I will not weary my readers any longer by continuing a description of the monotonous dreary scenery met with at this stage of my journey, and in fact as I trudged along dreamily, recalling to mind the many incidents that had crowded themselves upon me since I had been on the island, my eyes had been as it were blind to the surroundings to such an extent that more than once I was only recalled to them by the stumbling of my faithful horse, the rolling of a boulder, or an extra fierce gust of blinding wind; and then, once more reminded of the fact that I was still a traveller, I gazed around like a wanderer amongst the sepulchres of a past race, awe-struck with the lifeless condition of the place, while my mind wandered back from the silent scene to the one or two living giants (Öskjugjá, &c.) that still existed, lonely examples of the activity and power of an age so far removed from the world’s history as to be lost in antiquity, and yet still so vigorous as to fulfil the important and wonderful mission of connecting the present with the most primitive ages of the world.
Well, after trudging along several miles in this dreamy mood we at last arrived at the Skriðufell farm, but here, I regret to say, we found no welcome, for the farmer was a noted churl, and instead of offering us the same generous hospitality as all others had, he positively refused the smallest assistance, even going so far as to object to let us put our horses under the old roof of an outhouse. My companions pleaded in his behalf that he could not help it, as he had had the misfortune to be crossed in love! which I was very sorry to hear, and sincerely trust no similar calamity might happen to spoil the other inhabitants.
However, being compelled to push on again by this unpleasant contretemps, we made as much haste as we could, and were soon pleased to find ourselves in front of a poor little homestead, where we were glad to find a generous welcome, plenty of good milk and other necessaries, of which we availed ourselves, being made truly welcome. After this brief halt we again pushed on to the Hagafell along the banks of the Hagafjall, with Hekla full in sight, its summit being, as usual, enveloped in clouds. Here we obtained a good night’s rest, and wishing to obtain some specimens from the Great Geysir, I decided to reach Reykjavík viâ Geysir and Thingvellir, although it was the longest route, and accordingly in the morning we made our way towards Hruni, upon the banks of the Kálfá. I next turned a little out of my way to examine a white buttress of rock protruding from a grassy hill upon our right hand. This proved to be a ridge of intruded trachytic lava, extending a considerable distance; I mention this as it was the only instance of purely trachytic lava which I had met with, excepting in a pumiceous form. Here we were most cordially and hospitably received by the priest of Hruni, who would not allow us to depart without bringing out a bottle of his best port wine, and hearing an account of our experience. It was late in the night before we arrived at Great Geysir. One of the principal objects of my visit to this part was to seek a box of minerals I had entrusted to the care of the farmer of Haukadalr to take to Reykjavík in the previous year, but which had never come to hand, though he protested that he had delivered them according to my directions, however, I set about collecting fresh specimens, which was no very serious trouble.
Great Geysir did not favour us with an eruption, as we had wished, so we stirred up Stroker with the usual meal of turf, which caused it to spout, but scarcely to the same height as when I witnessed its performance in 1874. In the evening we left for Thingvellir, but as we did not arrive there till one A.M. we did not awake our friend the priest, who, on rising, found us lying asleep, with the tent covered over us, upon the grass just outside his door. This good gentleman upbraided us for not waking him up, brought out everything of his best, and gave us a hearty breakfast, for we were old friends. Five hours’ hard riding later on brought us to Reykjavík, where I again put up at the house of friend Oddr Gíslasson, who had two Scotch ladies staying with him. These I found to be Miss Oswald and Miss Menzies, who had been making a prolonged tour in the island—a plucky undertaking, which perhaps may encourage other ladies to seek health and amusement amongst the wild rocks of salubrious Iceland, undeterred by the fear of having no other escort than an Icelander.
Upon the arrival of the Post ship, I was amused to receive an extract from the “Evening Echo” of August giving a most deplorable account of my health and personal appearance after crossing the Vatna Jökull. Though it amused us all at Reykjavík, I felt sorry to think of the unnecessary distress and anxiety it might cause to my friends at home. If such were the motive of the writer, it may gratify him to learn that he succeeded admirably. However, any one of the Sulphur Company would at once have pronounced the statement to be false.
I rejoiced in the possession of two pairs of Alpine boots, but I preferred wearing Icelandic mocassins, they being easier to walk in. I had also two coats, but always preferred wearing a tight knitted jersey and waistcoat, which were much more convenient for movement, while I generally prefer a knitted cap instead of a hat, for a cap draws down about the ears and keep them warm, and is less at the mercy of sudden gusts of wind. It seemed curious how such a worthless little piece of pure imagination could gain access to London newspapers. The simple facts are, I sent a carefully written letter, giving a succinct account of my journey across the Vatna Jökull and my visit to Öskjugjá, the effects of which volcano were creating much discussion in England at the time. This letter Capt. Burton kindly forwarded for me to the “Times,” and it was set up in type (as the proof came into my hand on my return), but for some reason or another, best known to the editor, it subsided into the waste paper basket, while a more lengthy letter I afterwards wrote to the same journal, giving an account of the eruption in the Mývatns Örœfí, appeared in full. There are anomalies in the civilized world which confound one even more than the idiosyncracies of nature.
With the Post ship came several tourists who were bent on making a few days’ excursion in the island. We therefore made up a party, including Miss Oswald, Miss Menzies, Mr. Young, of Edinburgh, and myself, to pay a visit with Oddr Gíslasson to some solfataras belonging to him at Cape Reykjanes, and a very pleasant trip it was, though the way was extremely monotonous, being as usual over a series of lava streams flowing from the Krísuvík mountains. The part of the S.W. peninsular we were traversing was called the Vatns-leysuströnd, or waterless strand; here there is no fresh water to be obtained except upon the beach where the lava streams terminate. These can often only be reached at low water, and then, as may be imagined, the water is brackish. Two days’ journeying brought us to Kirkjuvogr, where Oddr Gíslasson’s mother and brothers-in-law lived. It is one of the best homesteads in the south, besides having about the largest piece of grass land on this peninsular. It is also a fishing station of some importance, lying as it does upon the south bank of a little boot-shaped creek named Oscar. We were very kindly received, and the next day rode on to the solfataras of Reykjanes at the extremity of the peninsular. The day was miserable, and we were unable to get a satisfactory view. These solfataras, however, are remarkable, as the acid and heated vapours have here, as in other places, formed extensive pools of calcareo-siliceous mud, hardened in some instances into almost a semi-opal, coloured and streaked with blood-red stains from the ferruginous nature of the rocks which have been decomposed, but the sublimations of sulphur were very insignificant.
The most remarkable feature of the locality occurred where the lava was not much decomposed by the erosive action of the vapours, and upon splitting such masses of the partially decomposed rock, scarlet vapours could be seen issuing from crevices beneath, coating any surface that was partially exposed to the air with a film of iron pyrites. Further up the side of the old volcano, at the base of which these curiosities are to be found, are pools and pits of blue, red, and green boiling clay. While in this locality the rain continued and the fog became more dense, and as it would have been anything but pleasant to be caught in a thick fog amongst the lava and solfataras of Reykjanes, we curtailed our visit, and returned with all speed to Kirkjuvogr.
The next day, wishing to avoid the tedious road over the lava by which we came, we rode to Njarðvík, where we hired a sailing boat, and returned by sea to Reykjavík. Here I found that Captain Cockle and Mr. Slimond had returned by the Post-ship with the welcome intelligence that the steamer “Queen” would arrive in about a week, and sail almost as soon as the old tub “Diana.” This was indeed good news to us all, for we had determined to return by a small sailing ship belonging to a horse-trader, Mr. Ascham, rather than subject ourselves to the floating purgatory of the Diana.