KIRKJUBÆ RUINS IN FÆROE ISLANDS
The course lay abreast of Mygganaes (Midge Naze),[332] with its head to the south, and projecting a long low tail cut by a “coupé,” like that of Sark. We then opened Waagoe (voe islet), so called because imbedded in the greater Stromoe. At the southern end, where once whales abounded, as may be seen in prints of 1844, many “Battles of the Summer Islands” were fiercely waged. We pass Gaasholm, Tind-holm, or Peak Island, a slice of rock with jagged uplifted edge, here a common feature, the Koltar (Coulter), which passably represents its name, and Hestoe the horse-eyot. The latter is a common Scandinavian name for a feature with a long straight dorsum, ready as it were for the saddle—witness the Horse of “Copinshay” (Kolbeins-ey): the hunchbacks are mostly called “hogs,” and the smaller outliers “calves.” The normal shape is a quoin, bluff to north or east, and sloping with a regular green incline to the water. There is no snow; the hay crop has been got in, and the settlements are villages, not Bærs or detached farms. We ran within easy sight of Kirkjubæ, which stands well out from its adjacent hovels; it is the last Roman Catholic building in the islands, and the “Reformation” left its sturdy walls unroofed. Visitors speak of an iron plate imbedded in its masonry, and supposed to denote treasure, which is not likely. The old Church still keeps up a mission-house and chapel at Thorshafn, but we found the building void of priests.
Whilst the “haaf,” or outer sea, was calm as a lake, a cold and furious southerly wind, the gift of the funnel between Sandoe and Stromoe, blew in our faces, and when we had turned the southern point of the latter, it again met us from the north-east. The capital Thorshafn is a small heap of houses, or rather boxes strewed “promiscuous” on the ground, and a large white church, whose belfry is adorned with a gilt ball and a profusion of crosses. It has, however, a literary dean, and, better still, a library. The site of the settlement is a spit of rock dividing the harbour into a northern and a southern “hop”—the latter being generally preferred. A green flag floating over a shed near the fort denotes the quarantine station; planked boat-houses figure conspicuously, and the roofs are more grassy even than in Iceland. Willows, elder-trees, and currant-bushes, looking gigantic after the stunted vegetation farther north, flourish in sheltered spots, especially near the well-bridged brook in the southern part of the city. Along the dorsum of the spit runs an upper road with a small central square, looking as if a single house had been pulled down to make room. Huge boulders have not disappeared from the thoroughfares, and the latter are the most crooked and irregular of any that claim to be in Europe; narrow, steep, and steppy—- narrower than Malta, steeper than ramps at “Gib,” and steppy like Dalmatian towns, for instance Curzola and Lésina: in places they are supplied with hand-rails.
The people are remarkably English in appearance, and perhaps an easy reason may be found for the resemblance. They appear rather shy than the reverse, and they notably lack Hazlitt’s “Scotch stare.” The women show the bloom of infinite delicacy that characterises the complexion of Iceland. The men, who unwisely shave their faces, still affect the picturesque island-dress, a peculiar-shaped cap of dark colour with thin blue or red stripes, long brown jacket, knee breeches of Wadmal, long stockings, and untanned spartelles, or “chumpers,” the wooden-soled clogs of “Lankyshire.”
We called on Hr Sysselmand Müller, and we left the Færoes with a conviction that its capital is one of the “slowest” places now in existence: the only possible excitement would be to buy a 560-fathom “fowl-rope,”[333] and to dangle like the samphire-gatherer of dreadful trade over the bird-precipices. “In a rope’s end between earth and heaven, with the blue sky above you, and below you the still bluer sea tumbling, between which two you swing to and fro like a pendulum,” one might secure a novel sensation to take the place of many an illusion perdue. A St Bartholomew’s Day of a hundred and fifty whales, a massacre headed by the parson and the schoolmaster, must also have its charms, but these events are unhappily waxing rare.
NOTE ON STONE IMPLEMENTS AND OTHER PRE-HISTORIC REMAINS FOUND IN THE SHETLAND ISLANDS.
By the late Robert Cowie, M.A., M.D.
Of the pre-historic weapons of warfare, or implements of domestic economy, which have been found in the Shetland Islands, by far the most numerous and important are the stone implements. These naturally divide themselves into two classes, viz., the polished and the rude. First let us speak of the polished stone implement, celt, steinbarte, battle-axe head, or “thunderbolt.” This implement has, for centuries, been an object of search, not only for the antiquary and the collector of curiosities, but for the native peasantry—the latter class regarding it with superstitious awe, as a sort of household god, who brings luck to the family that is fortunate enough to possess it. They term it the “thunderbolt,” from a belief—everywhere found and dating from all times—that the weapon has come down from the sky during a thunderstorm. These “celts,” or steinbartes, as they are generally termed in scientific language, again divide themselves into two varieties, viz. (1.) the single-edged steinbarte and (2.) the double-edged steinbarte.
1. The single-edged steinbarte, which is by far the most common, is thus very accurately described by Dr Hibbert, in his excellent work on Shetland: “This variety of blade has one cutting edge, generally of a semilunar outline, and tapering from opposite points to a blunted extremity or heel. In some specimens both sides are convex; in others one side only, the other being flattened. All the edges except the broad sharpened margin are bluntly rounded off. The single-edged stone-axes of Shetland vary much in their dimensions, being from four to eight or ten inches in length; their breadth proportionately differing. When the Shetland steinbarte was used in war, its blunt tapering extremity may be supposed to have been introduced within the perforation made into some wooden or bone haft, and afterwards secured by overlapping cords, formed of thongs of leather, or the entrails of some animal; twine of hemp not being then in use.”
From considerable personal observation, I can testify to the accuracy of the above description, except that there appears to be in these instruments greater variety in size than that indicated by the learned Doctor; the largest single-headed steinbarte in the Lerwick Museum being 14½ inches long by 4½ inches at the broadest point, and the smallest 4½ inches long by 2½ inches at the broadest point.
Continuing the paragraph just quoted, Dr Hibbert says: “Another kind of steinbarte has been said to occur in Shetland, the sharp edge of which describes the segment of a circle, whilst the chord of the outline is thickened like the back of a knife. Probably its blunt edge was fixed within the groove of a wooden or bone handle, so as to form a single-edged cutting instrument.” This peculiar variety must have been very rare indeed, for no one appears to have seen it since the days of the Rev. Mr Low of Orkney, who wrote exactly a century ago.