One afternoon in Reykjavik we entered the shop of a fish merchant and engaged a boat with two men to row us across the harbor to Engey, Meadow-Island, a few miles from the city. The price agreed upon was three kronur, about seventy-nine cents. We were absent seven hours. The boatmen were so considerate of our pleasure that on the return to the wharf I handed to each a krone, then went to the shop of the merchant and paid the three kronur as agreed. The following afternoon this gentleman met me in the street. He had an interpreter with him who accosted me as follows:—
“Are you the gentleman who engaged my boat to go to Engey yesterday?”
I replied that I was.
“Did you not agree with me for three kronur?”
“I did. Did I not go to your shop on my return and pay you?”
“Yes,” he replied, “but on landing you gave to each of the boatmen a krone, you then paid me three kronur. The men left the money at the office last night. You have overpaid me two kronur and I have come to return them.”
With this statement he handed to me two kronur which I was obliged to accept. This incident taught me that there is one country in Europe where a man makes a price, expects you to pay it and neither expects nor desires any tip. Is there any other place in Europe or in the United States in which hotel servants, railway porters or cabmen would turn their tips over to their employer at night? But, if such a condition can be found, where is the hotel manager, railway official or stable owner who would search the next day to return a tip to the man who dared to give it? Tipping is a violation of a contract; in Iceland contracts are inviolate.
Engey is a delightful place, if one is interested in the eider duck. They breed in thousands on this and the neighboring island of Viðey, Wide-Island. The birds are tame and will allow one to stroke their feathers or lift them from their nests. The birds are protected for their down which is a large item of export from Iceland. When building their nests the birds pluck the down from their breasts to line the nests; when these are well lined the owner of the land robs the nests; the birds then repluck their breasts and again the nests are robbed. For the third time they pluck their breasts and are not disturbed till after the eggs hatch, when the remaining down is taken. It is interesting to note that every crevice and every space under a bunch of grass or the edge of the turf is occupied with the birds. One must walk with caution so as not to step on them. Down by the water the earliest hatched sport in the pools while the mother sits quietly by with one or two of the puffy balls perched upon her back. Above, the tern, Kria, so named in imitation of their cry, dart close to the nests and in a threatening manner also at the people who intrude, uttering their loud cries of kria, kria, kria.
Late in August we embarked in the little mail boat, the Ceres, homeward bound for Copenhagen. I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Edward Newton of London, a fellow traveller some years before in Labrador. When we parted in Halifax we had never expected to meet again. But here we were in a remote corner of the world, relating old trials and comparing notes of our Icelandic experiences. It was a quiet Sunday evening and many small boats hovered around the Ceres to bid her farewell as she hoisted her anchor and steamed down the glassy fiord. There were feelings of deep regret in departing from these shores where preconceived ideas had been so pleasantly upset by what we had seen and felt. We were leaving an island, remarkable for its physical characteristics, astonishing for its contrasts, differing greatly from every other spot on the globe. That which had chiefly attached us to Iceland was the display of integrity and moral worth, the high intellectual attainments and the sincere friendliness of its people.