In one of the beds lay a poor sick child. From her wasted appearance one might suppose she was in a consumption, but this fatal disease is unknown in Iceland.
In another bed lay a poor old woman, who as I addressed her grinned at me so horribly, in the dim-light, that she had the appearance of an awful old witch, and afforded a great contrast to the fragile child in the adjoining bed. Each bed was covered by an old-fashioned patch-work quilt.
Stowed away among the low rafters of the roof I noticed a spinning-wheel and paraffin lamp, and some clothes packed in little tight bundles; much as I should have liked to stop and take in a few more details, my nasal organs could stand no more, and, feeling somewhat faint, I had, nolens volens, to make a rush for the door. Much to my regret, I did not dare venture inside again to further inspect this curious bedchamber.
Our old lady bade us a most affectionate farewell, returning several times to shake us warmly by the hand, but distinctly refusing our proffered krone.
About half way between the Geysers and Thingvalla we recrossed the famous Bruara Fall. From bank to bank it is probably 200 feet, but in fine weather a crossing can be made by a little bridge which spans some 6 feet of babbling, seething water[p. 137] at the narrowest part of the rocks, where the river forms two cascades. The bridge is old and rickety, and as the water is of considerable depth and tremendous volume, the bridge is hardly a desirable halting-place for any length of time, although the view from its planks is very fascinating.
We passed that night once more in the parsonage at Thingvalla, but much more comfortably than before, as we had engaged all the rooms beforehand, and also ordered a good fish dinner to be ready for us on our arrival.
As to meat, we did not expect to get it; beef is hardly ever eaten by the Icelanders, being too expensive to procure. The native sheep are usually killed towards the end of September, and the meat salted or smoked for winter consumption. Formerly horse-flesh was much eaten in the Island, but is not so now. This struck us as strange in a place where such a scarcity of food exists, and where ponies abound. Having tasted it myself while in Germany, I know it is by no means to be despised.
The principal vegetables to be had in Iceland are turnips and potatoes, and of these there is only a limited supply; so that really fish remains the one staple diet of the Island,—on the coast this is eaten fresh, but it is dried before being packed and sent into the interior—cod, salmon, haddock, trout, halibut, herrings, flounders, and sometimes sharks.
The next morning, as soon as we had break[p. 138]fasted, we mounted our ponies with the regretful feeling the day's ride would be our last in Iceland. We had been unfortunate in missing the clergyman at Thingvalla both going and returning: we regretted it the more as we heard that he was a very clever man and a good English scholar. Our good-natured hostess, however, had done her best to supply his place, and we bade her a hearty farewell, with much shaking of hands. Off we went at a gallop, traversing the same route, fording the same rivers as on our up journey, arriving safely at Reykjavik on the fourth day from that on which we had left it, having compassed the 160 miles in three and a half days with comparatively little fatigue, which I attribute to our mode of riding being so much easier a movement than sitting sideways with a half twisted body. I can only repeat what I before said, that we should never have accomplished this long and fatiguing ride so easily, and in such a short time, either in a chair or on a side saddle; so if any lady should follow our example, and go to Iceland, let her be prepared to defy Mrs Grundy, and ride as a man.
We had certainly every reason to be contented with the result of our trip to the Geysers. The weather had been favourable,—very hot sometimes in the middle of the day, but cold at night; but this was rather refreshing than otherwise, and the scenery had well repaid our toil and trouble. The Icelandic landscapes do not lack colour, as has been asserted by some travellers; whilst the clearness[p. 139] of the atmosphere is wonderful, and the shades of blue, purple, carmine, and yellow in the sky melting into one another produce most lovely effects.