We sat, after reaching Hruni, amongst the graves, which had just been utilised by mowing. Seeing our forlorn plight, the Prófastr, Síra Johann Brím or Briem, came out of his house, kindly greeted us in Latin, and did the honours of his little church. On the right of the entrance was the small library, containing the oldest Icelandic translation of the New Testament[104]—not bad pro pauperie nostrâ. Better still, he led us to his home and, enlarging upon the mal paso before us, he adhibited a most copious feed of Hvítá salmon, smoked beef, cheese, biscuits, and white bread, with golden sherry and sundry cups of café au lait. And as we mounted with many vales and gratias agimus, he insisted upon a final Hesta-skál (stirrup-cup) of distilled waters. I afterwards learned that we were not the only travellers whom the good Prófastr has sent on their way rejoicing: he extends a similar hospitality to all strangers.
Mightily refreshed, we looked forward with pleasure to the novelty of a really vile Iceland path, and to fording a river with a notably bad name. The line was certainly foul, a succession of ugly swamps: in this part of the island the meridional routes are good, not so those running east to west, and striking the streams at right angles. The Hvítá proved itself a barking dog; the muddy white water, like the discharge of a gutter, was split into six veins, and swashed round the sand-holms, bright with the island-rose. The worst were Nos. 1, 4, and 6, the latter nearest the right bank. Páll’s nag came to grief over a round stone, but he cleverly dismounted; and our stout little animals, now waxing sadly tired, mustered courage to spring goat-like up the steep side. In the Morea this Hvítá would be called Gaidaropnictis, or the donkey-drowner.
We travelled along the right-hand valley of the White Water, which here assumes a menacing, sinister aspect, and the frequent ferries, above and below the ford, prove that it can be really dangerous: when the spring-snows melt, the scene must be imposing. The current, like that of the Congo, boils and swirls through a deep gorge, a trough of perpendicular rocks which wholly ignore landing-places. A number of “old men” showed the desolation of the land, all gorges and dykes, and the sheep followed us, as young bisons do, for company’s sake. We remarked, for the first time, that the sun really set, and that in Iceland there is such a thing as a moon: this simulation of night without a dawn before one A.M. was comforting. Still in the brassy northern sky rose the weird forms of the Jarlhettur, the earl’s hats—and we wearily wondered who the hatter might have been. A tower and a rampart, jagged into a saw, form a castellated wall defending the south-eastern glacis of Lángjökull. About ten P.M. we fell into a long descent, clothed with birch forest, and we idly discussed how long it would take a rhinoceros to graze it down. Mr Bryson could not trace any birch or bush nearer than thirty miles from the Geysir: he might have found them within five miles to the west and seven to the east. A big column of white vapour on our right, and others scattered over the distance, again and again deluded us, and we neglected the real thing, two humble puffs, to the left or west.
A short colloquy at a farm-house made Páll sure of his direction, and he hurried us on to the goal through villainous bog and splashing streams. Disappointment at once awaited us. A large party of travellers had, we heard, pitched tents at the water-works, stubbornly resolved to wait an explosion. The hay, the firewood, the broken bottles, the scraps of newspaper, and the names fresh-graved upon the sintery saucer told their own tale: the Gusher had gushed, we afterwards learned, on the 13th, and might not gush again for a fortnight. In melancholy mood we pitched the “pal,” open towards the basin, and under the shadow as it were of the steam, which we could hear, see, feel, touch, and smell. The guide went off to sleep at Haukadalr (hawk dale), a farm dimly looming to the north; but the traveller is, to speak figuratively, tied by the leg, chained to the Geysir. Unless Fate favour him with a display, he can neither visit the home of Ari Fróði nor St Martin’s baths, whose miraculous cures of the lame and the leper have ceased with the child-like, trusting faith that caused them.
Once or twice during the remnant of the night we heard a growl, when
“Fell Geyser roared and struggling shook the ground.”
Each time the rumble and the crepitus caused a rush from the tent, but beyond the pleasing mobility of the vapour-clouds there was nothing to see. The cold morning air showed the puffs and sheets of steam rising from the Geysir-ground to great advantage.
St Swithin’s Day “in the morrnin’,” began with a visit from Páll, who brought an old woman to make coffee at the boiling spring, and Haukadalr cream which savoured strongly of civilising influences—Hr Sigurðr Pállsson’s family has evidently learnt “a thing or two.” Came also the spade de rigeur, which a generation has used for worrying the Strokkr; it lets for $1 per diem, and by this time it must have proved itself a small silver mine.
The day broke cold and cloudy, with a wind from north and north-west, and the air was not swept clean till the afternoon, when a strong north-wester set in. We found to the west of the Geysir a bath, lately made with turf and stone; its unconscionable heat drove us farther south. An excellent therma might easily be cut in the silex; and as for warm and cold water, they can be turned on ad libitum. The element has a slimy feel, the effect of silica (?), which reminded me of Central African frog-pools; it has no appreciable taste nor sediment, yet clothes washed in it are tainted with sulphur; and we can swear that it tinges “Schnapps” with a rich horsepond hue.
After the holystoning required for comfort, we proceeded to the serious study of the emplacement. It has been perfunctorily described by all travellers, even by Baring-Gould, and worse by the venerable Lyell. The latter makes “the Geysers” rise through lava which may have been erupted by Hekla, distant only thirty miles, which is impossible.