I give up seeing the rest of Iceland, and go North at once. It has cost me a struggle to come to this conclusion, but on the whole I think it will be better. Ten or fifteen days of summer-time become very precious in these lat.i.tudes, and are worth a sacrifice. At this moment we have just brought up astern of the "Reine Hortense," and are getting our hawsers bent, ready for a start in half an hour's time. My next letter, please G.o.d, will be dated from Hammerfest. I suppose I shall be about fifteen or twenty days getting there, but this will depend on the state of the ice about Jan Mayen. If the anchorage is clear, I shall spend a few days in examining the island, which by all accounts would appear to be most curious.

I happened first to hear of its existence from a very intelligent whaling Captain I fell in with among the Shetlands four years ago. He was sailing home to Hull, after fishing the Spitzbergen waters, and had sighted the huge mountain which forms the northern extremity of Jan Mayen, on his way south. Luckily, the weather was fine while he was pa.s.sing, and the sketch he made of it at the time so filled me with amazement, that I then determined, if ever I got the chance, to go and see with my own eyes so great a marvel. Imagine a spike of igneous rock (the whole island is volcanic), shooting straight up out of the sea to the height of 6,870 feet, not broad-based like a pyramid, nor round-topped like a sugar-loaf, but needle-shaped, pointed like the spire of a church. If only my Hull skipper were as good a draughtsman as he seemed to be a seaman, we should now be on our way to one of the wonders of the world. Most people here hold out rather a doleful prospect, and say that, in the first place, it is probable the whole island will be imprisoned within the eternal fields of ice, that lie out for upwards of a hundred and fifty miles along the eastern coast of Greenland; and next, that if even the sea should be clear in its vicinity, the fogs up there are so dense and constant that the chances are very much against our hitting the land. But the fact of the last French man-of-war which sailed in that direction never having returned, has made those seas needlessly unpopular at Reykjavik.

It was during one of these fogs that Captain Fotherby, the original discoverer of Jan Mayen, stumbled upon it in 1614. While sailing southwards in a mist too thick to see a ship's length off, he. suddenly heard the noise of waters breaking on a great sh.o.r.e; and when the gigantic bases of Mount Beerenberg gradually disclosed themselves, he thought he had discovered some new continent. Since then it has been often sighted by homeward-bound whalers, but rarely landed upon. About the year 1633 the Dutch Government, wishing to establish a settlement in the actual neighbourhood of the fishing-grounds, where the blubber might be boiled down, and the spoils of each season transported home in the smallest bulk,--actually induced seven seamen to volunteer remaining the whole winter on the island. [Footnote: The names of the seven Dutch seamen who attempted to winter in Jan Mayen's Island were: Outgert Jacobson, of Grootenbrook, their commander; Adrian Martin Carman, of Schiedam, clerk; Thauniss Thaunissen, of Schermehem, cook; d.i.c.k Peterson, of Veenhuyse; Peter Peterson, of Harlem; Sebastian Gyse, of Defts-Haven; Gerard Beautin, of Bruges.] Huts were built for them, and having been furnished with an ample supply of salt provisions, they were left to resolve the problem, as to whether or no human beings could support the severities of the climate. Standing on the sh.o.r.e, these seven men saw their comrades' parting sails sink down beneath the sun,--then watched the sun sink, as had sunk the sails;--but extracts from their own simple narrative are the most touching record I can give you of their fate:--

"The 26th of August, our fleet set sail for Holland with a strong north-east wind, and a hollow sea, which continued all that night. The 28th, the wind the same; it began to snow very hard; we then shared half a pound of tobacco betwixt us, which was to be our allowance for a week.

Towards evening we went about together, to see whether we could discover anything worth our observation; but met with nothing." And so on for many a weary day of sleet and storm.

On the 8th of September they "were frightened by a noise of something falling to the ground,"--probably some volcanic disturbance. A month later, it becomes so cold that their linen, after a moment's exposure to the air, becomes frozen like a board. [Footnote: The climate, however, does not appear to have been then so inclement in these lat.i.tudes as it has since become. A similar deterioration in the temperature, both of Spitzbergen and Greenland, has also been observed. In Iceland we have undoubted evidence of corn having been formerly grown, as well as of the existence of timber of considerable size, though now it can scarcely produce a cabbage, or a stunted shrub of birch. M. Babinet, of the French Inst.i.tute, goes a little too far when he says, in the Journal des Debats of the 30th December, 1856, that for many years Jan Mayen has been inaccessible.] Huge fleets of ice beleaguered the island, the sun disappears, and they spend most of their time in "rehearsing to one another the adventures that had befallen them both by sea and land." On the 12th of December they kill a bear, having already begun to feel the effects of a salt diet.

At last comes New Year's Day, 1636. "After having wished each other a happy new year, and success in our enterprise, we went to prayers, to disburthen our hearts before G.o.d."

On the 25th of February (the very day on which Wallenstein was murdered) the sun reappeared. By the 22nd of March scurvy had already declared itself: "For want of refreshments we began to be very heartless, and so afflicted that our legs are scarce able to bear us." On the 3rd of April, "there being no more than two of us in health, we killed for them the only two pullets we had left; and they fed pretty heartily upon them, in hopes it might prove a means to recover part of their strength.

We were sorry we had not a dozen more for their sake."

On Easter Day, Adrian Carman, of Schiedam, their clerk, dies. "The Lord have mercy upon his soul, and upon us all, we being very sick." During the next few days they seem all to have got rapidly worse; one only is strong enough to move about. He has learnt writing from his comrades since coming to the island; and it is he who concludes the melancholy story. "The 23rd (April), the wind blew from the same corner, with small rain. We were by this time reduced to a very deplorable state, there being none of them all, except myself, that were able to help themselves, much less one another, so that the whole burden lay upon my shoulders,--and I perform my duty as well as I am able, as long as G.o.d pleases to give me strength. I am just now a-going to help our commander out of his cabin, at his request, because he imagined by this change to ease his pain, he then struggling with death." For seven days this gallant fellow goes on "striving to do his duty;" that is to say, making entries in the journal as to the state of the weather, that being the princ.i.p.al object their employers had in view when they left them on the island; but on the 30th of April his strength too gave way, and his failing hand could do no more than trace an incompleted sentence on the page.

[Figure: fig-p090.gif]

Meanwhile succour and reward are on their way toward the forlorn garrison. On the 4th of June, up again above the horizon rise the sails of the Zealand fleet; but no glad faces come forth to greet the boats as they pull towards the sh.o.r.e; and when their comrades search for those they had hoped to find alive and well,--lo! each lies dead in his own hut,--one with an open Prayer-book by his side; another with his hand stretched out towards the ointment he had used for his stiffened joints; and the last survivor, with the unfinished journal still lying by his side.

The most recent recorded landing on the island was effected twenty-two years ago, by the brave and pious Captain, now Dr. Scoresby,[Footnote: I regret to be obliged to subjoin that Dr. Scoresby has died since the above was written.] on his return from a whaling cruise. He had seen the mountain of Beerenberg one hundred miles off, and, on approaching, found the coast quite clear of ice.

According to his survey and observations, Jan Mayen is about sixteen miles long, by four wide; but I hope soon, on my own authority, to be able to tell you more about it.

Certainly, this our last evening spent in Iceland will not have been the least joyous of our stay. The dinner on board the "Reine Hortense" was very pleasant. I renewed acquaintance with some of my old Baltic friends, and was presented to two or three of the Prince's staff who did not accompany the expedition to the Geysirs; among others, to the Duc d'Abrantes, Marshal Junot's son. On sitting down to table, I found myself between H.I.H. and Monsieur de Saulcy, member of the French Inst.i.tute, who made that famous expedition to the Dead Sea, and is one of the gayest, pleasantest persons I have ever met. Of course there was a great deal of laughing and talking, as well as much speculation with regard to the costume of the Icelandic ladies we were to see at the ball. It appears that the dove-cots of Reykjavik have been a good deal fluttered by an announcement emanating from the gallant Captain of the "Artemise" that his fair guests would be expected to come in low dresses; for it would seem that the practice of showing their ivory shoulders is, as yet, an idea as shocking to the pretty ladies of this country as waltzes were to our grandmothers. Nay, there was not even to be found a native milliner equal to the task of marking out that mysterious line which divides the prudish from the improper; so that the Collet-monte faction have been in despair. As it turned out, their anxiety on this head was unnecessary; for we found, on entering the ball-room, that, with the natural refinement which characterises this n.o.ble people, our bright-eyed partners, as if by inspiration, had hit off the exact sweep from shoulder to shoulder, at which--after those many oscillations, up and down, which the female corsage has undergone since the time of the first Director--good taste has finally arrested it.

I happened to be particularly interested in the above important question; for up to that moment I had always been haunted by a horrid paragraph I had met with somewhere in an Icelandic book of travels, to the effect that it was the practice of Icelandic women, from early childhood, to flatten down their bosoms as much as possible. This fact, for the honour of the island, I am now in a position to deny; and I here declare that, as far as I had the indiscretion to observe, those maligned ladies appeared to me as buxom in form as any rosy English girl I have ever seen.

It was nearly nine o'clock before we adjourned from the "Reine Hortense," to the ball. Already, for some time past, boats full of gay dresses had been pa.s.sing under the corvette's stern on their way to the "Artemise,"

looking like flower-beds that had put to sea,--though they certainly could no longer be called a parterre;--and by the time we ourselves mounted her lofty sides, a mingled stream of music, light, and silver laughter, was pouring out of every port-hole. The ball-room was very prettily arranged. The upper deck had been closed in with a lofty roof of canvas, from which hung suspended glittering l.u.s.tres, formed by bayonets with their points collected into an inverted pyramid, and the b.u.t.t-ends serving as sockets for the tapers. Every wall was gay with flags,--the frigate's frowning armament all hid or turned to ladies'

uses: 82 pounders became sofas--boarding-pikes, bal.u.s.trades--pistols, candlesticks--the bra.s.s carronades set on end, pillarwise, their brawling mouths stopped with nose-gays; while portraits of the Emperor and the Empress, busts, colours draped with Parisian cunning, gave to the scene an appearance of festivity that looked quite fairy-like in so sombre a region. As for our gallant host, I never saw such spirits; he is a fine old grey-headed blow-hard of fifty odd, talking English like a native, and combining the frank open-hearted cordiality of a sailor with that graceful winning gaiety peculiar to Frenchmen. I never saw anything more perfect than the kind, almost fatherly, courtesy with which he welcomed each blooming bevy of maidens that trooped up his ship's side. About two o'clock we had supper on the main-deck.

I had the honour of taking down Miss Thora, of Bessestad; and somehow--this time, I no longer found myself wandering back in search of the pale face of the old-world Thora, being, I suppose, sufficiently occupied by the soft, gentle eyes of the one beside me. With the other young ladies I did not make much acquaintance, as I experienced a difficulty in finding befitting remarks on the occasion of being presented to them. Once or twice, indeed, I hazarded, through their fathers, some little complimentary observations in Latin; but I cannot say that I found that language lend itself readily to the gallantries of the ball-room. After supper dancing recommenced, and the hilarity of the evening reached its highest pitch when half a dozen sailors, dressed in turbans made of flags (one of them a lady with the face of the tragic muse), came forward and danced the cancan, with a gravity and decorum that would have greatly edified what Gavarni calls "la pudeur munic.i.p.ale."

At 3 o'clock A.M. I returned on board the schooner, and we are all now very busy in making final preparations for departure. Fitz is rearranging his apothecary's shop.

Sigurdr is writing letters. The last strains of music have ceased on board the "Artemise"; the sun is already high in the heavens; the flower beds are returning on sh.o.r.e,--a little draggled perhaps, as if just pelted by a thunder-storm; the "Reine Hortense" has got her steam up and the real, serious part of our voyage is about to begin.

I feel that my description has not half done justice to the wonders of this interesting island; but I can refer you to your friend Sir Henry Holland for further details; he paid a visit to Iceland in 1810, with Sir G. Mackenzie, and made himself thoroughly acquainted with its historical and scientific a.s.sociations.

CONCLUDING ACT.

SCENE. R. Y. S: "Foam": astern of the "Reine Hortense"

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

VOICE OF FRENCH CAPTAIN, COMMANDING "R.H."

LORD D.

DOCTOR.

WILSON.

VOICE OF THE FRENCH CAPTAIN.--"Nous partons."

LORD D--.--"All ready, Sir!"

WILSON TO DOCTOR (sotto voce).--"Sir!"

DOCTOR.--"Eh?"

WILSON.--"Do you know, Sir?"

DOCTOR.--"What?"

WILSON.--"Oh, nothing, Sir;--only we're going to the hicy regions, Sir, ain't we? Well, I've just seen that ere brig as is come from there, Sir, and they say there's a precious lot of ice this year! (Pause.) Do you know, Sir, the skipper showed me the bows of his vessel, Sir?

She's got seven feet of solid timber in her for'ard: WE'VE only two inches, Sir!"

(DIVES BELOW.)

VOICE OF FRENCH CAPTAIN (WITH A SLIGHT ACCENT).--"Are you ready?"

Lord D--.-"Ay, ay, Sir! Up anchor!"

LETTER VIII.

START FROM REYKJAVIK--SNAEFELL--THE LADY OF FRODA-A BERSERK TRAGEDY--THE CHAMPION OF BREIDAVIK--ONUNDER FIORD--THE LAST NIGHT--CROSSING THE ARCTIC CIRCLE--FETE ON BOARD THE "REINE HORTENSE"--LE PERE ARCTIQUE-WE FALL IN WITH THE ICE--THE "SAXON" DISAPPEARS--MIST--A PARTING IN A LONELY SPOT--JAN MAYEN--MOUNT BEERENBERG--AN UNPLEASANT POSITION--SHIFT OF WIND AND EXTRICATION--"TO NORROWAY OVER THE FAEM"--A NASTY COAST--HAMMERFEST.

Hammerfest, July.

Back in Europe again,--within reach of posts! The glad sun shining, the soft winds blowing, and roses on the cabin table,--as if the region of fog and ice we have just fled forth from were indeed the dream-land these summer sights would make it seem. I cannot tell you how gay and joyous it all appears to us, fresh from a climate that would not have been unworthy of Dante's Inferno.

And yet--had it been twice as bad, what we have seen would have more than repaid us, though it has been no child's play to get to see it.

But I must begin where I left off in my last letter,--just, I think, as we were getting under way, to be towed by the "Reine Hortense" out of Reykjavik Harbour. Having been up all night,--as soon as we were well clear of the land, and that it was evident the towing business was doing well--I turned in for a few hours. When I came on deck again we had crossed the Faxe Fiord on our way north, and were sweeping round the base of Snaefell--an extinct volcano which rises from the sea in an icy cone to the height of 5,000 feet, and grimly looks across to Greenland.

The day was beautiful; the mountain's summit beamed down upon us in unclouded splendour, and everything seemed to promise an uninterrupted view of the west coast of Iceland, along whose rugged cliffs few mariners have ever sailed.

Indeed, until within these last few years, the pa.s.sage, I believe, was altogether impracticable, in consequence of the continuous fields of ice which used to drift down the narrow channel between the frozen continent and the northern extremity of the island. Lately, some great change seems to have taken place in the lie of the Greenland ice; and during the summer-time you can pa.s.s through, though late in the year a solid belt binds the two sh.o.r.es together.

But in a historical and scientific point of view, the whole country lying about the basanite roots of Snaefell is most interesting. At the feet of its southern slopes are to be seen wonderful ranges of columnar basalt, prismatic caverns, ancient craters, and specimens of almost every formation that can result from the agency of subterranean fires; while each glen, and bay, and headland, in the neighbourhood, teems with traditionary lore. On the north-western side of the mountain stretches the famous Eyrbiggja district, the most cla.s.sic ground in Iceland, with the towns, or rather farmsteads, of Froda, Helgafell, and Biarnarhaf.

This last place was the scene of one of the most curious and characteristic Sagas to be found in the whole catalogue of Icelandic chronicles.

In the days when the same Jarl Hakon I have already mentioned lorded it over Norway, an Icelander of the name of Vermund, who had come to pay his court to the lord of Lade, took a violent wish to engage in his own service a couple of gigantic Berserks, [Footnote: Berserk, i.e., bare sark. The berserks seem to have been a description of athletes, who were in the habit of stimulating their nervous energies by the use of some intoxicating drug, which rendered them capable of feats of extraordinary strength and daring. The Berserker gang must have been something very like the Malay custom of running a muck.

Their moments of excitement were followed by periods of great exhaustion.] named Halli and Leikner, whom the Jarl had retained about his person,--fancying that two champions of such great strength and prowess would much acid to his consequence on returning home. In vain. the Jarl warned him that personages of that description were wont to give trouble and become unruly,--nothing would serve but he must needs carry them away with him; nay, if they would but come, they might ask as wages any boon which might be in his power to grant. The bargain accordingly was made; but, on arriving in Iceland, the first thing Halli took it into his head to require was a wife, who should be rich, n.o.bly born, and beautiful. As such a request was difficult to comply with, Vermund, who was noted for being a man of gentle disposition, determined to turn his troublesome retainers over to his brother, Arngrim Styr, i.e., the Stirring or Tumultuous One,--as being a likelier man than himself to know how to keep them in order.

Arngrim happened to have a beautiful daughter, named Asdisa, with whom the inflammable Berserk of course fell in love. Not daring openly to refuse him, Arngrim told his would-be son-in-law, that before complying with his suit, he must consult his friends, and posted off to Helgafell, where dwelt the Pagan Pontiff Snorre. The result of this conference was an agreement on the part'

of Styr to give his daughter to the Berserk, provided he and his brother would CUT a road through the lava rocks of Biarnarhaf. Halli and Leikner immediately set about executing this prodigious task; while the scornful Asdisa, arrayed in her most splendid attire, came sweeping past in silence, as if to mock their toil. The poetical reproaches addressed to the young lady on this occasion by her st.u.r.dy admirer and his mate are still extant. In the meantime, the other servants of the crafty Arngrim had constructed a subterranean bath, so contrived that at a moment's notice it could be flooded with boiling water. Their task at last concluded, the two Berserks returned home to claim their reward; but Arngrim Styr, as if in the exuberance of his affection, proposed that they should first refresh themselves in the new bath. No sooner had they descended into it, than Arngrim shut down the trap-door, and having ordered a newly-stripped bullock's hide to be stretched before the entrance, gave the signal for the boiling water to be turned on. Fearful were the struggles of the scalded giants: Halli, indeed, succeeded in bursting up the door; but his foot slipped on the b.l.o.o.d.y bull's hide, and Amgrim stabbed him to the heart. His brother was then easily forced back into the seething water.

The effusion composed by the Tumultuous One on the occasion of this exploit is also extant, and does not yield in poetical merit to those which I have already mentioned as having emanated from his victims.

As soon as the Pontiff Snorre heard of the result of Arngrim Styr's stratagem, he came over and married the Lady Asdisa. Traces of the road made by the unhappy champions can yet be detected at Biarnarhaf, and tradition still identifies the grave of the Berserks.

Connected with this same Pontiff Snorre is another of those mysterious notices of a great land in the western ocean which we find in the ancient chronicles, so interwoven with narrative we know to be true, as to make it impossible not to attach a certain amount of credit to them. This particular story is the more interesting as its denouement, abruptly left in the blankest mystery by one Saga, is incidentally revealed to us in the course of another, relating to events with which the first had no connection.

[Footnote: From internal evidence it is certain that the chronicle which contains these Sagas must have been written about the beginning of the thirteenth century.]