One of the rivers had so many turns that we crossed and recrossed it about twenty times. The low-lying land around being all bog, it was necessary to keep our ponies to the comparatively firm shingle on the river side.
An abrupt ascent, long and steep, formed a pleasant change to the monotony of the rugged plain. Up this 'berg' our ponies wound their way zigzag between the rough boulders of rock which strewed the path. At the top we met several men with their train of ponies, waiting for us to pass them, the path being only wide enough for single file. Here we waited to give the ponies breath, and admired the view, which was wonderfully extensive. The road up looked like a ladder, so steep was it, and we wondered how the ponies could have climbed it at all.[p. 118]
The Icelanders are a very polite race; nearly every man you meet takes off his cap and salutes you. When meeting friends, they pull off their right hand glove and shake hands heartily. In Iceland, as elsewhere on the Continent, they also pass on the left side; indeed, I believe we English are the only nation who pass on the near side or right hand.
We halted for luncheon at a small cave, just such a place as one might expect to find Runic remains, but there were none, so we contented ourselves with eating chocolate, and letting the ponies enjoy a little grass. This cave, like many others in the Island, was used in winter as a sheep pen, the poor brutes being huddled together to prevent their being frozen to death during the long winter nights.
From here we galloped merrily on for some distance; at last we called each other's attention to an extraordinary yellow haze, like a band of London fog, across the horizon. Thicker and thicker it became: and as it rolled towards us, we realised we had encountered a regular dust-storm. Into it we rode: so thick in fact did it become, that by the time we reached the Geysers all around was hidden in yellow sand, and our eyes were filled with dust, until the tears streamed down and we were nearly blinded. It whirled round and round in its storm fury, until we were half-choked, two of our party getting very bad sore throats, produced by the irritation of the dust, as it filled eyes, nose, and mouth. It[p. 119] powdered our hair also to a yellow grey, but our faces, what a sight they were! The tears had run down, making little streams amid the dust, and certainly we were hardly recognisable to one another. These dust-storms are somewhat uncommon, but proceed, in certain winds, from a large sand desert.
We pulled up at some hot springs within a few feet of the lake, which were smoking and steaming to the height of several feet, and falling down again formed numerous boiling pools. In these we put our fingers, but pulled them out quickly. Next we inserted the handles of our riding-whips: the brass bands round them turning mauve and violet from the sulphur and alum in the water; but this pretty effect soon wore off. The colour of the water and deposit round the edges of this pool were very pretty, and the bubbles as they ascended took the most lovely colours—emerald, purple, etc., turning into aqua-marine before breaking on the surface; but the odour was like terribly bad eggs. These hot springs are a curious freak of Nature, boiling and bubbling up within three feet of a cold water lake; in fact, we sat down and placed one hand in cold water and the other in hot. This was a very curious experience.
Two hours' further riding through a tract covered with willow and birch scrub, and we arrived at the 'Bruara' river. When this river is low, it can be crossed by a rudely-constructed bridge, with strong iron-clamped hand-rails on either side; but during floods it is impassable, as several feet above the[p. 120] waters form a roaring cataract, when travellers have to be ferried across, at a higher point.
On we rode still through the dust-storm, over lava fields, rugged and rough in the extreme, and most weird-looking from their blackness. We passed several paths which our guide told us led into the interior of the Island, where there are still large unexplored tracts, lying at the base of a range of high snow mountains, called 'Jökull,' most of them supposed to be volcanic, but of which little is really known.
We were all getting very tired as we neared the end of our second day's ride; tired and dirty, for the sand-storm still continued. Fresh impetus was given to our ride, however, by overtaking one of the miserable party of five who had preceded us by two hours from Thingvalla. He was walking dejectedly beside his pony, too great a sufferer from inexperienced riding to remount.
Being inspired with ambition to be first in the field, we galloped past him and his companions one by one, and A. L. T. and I had the excitement of finishing our race to the Geysers.