Mr Farrer, who first “established the important fact of Runic inscriptions existing in Orkney, where none had hitherto been found,” gives both sets of palm-runes (Plates VIII. and IX.). He borrows the following information (p. 29, referring to Plate VIII.) from Professor Stephens, a good Norsk scholar: “The six crypt runes or secret staves represent the letters A, Æ, R, L, I, K, R, and signify Aalikr or Erling, a proper name, or perhaps the beginning of some sentence.” Professor Munch observes, “The other characters in the third line are known as ‘Limouna,[315] or Bough-Runes.’ They were used during the later times of the Runic period in the same manner as the Irish Ogham, but are not here intelligible. The writer probably intended to represent the chief vowels—A, E, I, O, U, Y. The Runic alphabet was divided into two classes: the strokes on the left of the vertical line indicating the class, and those on the right the rune itself.” And Professor Rafn declares, “The palm-runes underneath cannot be read in the usual manner; the first, third, and fourth of the runes being a, o, and i; the writer probably intended to give all the vowels, but some of the letters have been obviously miscarried, and have perhaps been altered and defaced at a later period by other persons. In the first of these a cross line has been added to show that the letter a is intended.” Of No. XVIII. (Plate X.), Mr Farrer notes, “The palm-runes are rarely capable of being deciphered.” Professor Munch similarly declares, “The boughrunes are not easy to decipher;” whilst Professor Stephens asserts, “The palm-runes on the first line indicate Thisar Runar—‘these runes.’” They are mentioned in the Elder Edda (Sigrdrífumál, stanza 11):
“Lim-runes thou must ken,
An thou a leech wouldst be,
And know to heal hurts.”
The cryptogram, “El Mushajjar,” was forwarded to Mr Petrie, who replied as follows: “I attempted by means of your tree-branched alphabet to read the palm-runes of Maes Howe, but failed. It then occurred to me that they might correspond with the Futhork, or Icelandic alphabet, and, obtaining the key of the cipher, I completely succeeded after a few hours’ trial. On referring to Mr Farrer’s copies of the translations given by the Scandinavian professors, I find that Professor Stephens appears to have put five runes in each of the first two classes, which makes the third palm-rune (inscription No. I.) to be L instead of Y; moreover, he does not give the key. My first attempt at classifying the runes by means of the cipher turned out correct, and I have therefore retained that classification in reading the second inscription. It is evident that the classification could be altered at will of the person using it, and this uncertainty of arrangement must constitute the difficulty of interpreting such runes.”
In Nos. XIX. and XX. (Plate X.) we read “Iorsafarar Brutu Orkhröugh”—the Jórsalafarar (Jerusalem-farers, i.e., pilgrim-visitors of Jerusalem) broke open Orkhow (shelter-mound), probably in search of treasure: the latter is an object especially Eastern. There are seven crosses, and one inscription (No. XIII.) must be read from right to left. We may therefore believe that certain old Coquillards, and possibly Crusaders, returning from Palestine, whence they brought the “hubby,”[316] violated the tombs, and left a single name and an unfinished inscription to record their propensity[317] for grave-plundering.
We visited the museum at Stromness, the amorpholites or “Standing Stones,” and that “Mediterranean in miniature,” the Stennis Lake, whose flora is partly marine and partly lacustrine. Hereabouts, the plain shows distinct remnants of the two great epochs—Bruna-öld, the Age of Burning; and Hauga-öld, the Age of Burial. We have no reason to believe the tradition that Odin introduced cremation; doubtless, the “crematee” was chiefly of the wealthy classes, while the poor were inhumed—they were both synchronous in the days of the Twelve Tables: “Hominem mortuum in urbe ne sepelito, neve urito.” Hence a valuable rule for tracing the exact limits of old Roman cities, even of Rome herself: the cemetery was always outside the city settlement, and, if possible, to the south.
The day ended happily, as it began, in meeting Colonel Burroughs of Rousay, and Dr Rea of Arctic fame. My memories of Kirkwall are pleasant in the extreme. It wants only a good modern hotel to deserve the patronage of tourists, who, in these days, are told to “try Lapland,” when they have ample inducement to pass a summer in the “storm-swept Orcades,” and in other sections of the Scoto-Scandinavian archipelago.
On Friday, September 6, the “Jón Sigurðsson,” Captain Müller of whom more presently, made with some difficulty the Shetland Mainland. Many derivations are offered for the latter word, but, as the island is larger than all the rest put together, the obvious signification suffices.[318] A dark, thick fog had kept us drifting all night close to the dangerous rocks called Hivda Grind, Havre de Grind, or Hardegrind, originally Nafargrind, from Grind (a hedge-gate or sea-way), and, perhaps, Höfða (a head or bluff). Our position, some seven miles E.S.E. of Foula (Fugley) Island, explained the noise of the surf and the shallowing of water to thirty-two fathoms—it is far easier in these latitudes to hear than to see the land! The raw mist obscured the bold, grand scenery of the western coast till noon, when a sickly sun sublimed the vapours, reminding me of the Malabar coast after the Nilgherry Hills. Very mild was the Roost[319] or Race of Sumburgh, a Euripus, where nine currents are said to meet. We could distinctly sight Fitful[320] Head, and
“We saw the tide
Break thundering on the rugged side
Of Sumburgh’s awful steep.”
Its flank of clay-slate showed vast rivas (clefts) and stone-slips, while beyond it lay the skeleton of Jarlshof (Earl’s house), names now world-known. It is curious to trace how the practised eye and the wonderful memory which created our modern historical novel skimmed the very cream of Hjaltland peculiarities during a few days’ visit in August 1814, the year in which he published the Eyrbyggja Saga;[321] and it is fortunate for writing travellers that Sir Walter Scott did not visit the Færoes and Iceland. See what he did for the “Waverley Line” of Railway! Amongst the islanders he is a household word, but though the Troils of Papa Westræ do not object to Magnus Troil, they are still incensed by the portraiture of that “fiddling, rhyming fool,” poor Claud Halcro.
The approach to Bressey Sound, one of the finest ports in Great Britain, is unusually picturesque. On the right is the “Wart of Bressey”[322]—verrucose features are here common as in the Orkneys, but the word is the Icelandic “Varða,” and the German “Warte,” a watch-house. Its flanks are gashed for turf; and a goodly lighthouse is as much wanted on the dangerous western coast as on the Mediterranean shores of Africa. The island was lately sold, they say, for £20,000. On the left is the historic Knap or Knab (Hnapp meaning a button) of quartzose slate, backed by the quarries and the spreading town of Lerwick—mud bay. The (Arthur) Anderson Institute and the Widows’ Asylum reminded me of a Shetlander who began life as a clerk, became M.P. in 1847-52, and died the chairman of the great “P. & O.”—it is a pity that these fine establishments were not better endowed. The capital stands with its feet in the water; the houses, with their crow-stepped gables, being so built for convenience of smuggling, and its sons fondly compare it with cities on the Rhine. Half a dozen Dutch busses, riding in couples, now represent the hundreds of bygone days, when the British fisheries were called the “gold mine of Holland.” Certain features suggested modern Tiberias, but the disproportionate number of the churches soon weighed down that flight of fancy.