The captain looked uneasy, as he had discerned ice ahead, and during his last voyage this fog had betokened its dangerous proximity. To turn back now and go round the Island to Reykjavik would be a serious loss of time. We slackened speed, the fog-horn was blown, and several times the sailors took deep-sea soundings.
At dinner-time the captain handed me a parcel[p. 91] containing a tiny shell and a piece of coal black lava, drawn up from 66 fathoms of water S.-E. North Cape, and 27 miles from the same. Though only 10 miles from land, the fog so entirely hid the coast that we missed one of the prettiest views of Iceland.
The next day, however, was lovely, and under a cloudless blue sky the coast-line showed to the greatest advantage. The sunset that night was one of the finest I have ever seen. Snaefell Jökull, with its snow summit, stood out against the most perfect sky, the colours deepening from yellow to orange, and vermilion to carmine, and constantly changing, like a kaleidoscope.
At 11.30 p.m. the sun had not set, but was illuminating the heavens with the most gorgeous colouring, reminding one of the distant warmer regions of the south, although at the same time the thermometer stood far below freezing point as we steamed within the Arctic Circle.