They lamented only one thing, not having taken a pack of cards, or a cribbage board, to while away the long, slow hours of halt.
The next that effected his escape was a young painter, who came out for the purpose of sketching Iceland scenery, and who wisely chose the seldom-visited south coast. Thus he was able to imitate the Conte di Haga, che molto vede e poco paga; and all his expenses during forty-two days were limited to a couple of florins per diem. He resolved to buy ponies, and laid out £17, 10s. upon three, expecting after return to sell them for two-thirds of the outlay, whereas the usual hire would have absorbed $126. And he was successful. But travelling in this way becomes exceedingly slow, as the animals must be the first consideration, if at least they are to fetch anything like cost price at the end of the journey. He secured a guide, of whom more presently: the fellow at once became painfully familiar, “independent” would be the polite word, and stuck to his victim like a leech.
Captain J. and Dr S. of the Indian Army allowed themselves six weeks for a sporting tour, which was a dead failure. Unfortunately they fell into bad hands. Metcalfe advises the traveller to engage some student by way of interpreter; and I found it a good plan in the eastern country. Moreover, even at Reykjavik, good guides are procurable. But they lent a willing ear to a certain Helgi Magnússon of the Latin School, half-brother to an Icelander, who, after two years’ study at the Latin School of Reykjavik, went to England for the purpose of translating Icelandic documents, and managed, no one knows how, a good appointment at Cambridge. People here inquire if the great English university is so destitute of talent that it must come to Iceland. In reply, I can only plead British eccentricity; the same curious policy which made the late Colonel Sykes advocate the employment of the brothers Schlagintweit, when a dozen Anglo-Indian officers were as well fitted for, as they were ambitious of, being so employed. The following is Hr Helgi’s signalement: tall, spare, blond, and clean shaven, except the long mustachio, which is in the habit of being pulled. He claimed to know English, meaning he was able to pronounce articulately a few sentences; the answer, however, was an idiotic stare, and an ejaculated “No,” invariably introduced. He began by finding fault with everything, and by telling his employers that they must cook, make beds, groom, saddle, and unsaddle for themselves. Presently he scented English provisions—feeding amongst these people is all-important as to the Bedawín—and the discovery greatly modified his tone. They did not, however, come to terms; and he amused himself by doing all he could to hinder the tourists. The same worthy called upon us, proposing an exchange of sovereigns, not for our benefit, a form of annoyance recognised by previous travellers; he also brought a cow’s horn, very badly cut, for which he modestly asked a pound sterling.
THE “PRETTY GUIDE.”
After maundering about for several days in despair, the travellers engaged one Haldór Johannsen, a saddler, and certainly one of the ugliest saddlers in the world. He began by objecting to the English ropes, of which they had brought a store, and he could not travel without Iceland gear, which stands about as much work as twisted straw. He proved himself a perfect Mark Tapley on the road; but, on his return from the first trip, he so abandoned himself to the cultus of Bacchus that he could not be re-employed. This party lost time and money in purchasing nags, at first they were asked £10 for animals worth at most £4. They bought, after weary bargaining, three animals, for £7, £8, and £9, and the consequence was that two out of three came to grief. They also brought out a very extensive “kit,” which they flattered themselves would readily sell after return to Reykjavik—it fetched the liberal sum popularly called “half nothing.” They made two trips, one to Hekla viâ Krísuvík, and the other to Surts-hellir, praised the fishing, and found the shooting a farce.
As will be gathered from the following pages, the Icelandic Fylgimaðr (“fugleman” or guide) is still in a rudimentary stage. He is apt either to lag behind like the African, or to gallop ahead like the Gaucho of the Pampas, utterly reckless of his charge. He is sure not to be cunning in those details of country which save so much time and which, ignored, so often lead to grief. As a rule, old paths have been broken up by weather, and only those on the spot can know the later lines: when, therefore, you see the least doubt, engage a temporary assistant for a few marks, which are not wasted. He has one great merit: his language is not foul, and he does not “exhort the impenitent quadruped” with the emphasis of his brother bipeds elsewhere; he believes that swearing will cause his tongue to become black-spotted. In point of conservatism he is a Hindu; wain-ropes will not move him from settled “use and custom.” Those I found of most account were Páll Eyúlfsson, Sigurð Jonasson, who accompanied Lord Dufferin; Einar Símonsson, and Bjarni Stefansson, the two latter speaking a little English.
And now to add a few remarks about Iceland ponies,[20] concerning which gross exaggeration prevails: one traveller, who is generally remarkable for sobriety, would ride them “over the ruins of Westminster Abbey.” The origin of the horse, as of the man, is Norwegian; these “norbaggers” reminded me of the little hay-fed nags of the Continent, and of Wrangell’s Siberian travel. In Scandinavia, however, breeding has done something, here nothing. No signs of an indigenous horse, like the zebra-shaped Hipparion of Europe, Asia, and America, have yet come to light, but the old bones dug up in several parts of the island show a much larger animal. The “troops of wild Icelandic horses, which shift for themselves even in the severest winters, when they perish in large numbers,” is a traveller’s dream, like tales of wild camels. Traces of the pony breed are found in Ireland and the Scoto-Scandinavian archipelago, not to mention New Forest; the Asturiones, or small mountain-ponies, which were so called, says Sir James Ware, because imported from the Spanish Asturias, waxed scarce during the end of the last century, and now they are well nigh extinct. The sheltie of Hjaltland has been wrongly derived from Iberian blood: it is also becoming rare, and, curious to say, though enjoying a much milder climate, and a comparatively plentiful forage, it is more stunted and of lighter build than those in the more barren north. The Orkney “garron” was an admirable animal, and, pur sang, like the old Norman, which I have seen in the “haras” of Abbeville, fine-limbed and high-spirited as an Arab. The common “garron,” a mixed breed, was short and ugly, but an excellent roadster, like the Tartar Yábú, which we have allowed to become obsolete in India: ten years ago it fetched £5; the race has been ruined by breeding for size, the sires being big hammer-headed stallions from Aberdeen. The Færoese, unlike the Icelanders, have sold off all their best animals, and it is hardly fair to judge from the refuse. I would back against any Icelander, a New Forest pony or a Maharatta “tattoo;” and my Kurdish Rahwán at Damascus would have knocked the wind out of any in the island.
It has been shown that the total of horses in 1871 was only 3164 over the number assigned to 1804. The reason is not hippophagy, which is almost unknown, but which might have been practised with advantage save for an obsolete superstition: as a rule, also, those classes are most particular about their diet who can the least afford it; and the obsolete Mosaic Code, so well adapted to its day and latitude, has not yet been exchanged for the sensible omnivorous system of China. Thus, it is now said, while horses are eaten in France, they eat us up in England. The three commandments issued by Christianity to her proselytes were, “Marry only one wife, expose not your children, and feed not on horse-flesh.” These were accepted by all parts except the southern coast, where hippic meat, like the Giftessen (arsenic-eating) of mountainous Styria, ensured a good complexion; and it is well known that in the Far West men prefer “three-year-old mustang” to bison or common beef. But Hrosseitr became a word of reproach, and Iceland gave up what was supposed to be unhallowed flesh offered to idols; the horse being, as in the Aswamedha of the old Hindus, a great and ceremonious sacrifice. The Devil always “scratches his writing on a blighted horse’s bone;” the heathen swore by the “shoulder of a horse and the edge of a sword;” and the horse’s head formed a “nithing-post” of peculiar efficacy. The truth is, that the Icelander wants every blade of grass and hay for his cows and sheep; he, therefore, either “traded off” his colts, or cut their throats and sold their skins. Under the influence of a ready market, breeding will again be resumed.