"The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone Boldly proclaims the happiest spot his own."

While I waited outside the pastor's house, enjoying the oddity of the scene, Zoega busied himself unsaddling the horses. I sat down on a pile of f.a.gots, and, with some trouble and a little a.s.sistance from my guide, succeeded in getting off my overalls, which had been thoroughly drenched with rain and saturated with mud. The occasional duckings we had experienced in crossing the rivers did not add to my comfort. I was chilled and wet, and would have given a Danish dollar for the privilege of sitting at a fire. All this time there was no sign of life about the premises save the barking of an ill-favored little dog that was energetically disclaiming any acquaintance with Brusa. I regret to say that Brusa lost much of his bravado air in the presence of this insignificant cur, but it was quite natural; the cur was at home and Brusa wasn't. At first our dog seemed disposed to stand his ground, but upon the near approach of the house-dog he dropped his tail between his legs and ingloriously sneaked between the legs of the horses, which of course gave the gentleman of the house a high opinion of his own prowess--so much so, indeed, that the craven spirit of Brusa never before appeared in such a despicable light. He cringed and howled with terror, which so flattered the vanity of the other that a ferocious attack was the immediate consequence. Fortunately, a kick from one of the horses laid Brusa's aggressor yelping in the mud, an advantage of which Brusa promptly availed himself, and the pastor's dog would have fared badly in the issue but for the interference of Zoega, who separated the contending parties, and administered a grave rebuke to the party of our part respecting the impropriety of his conduct.

Though it occurred to me that I had seen the retreating figure of a man as we rode up, I was at a loss to understand why n.o.body appeared to ask us in or bid us welcome, and suggested to Zoega that I thought this rather an unfriendly reception. Now, upon this point of Icelandic hospitality Zoega was peculiarly sensitive. He always maintained that the people, though poor, are very hospitable--so much so that they made no complaint when a certain Englishman, whose name he could mention, stopped with them for days, ate up all their food and drank up all their coffee, and then went off without offering them even a small present. "No wonder," said Zoega, "this man told a great many lies about them, and laughed at them for refusing money, when the truth was he never offered them money or any thing else. It was certainly a very cheap way of traveling."

"But what about the pastor, Zoega? I'm certain I caught a glimpse of him as he darted behind the door."

"Oh, he'll be here directly; he always runs away when strangers come."

"What does he run away for?"

"Why, you see, sir, he is generally a little dirty, and must go wash himself and put on some decent clothes."

While we were talking the pastor made his appearance, looking somewhat damp about the face and hair, and rather embarra.s.sed about the shape of his coat, which was much too large for him, and hung rather low about his heels. With an awkward shuffling gait he approached us, and, having shaken hands with Zoega, looked askant at me, and said something, which my guide interpreted as follows:

"He bids you welcome, sir, and says his house is at your service. It is a very poor house, but it is the best he has. He wishes to know if you will take some coffee, and asks what part of the world you are from. I tell him you are from California, and he says it is a great way off, clear down on the other side of the world, and may G.o.d's blessing be upon you. Walk in, sir."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PASTOR OF THINGVALLA.]

Pleased with these kind words, I stepped up to the good pastor and cordially shook him by the hand, at the same time desiring Zoega to say that I thanked him very much, and hoped he would make it convenient to call and see me some time or other in California, which, I regret to add, caused him to look both alarmed and embarra.s.sed. A queer, shy man was this pastor--a sort of living mummy, dried up and bleached by Icelandic snows. His manner was singularly bashful. There was something of the recluse in it--a mixture of shyness, awkwardness, and intelligence, as if his life had been spent chiefly among sheep and books, which very likely was the case. All the time I was trying to say something agreeable he was looking about him as if he desired to make his escape into some Icelandic bog, and there hide himself during my stay. I followed him through the pa.s.sage-way already mentioned into the travelers' room, where he beckoned me to take a seat, and then, awkwardly seating himself on the edge of a chair as far away as he could get without backing through the wall, addressed me in Danish. Finding me not very proficient in that tongue, he branched off into Latin, which he spoke as fluently as if it had been his native language. Here again I was at fault. I had gone as far as _Quosque tandem_ when a boy, but the vicissitudes of time and travel had knocked it all out of my head. I tried him on the German, and there, to use a familiar phrase, had the "dead-wood on him." He couldn't understand a word of that euphonious language. However, a slight knowledge of the Spanish, picked up in Mexico and California, enabled me to guess at some of his Latin, and in this way we struggled into something of conversation. The effort, however, was too great for the timid recluse. After several pauses and lapses into long fits of silence, he got up and took his leave. Meantime Zoega was enjoying himself by the fire in the kitchen, surrounded by the female members of the family, who no doubt were eagerly listening to the latest news from Reykjavik. Whenever their voices became audible I strongly suspected that the ladies were asking whether the steamer had brought any crinoline from Copenhagen.

The pastor's family appeared to be composed entirely of females. Like all the Icelandic women I had seen, they do all the work of the establishment, attend to the cows, make the cheese, cut the hay, carry the heavy burdens, and perform the manual labor generally. This I found to be the case at all the farm-houses. Sometimes the men a.s.sist, but they prefer riding about the country or lying idle about the doors of their cabins. At Reykjavik, it is true, there is a population of Danish sailors and fishermen, and it would be scarcely fair to form an opinion from the lazy and thriftless habits of the people there. But I think the civilization of Iceland is very much like that of Germany in respect to women. They are not rated very high in the scale of humanity. Still, overworked and degraded as they are, the natural proclivities of the s.e.x are not altogether obliterated. In former times their costume was picturesque and becoming, and some traces of the old style are yet to be seen throughout the pastoral districts; a close body, a jaunty little cap on the head, with a heavy ta.s.sel, ornamented with gold or silver bands, silver clasps to their belts, and filigree b.u.t.tons down the front, give them a very pleasing appearance. Of late years, however, fashion has begun to a.s.sert her sway, even in this isolated part of the world, and the native costume is gradually becoming modernized.

The pastor having joined the more congenial circle of which Zoega was the admired centre, I was left alone in the chilly little room allotted to travelers to meditate upon the comforts of Icelandic life.

It was rather a gloomy condition of affairs to be wet to the skin, shivering with cold, and not a soul at hand to sympathize with me in my misery. Then the everlasting day--when would it end? Already I had been awake and traveling some fourteen hours, and it was as broad daylight as ever. Nothing could be more wearying than the everlasting daylight that surrounded me--not bright and sunshiny, but dreary and lead-colored, showing scarcely any perceptible difference between morning, noon, and night.

The coffee soon came to my relief, and the pastor followed it to wish me a good appet.i.te and ask if I wanted any thing else. I again renewed the attempt at conversation, but it was too much for his nervous temperament and shrinking modesty. He always managed, after a few words, to slip stealthily away up into the loft or out among the rocks to avoid the appearance of intrusion, or the labor of understanding what I said, or communicating his ideas--I could not tell which.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SKELETON VIEW OF THE LoGBERG.]

After a slight repast I walked out to take a look at the Logberg, or Rock of Laws, which is situated about half a mile from the church.

This is, perhaps, of all the objects of historical a.s.sociation in Iceland, the most interesting. It was here the judges tried criminals, p.r.o.nounced judgments, and executed their stern decrees. On a small plateau of lava, separated from the general ma.s.s by a profound abyss on every side, save a narrow neck barely wide enough for a foothold, the famous "Thing" a.s.sembled once a year, and, secured from intrusion in their deliberations by the terrible chasm around, pa.s.sed laws for the weal or woe of the people. It was only necessary to guard the causeway by which they entered; all other sides were well protected by the encircling moat, which varies from thirty to forty feet in width, and is half filled with water. The total depth to the bottom, which is distinctly visible through the crystal pool, must be sixty or seventy feet. Into this yawning abyss the unhappy criminals were cast, with stones around their necks, and many a long day did they lie beneath the water, a ghastly spectacle for the crowd that peered at them over the precipice.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THINGVALLA, LoGBERG, ALMANNAJAU.]

All was now as silent as the grave. Eight centuries had pa.s.sed, and yet the strange scenes that had taken place here were vividly before me. I could imagine the gathering crowds, the rising hum of voices; the pause, the shriek, and plunge; the low murmur of horror, and then the stern warning of the lawgivers and the gradual dispersing of the mult.i.tude.

The dimensions of the plateau are four or five hundred feet in length by an average of sixty or eighty in width. A diagram, taken from an elevated point beyond, will give some idea of its form. The surface is now covered with a fine coating of sod and gra.s.s, and furnishes good pasturage for the sheep belonging to the pastor.

[Ill.u.s.tration: DIAGRAM OF THE LoGBERG.]

CHAPTER XLIX.

THE ROAD TO THE GEYSERS.

It was ten o'clock at night when I reached the parsonage. In addition to my rough ride from Reykjavik, and the various trying adventures on the way, I had walked over nearly the whole range of the Almannajau, sketched the princ.i.p.al points of interest, visited the Logberg, and made some sketches and diagrams of that, besides accomplishing a considerable amount of work about the premises of the good pastor, all of which is now submitted to the kind indulgence of the reader. Surely if there is a country upon earth abounding in obstacles to the pursuit of the fine arts, it is Iceland. The climate is the most variable in existence--warm and cold, wet and dry by turns, seldom the same thing for half a day. Such, at least, was my experience in June. Wild and desolate scenery there is in abundance, and no lack of interesting objects any where for the pencil of an artist; but it is difficult to conceive the amount of physical discomfort that must be endured by one who faithfully adheres to his purpose. Only think of sitting down on a jagged piece of lava, wet to the skin and shivering with cold; a raw, drizzling rain running down your back and dropping from the brim of your hat, making rivers on your paper where none are intended to be; hints of rheumatism shooting through your bones, and visions of a solitary grave in the wilderness crossing your mind; then, of a sudden, a wind that scatters your papers far and wide, and sends your only hat whirling into an abyss from which it is doubtful whether you will ever recover it--think of these, ye summer tourists who wander, sketch-book in hand, through the "warbling woodland" and along "the resounding sh.o.r.e," and talk about being enterprising followers of the fine arts! Try it in Iceland a while, and see how long your inspiration will last! Take my word for it, unless you be terribly in earnest, you will postpone your labors till the next day, and then the next, and so on to the day that never comes.

Not the least of my troubles was the difficulty of getting a good night's rest after the fatiguing adventures of the day. There was no fault to be found with the bed, save that it was made for somebody who had never attained the average growth of an American; and one might do without a night-cap, but how in the world could any body be expected to sleep when there was no night? At twelve o'clock, when it ought to be midnight and the ghosts stirring about, I looked out, and it was broad day; at half past one I looked out again, and the sun was shining; at two I got up and tried to read some of the pastor's books, which were written in Icelandic, and therefore not very entertaining; at three I went to work and finished some of my sketches; and at four I gave up all farther hope of sleeping, and sallied forth to take another look at the Almannajau.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AN ARTIST AT HOME.]

On my return Zoega was saddling up the horses. A cup of coffee and a dry biscuit put me in traveling order, and we were soon on our way up the valley.

For the first few miles we followed the range of the "Jau," from which we then diverged across the great lava-beds of Thingvalla. It was not long before we struck into a region of such blasted and barren aspect that the imagination was bewildered with the dreary desolation of the scene. The whole country, as far as the eye could reach, was torn up and rent to pieces. Great ma.s.ses of lava seemed to have been wrested forcibly from the original bed, and hurled at random over the face of the country. Prodigious fissures opened on every side, and for miles the trail wound through a maze of sharp points and brittle crusts of lava, with no indication of the course save at occasional intervals a pile of stones on some prominent point, erected by the peasants as a way-mark for travelers. Sometimes our hardy little horses climbed like goats up the rugged sides of a slope, where it seemed utterly impossible to find a foothold, so tortured and chaotic was the face of the earth; and not unfrequently we became involved in a labyrinth of fearful sinks, where the upper stratum had given way and fallen into the yawning depths below. Between these terrible traps the trail was often not over a few feet wide. It was no pleasant thing to contemplate the results of a probable slip or a misstep. The whole country bore the aspect of baffled rage--as if imbued with a demoniac spirit, it had received a crushing stroke from the Almighty hand that blasted and shivered it to fragments.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LAVA-FJELDS.]

There were ma.s.ses that looked as if they had turned cold while running in a fiery flood from the crater--wavy, serrated, frothy, like tar congealed or stiffened on a flat surface. One piece that I sketched was of the shape of a large leaf, upon which all the fibres were marked. It measured ten feet by four. Another bore a resemblance to a great conch-sh.e.l.l. Many were impressed with the roots of shrubs and the images of various surrounding objects--snail-sh.e.l.ls, pebbles, twigs, and the like. On a larger scale, bubbling brooks, waterfalls, and whirlpools were represented--now no longer a burning flood, but stiff, stark, and motionless. One sketch, which is reproduced, bore a startling resemblance to some of the marble effigies on the tombs of medieval knights.

[Ill.u.s.tration: EFFIGY IN LAVA.]

The distant mountains were covered with their perpetual mantles of snow. Nearer, on the verge of the valley, were the red peaks of the foot-hills. To the right lay the quiet waters of the lake glistening in the sunbeams. In front, a great black fissure stretched from the sh.o.r.es of the lake to the base of the mountains, presenting to the eye an impa.s.sable barrier. This was the famous Hrafnajau--the uncouth and terrible twin-brother of the Almannajau.

A toilsome ride of eight miles brought us to the edge of the Pa.s.s, which in point of rugged grandeur far surpa.s.ses the Almannajau, though it lacks the extent and symmetry which give the latter such a remarkable effect. Here was a tremendous gap in the earth, over a hundred feet deep, hacked and shivered into a thousand fantastic shapes; the sides a succession of the wildest accidents; the bottom a chaos of broken lava, all tossed about in the most terrific confusion.

It is not, however, the extraordinary desolation of the scene that const.i.tutes its princ.i.p.al interest. The resistless power which had rent the great lava-bed asunder, as if touched with pity at the ruin, had also flung from the tottering cliffs a causeway across the gap, which now forms the only means of pa.s.sing over the great Hrafnajau. No human hands could have created such a colossal work as this; the imagination is lost in its ma.s.sive grandeur; and when we reflect that miles of an almost impa.s.sable country would otherwise have to be traversed in order to reach the opposite side of the gap, the conclusion is irresistible that in the battle of the elements Nature still had a kindly remembrance of man.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE HRAFNAJAU.]

Five or six miles beyond the Hrafnajau, near the summit of a dividing ridge, we came upon a very singular volcanic formation called the Tintron. It stands, a little to the right of the trail, on a rise of scoria and burned earth, from which it juts up in rugged relief to the height of twenty or thirty feet. This is, strictly speaking, a huge clinker not unlike what comes out of a grate--hard, gla.s.sy in spots, and scraggy all over. The top part is shaped like a sh.e.l.l; in the centre is a hole about three feet in diameter, which opens into a vast subterranean cavity of unknown depth. Whether the Tintron is an extinct crater, through which fires shot out of the earth in by-gone times, or an isolated ma.s.s of lava, whirled through the air out of some distant volcano, is a question that geologists must determine.

The probability is that it is one of those natural curiosities so common in Iceland which defy research. The whole country is full of anomalies--bogs where one would expect to find dry land, and parched deserts where it would not seem strange to see bogs; fire where water ought to be, and water in the place of fire.

While the pack-train followed the trail, Zoega suggested that the Tintron had never been sketched, and if I felt disposed to "take it down"--as he expressed it--he would wait for me in the valley below; so I took it down.

During this day's journey we crossed many small rivers which had been much swollen by the recent rains. The fording-places, however, were generally good, and we got over them without being obliged to swim our horses. One river, the Bruara, gave me some uneasiness. When we arrived at the banks it presented a very formidable obstacle. At the only place where it was practicable to reach the water it was a raging torrent over fifty yards wide, dashing furiously over a bed of lava with a velocity and volume that bade apparent defiance to any attempt at crossing. In the middle was a great fissure running parallel with the course of the water, into which the current converged from each side, forming a series of cataracts that shook the earth, and made a loud reverberation from the depths below.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE TINTRON ROCK.]

I stopped on an elevated bank to survey the route before us. There seemed to be no possible way of getting over. It was all a wild roaring flood plunging madly down among the rocks. While I was thinking what was to be done, Zoega, with a crack of his whip, drove the animals into the water and made a bold dash after them. It then occurred to me that there was a good deal of prudence in the advice given by an Icelandic traveler: "_Never go into a river till your guide has tried it._" Should Zoega be swept down over the cataract, as appeared quite probable, there would be no necessity for me to follow him. I had a genuine regard for the poor fellow, and it would pain me greatly to lose him; but then he was paid so much per day for risking his life, and how could I help it if he chose to pursue such a perilous career? Doubtless he had come near being drowned many a time before; he seemed to be used to it. All I could do for him in the present instance would be to break the melancholy intelligence to his wife as tenderly as possible. While thus philosophizing, Zoega plunged in deeper and deeper till he was surrounded by the raging torrent on the very verge of the great fissure. Was it possible he was going to force his horse into it? Surely the man must be crazy.

"Stop, Zoega! stop!" I shouted, at the top of my voice; "you'll be swept over the precipice. There's a great gap in the river just before you."

"All right, sir!" cried Zoega. "Come on, sir!"

Again and again I called to him to stop but he seemed to lose my voice in the roar of the falling waters. Dashing about after the scattered animals, he whipped them all up to the brink of the precipice, and then quietly walked his own horse across on what looked to me like a streak of foam. The others followed, and in a few minutes they all stood safely on the opposite bank. I thought this was very strange. A remote suspicion flashed across my mind that Zoega was in league with some of those water-spirits which are said to infest the rivers of Iceland. Wondering what they would say to a live Californian, I plunged in and followed the route taken by my guide. Upon approaching the middle of the river I discovered that what appeared to be a streak of foam was in reality a wooden platform stretched across the chasm and covered by a thin sheet of water. It was pinned down to the rocks at each end, and was well braced with rafters underneath. From this the river derives its name--Bruara, or the Bridge.

The general aspect of the country differed but little from what I have already attempted to describe. Vast deserts of lava, snow-capped mountains in the distance, a few green spots here and there, and no apparent sign of habitation--these were its princ.i.p.al features. Below the falls the scene was peculiarly wild and characteristic. Tremendous ma.s.ses of lava cast at random amid the roaring waters; great fissures splitting the earth asunder in all directions; every where marks of violent convulsion. In the following sketch I have endeavored to depict some of these salient points. When it is taken into consideration that the wind blew like a hurricane through the craggy ravines; that the rain and spray whirled over, and under, and almost through me; that it was difficult to stand on any elevated spot without danger of being blown over, I hope some allowance will be made for the imperfections of the performance.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BRIDGE RIVER.]

About midway between Thingvalla and the Geysers we descended into a beautiful little valley, covered with a fine growth of gra.s.s, where we stopped to change horses and refresh ourselves with a lunch. While Zoega busied himself arranging the packs and saddles, our indefatigable little dog Brusa availed himself of the opportunity to give chase to a flock of sheep. Zoega shouted at him as usual, and as usual Brusa only barked the louder and ran the faster. The sheep scattered over the valley, Brusa pursuing all the loose members of the flock with a degree of energy and enthusiasm that would have done credit to a better cause. Upon the lambs he was particularly severe.

Many of them must have been stunted in their growth for life by the fright they received; and it was not until he had tumbled half a dozen of them heels over head, and totally dispersed the remainder, that he saw fit to return to head-quarters. The excitement once over, he of course began to consider the consequences, and I must say he looked as mean as it was possible for an intelligent dog to look. Zoega took him by the nape of the neck with a relentless hand, and heaving a profound sigh, addressed a pathetic remonstrance to him in the Icelandic language, giving it weight and emphasis by a sharp cut of his whip after every sentence. This solemn duty performed to his satisfaction, and greatly to Brusa's satisfaction when it was over, we mounted our horses once more and proceeded on our journey.

A considerable portion of this day's ride was over a rolling country, somewhat resembling the foot-hills in certain parts of California. On the right was an extensive plain, generally barren, but showing occasional green patches; and on the left a rugged range of mountains, not very high, but strongly marked by volcanic signs. We pa.s.sed several lonely little huts, the occupants of which rarely made their appearance. Sheep, goats, and sometimes horses, dotted the pasture-lands. There was not much vegetation of any kind save patches of gra.s.s and brushwood. A species of white moss covered the rocks in places, presenting the appearance of h.o.a.r-frost at a short distance.