [!-- Illustration page --] Thorshavn, when young Petersen, not content with the directions he had given me, announced his intention of seeing me safe over the mountain. In vain I assured him that, however pleasant his company would be, I had no apprehension of losing the way this time. Go he would, and go he did; and when we parted on the top of the mountain, in plain sight of Thorshavn, he cordially shook me by the hand, and said many kind words, which I could only interpret to mean that he and all his kith and kin wished me a pleasant voyage to Iceland, and many years of health and happiness.
When I now recall the fine, intelligent face of this young man, his bright dark eyes, healthy complexion, and strong, well-knit frame, the latent energy in all his movements, the genial simplicity of his manners, and his evident thirst for knowledge, I can not help feeling something akin to regret that so much good material should be wasted in the obscurity of a shepherd’s life. So gifted by nature, what might not such a youth achieve in an appropriate sphere of action? And yet, perhaps, it is better for him that he should spend his life among the barren cliffs of Stromoe, with no more companions than his dog and his sheep, than jostle among men in the great outer world, to learn at last the bitter lesson that the eye is not satisfied with riches, nor the understanding with knowledge.
On the way down to the Valley of Thorshavn I met a man mounted on a shaggy little monster, which in almost any other country would have been mistaken for a species of sheep. As this was a fair specimen of a Faroese horse and his rider, I sat down on a rock after they had passed and took the best view of them I could get.
Late in the afternoon the scattered passengers were gathered together, and the good people of Thorshavn came down to the wharf to bid us farewell. In half an hour more we were all on board. “Up anchor!” was the order, and once more we went steaming on our way.