We purchased of our ferryman some birds (skümur) which were considered very good to eat. We stopped for the night at the farm of Króki. The farmer, who had been previously hired to form one of my expedition across the Vatna Jökull, regaled us with swan’s flesh, which much resembled tough beef; and, although eating it was rather hard work, it was certainly nutritious and palatable. The farmer, Olgi by name, had taken up shooting as his special hobby, and, in spite of his inefficient tools, a very profitable use he appeared to make of it, if we might judge from the numerous swan-skins which were drying outside his house, and the amount of swan’s flesh that was being salted. The swans of Iceland are valuable on account of their down; the outer feathers are seldom of any good, for they are never pure white; the value of a swan skin is about one rix dollar, Danish. After a ramble amongst the lava which had flowed from the Skaptar Jökull during the remarkable eruption of 1783, we resumed our journey; the day was very hot—as much so as any July day in England. Passing the beautiful waterfall of Seljalandsfoss, which appeared in the bright sunlight like curtains of silvery foam upon the face of the dark basaltic cliffs, which here are about 200 feet in height, we arrived at the farm of Hörgsdalr. Here dwelt another of our “Jökull men” (as Paul called those he had hired for my expedition) named Eyólfur; he was one of the toughest, blithest-hearted, and most good-natured fellows I had ever come across.
The bóndi (as the Icelandic farmer is called) was a relation of the farmer at Núpstað, whose farm, where I had received such kindly welcome in 1871 and 1874, was only half-a-day’s journey eastward.
I found the farmer of Hörgsdalr, like his relative, extremely hospitable; taking a great interest in my expedition, and willing to give every assistance in his power.
The next day we ascended the Kaldbakkr, a mountain 2279 feet in height, in order to get a good look at the south side of the Vatna Jökull, which was directly to the north of it. Kaldbakkr is situated a few miles to the north of Hörgsdalr.
Accompanied by the farmer, we rode to the last patch of grass that was nearest the mountain, and, after a smart scramble, reached the summit. The Jökull looked decidedly whiter than I had ever seen it, but there was the same expanse of snow losing itself in the northern distance; pure, silent, dazzling, beautiful, and spotless, save where a few black peaks and uncouth masses of dark rock protruded through the frozen covering. These were scattered at long intervals across the unsullied snow-slopes, and clustered together in the south-west, where lies that portion of the Vatna known as the Skaptar Jökull. Harmless and guileless they looked in the morning sunshine; but they had vomited the lava which had desolated the plain below, and had given vent to the fiery force which from time to time had shaken Iceland to its very foundations! One peak to the north-west especially attracted my attention, on account of its height and its perfectly conical form, and my guide informed me that it had erupted on several occasions, and that the last outburst occurred about thirty years ago.
It was with no small satisfaction I arrived at the now familiar homestead of Núpstað, and received the usual glad welcome from the bóndi Ayólver, who had been expecting us. I again took up my quarters in the disused little church, which makes such a good storehouse for my friend Ayólver, and such an excellent resting-place for chance travellers like myself. It seemed quite home-like as I tumbled into the little bed which had been improvised upon the boxes in the corner, and I experienced the comfortable feeling of being in my old place again as I ate my breakfast off and posted up my diary upon the antiquated communion table. Do not be shocked, good reader! all sanctity had long ago departed from this useful piece of furniture, and if we were to peep into the inside, we should find neither sacred utensils nor vestments; but simply the serviceable homespun garments of the bóndi’s wife.
The farm and the rocks behind it were but little altered since I first saw them four years ago. One year in Núpstað is much like its predecessor, and things go on, year after year, in just the same routine, except where the inevitable changes of life and death intervene. The people had altered the most, for of course they had grown older, and one or two faces were missing! Well, I have grown older, too—it is no good to stand dreaming. There is a bullock to be bought, butchered, and salted, preparatory to making it into “kœfar,” as the Icelanders call the kind of pemmican I make for my Jökull expeditions. Skin-bags and mocassins have to be procured; butter, bread, and stock-fish have to be sought after; in fact, the greater part of three weeks’ provisions for six men must be collected from the neighbouring farms. We made the necessary arrangements, and settled that these various articles are to be ready for us in a week’s time; we then deputed Paul’s father to attend to the levying of our requisitions, and the payment for them. The ox was next slain, dissected, and salted, and we were again ready to start on our travels.
Some little difficulty was experienced in getting all into train, owing to the hurry all the farmers of this locality were in to get this year’s wool to the store at Papós, which is situated four days’ journey to the east; for tidings had been received that the ice of a portion of the Vatna Jökull, known as the Breiðamerkr had advanced to such an extent as to threaten the cutting off of all communication along the sea-shore, since the advance still continued. In consequence of this alarm every farmer was busy preparing the wool for market; steaming cauldrons were cleansing it from its grease, bands of sturdy Icelandic maidens were rinsing it in the clear water of the mountain streams—which are almost sure to be found in close proximity to the farms in this part of the country—patches of white wool were drying upon the ground, while the male part of the community were measuring it in quaint wooden baskets, packing it into sacks, and forming bundles of equal weight to balance on each side of the pack-horses. It would be a very serious thing, indeed, if the road to Papós were to be intercepted, as it would compel the dwellers in this district to journey to Eyrarbakki before they could exchange their produce for the necessaries they require. Leaving Núpstað behind us, we set out for the advancing glacier, and turned our faces towards the snowy slopes of Örœfa.
The Súla river, or Núpsvatn, had to be crossed. It was deeper than I had before seen it, though its volume of water scarcely seemed to have increased. Its bed was changed to one of pebbles and quicksand. In 1871 it was of pebbles only, in 1874 it was black sand, in 1875 it is again pebbles and sand.
We crossed the river and fast sped on our way over the desert of Skeiðarár Sandr. This sand occupies an area of 300 square miles. It has been formed by the joint efforts of volcanoes upon the Vatna and Mount Örœfa, which have strewn this tract with sand and ashes, and whose ejectamenta have been brought down by the shifting waters of numerous glacial streams which traverse the Skeiðarár Sandr in many directions. It would seem that the portion of the Vatna which here bounds the Skeiðarár Sandr upon the north has acted in a similar manner to the Breiðamerkr Jökull; for numerous moraines occur upon these sands, some of which are at a great distance from the utmost limit of the Jökull at the present time. Indeed, there has been an obvious advance at this point since 1871 of the fringe of the glacier which almost surrounds the Vatna Jökull. The existence of scratched rocks in moraines in Iceland below the limit of the glaciers does not of necessity prove that such glaciers have bodily advanced, as during extensive eruptions of glacial mountains huge masses of ice frequently slip forward to considerable distances, scratching the harder and furrowing the softer rocks in their progress, which, upon their melting, leave large piles of glacial débris, in no way distinguishable from a moraine stranded upon the lower elevations.