A Girl's Ride in Iceland

The most stupendous outpouring of lava on record was that which took place from the Skaptar-Jökull.

'Preceded by violent earthquakes all along the southern coast, it burst out with great fury, drying up the river in twenty-four hours, and filling its bed. The lava in some places was 600 feet deep and 200 wide, flowing like a mighty river towards the sea, wrapping whole districts in flames, re-melting old lavas, opening subterranean caverns, one of its streams reaching the ocean. It was in full activity for two and a half months, and did not entirely cease for six months.

'It took the lava more than two years to cool. One stream was 50 miles long, 12 to 15 broad on the plain, and from 1 to 600 feet deep; another was 40 miles long, and 7 wide. Pasture lands 100 miles around were destroyed by the pumice sand and ashes. The matter ejected has been estimated as twice the volume of Mount Hecla, or one hundred thousand millions cubic yards, probably as large as any single mass of the older igneous rocks known to exist – according to Bischoff, greater than the bulk of Mount Blanc.

'Man, his cattle, houses, churches and grass lands were burnt up, noxious vapours filled the air, and the earth was shrouded by clouds of ashes.' …

A few instances of the actual outbreak of a submarine eruption have been witnessed. In the early summer of 1783 a volcanic eruption took place about 30 miles from Cape Reykjanaes, on the west coast. An island was thrown up from which fire and smoke continued to issue, but in less than a year the waves had washed the loose pumice away, leaving a submerged reef from 5 to 30 fathoms below sea level. About a month later followed the frightful outbreak of Skaptar-Jökull, a distance of nearly 200 miles from this submarine vent.

The bluest of skies was above our heads, and the atmosphere so clear we could see objects many miles distant, among them 'Hecla,' whose snowy cap glistened like silver in the sun.

The air was so pure and invigorating, that it acted like champagne on all our party, and we were in the highest spirits. About every two hours we halted and gave our ponies a brief rest, letting them nibble the short grass near, when any such was to be found, then changing our saddles to the backs of the reserve animals we started afresh, the wild mountain paths becoming steeper and rougher as we advanced.

We had only passed two farms on our way, and our guide informing us there was not another for many miles, feeling very hungry after our long morning's ride, we dismounted by the side of a babbling brook for lunch, and did full justice to the ham and tinned beef we had brought from London with us. While eating our meal, our twenty ponies were allowed to wander at will with the reins thrown over their heads, and had there been any passers-by we might have been taken for a gipsy encampment

Luncheon over, everything had to be washed, and securely packed, but despite all our previous care we found some of our china had been sorely smashed, and the biscuits shaken to perfect powder.

Our guides shared our repast, respectfully taking their seats at a little distance from us, and their delight at tasting our tinned beef and mustard entertained us greatly. The latter stung poor Jon's mouth till the tears ran down his cheeks, but, nothing daunted, he persevered in taking the condiment, till he grew so fond of it as to ask for it with every kind of food, even spreading it on an Albert biscuit.

Hitherto our path had wound over a range of hills amid which we saw several small lakes, and the view looking westward towards 'Snaefell Jökull,' which rises like a pyramid of ice from the sea, was charming. Our lunch had been taken in the valley of the 'Seljadalr,' and now once more in our saddles, we followed a bridle-path upwards towards the plateau of 'Mosfellshei,' passing through a wild rocky glen of great natural beauty. The 'Mosfellshei' is a long, stony, dreary waste, several miles in length, so wild and rough as to render riding no easy task, the path leading through dreary tracks of lava, over which the ponies stepped with cat-like agility, hardly if ever stumbling, and going up and down hill as easily as on level ground. After two hours or more of this rough riding, suddenly, at a bend of the hill, we came upon our first view of Thingvalla Lake, and were charmed with it and the surrounding country. It was like going out of a desert into fairyland. The lake, which is 45 miles long, and of a deep cobalt blue, can be seen only in part, as the hills around project to such an extent as to apparently divide the water into a series of lakes, instead of one broad expanse. It was a glorious day with a bright warm sun, and a clear blue sky, and everything around looked fair and peaceful. We were so delighted with the spot, that we stopped to make sketches, allowing the pack ponies to get ahead of us.

Not long after remounting and calmly jogging on our way, we suddenly came upon the verge of a tremendous chasm, which, opening at our feet, divided the barren ground on which we stood, from a lovely sunlit plain of many miles in extent. Winding our way down, we entered the Almannagya by a narrow fissure. The path leads for nearly a mile, the rocks rising as perpendicular walls on either side from 80 to 100 feet; so narrow was it in some places that there was little more than room for the path. In other places where it widened, patches of snow still remained.

Here was indeed a halting-place full of interest, and we accordingly dismounted, and prepared to spend some time in lionising a spot so replete with historic records.

Running parallel were two or three such chasms, of minor magnitude, over the less steep parts of which we managed to scramble, before remounting our ponies, which it was necessary to do, although Thingvalla Farm lay but a few yards distant, because of the intervening river, which we had to ford.

CHAPTER IX.

THINGVALLA

Independently of the beauty and natural curiosities of the spot, Thingvalla is so associated with the early history of the Norse people, its government and its laws, that it deserves a longer notice here than has been given to any other of our halting-places.

We had descended into the 'Almannagja' by a steep rocky causeway made between cloven rocks, and reached the narrow islet where, in times gone by, when feudal despotism was the only government acknowledged, the chiefs of the Island met to regulate the affairs of state. Whenever it might have been that the volcanic eruption which had shivered the rocks into their present fissured condition had occurred, it had left this spot so surrounded by deep crevices as to render it impregnable, save by the rude causeway which connected it with the exterior level. This plain was, as already recorded, chosen by the founders of the first Icelandic parliament for their sittings. At the upper end of the plain, we were shown the stone seats which the principal legislators and judges occupied during their deliberations. Not far from here lies also the 'Logberg,' or 'law rock,' a large mound from whence the laws were proclaimed or judgments given to the people who assembled on the outside slope of the eastern wall of the rift, in view of the proceedings below. Our notice was likewise directed to the 'blood stone,' on which, for certain offences, the criminals were condemned to have their backs broken, after which barbarous punishment they were hurled backwards, and fell into the chasm below.

In Lord Dufferin's 'Letters from High Latitudes,' he thus describes this spot: —

'Long ago – who shall say how long – some vast commotion had shaken the foundations of the Island, and bubbling up from sources far away amid the inland hills, a fiery deluge must have rushed down between their ridges, until, escaping from the narrower gorges, it found space to spread itself into one broad sheet of molten stone over an entire district of country, reducing its varied surface to one vast blackened level.

'One of two things must then have occurred, either the vitrified mass, contracting as it cooled – the centre area of fifty square miles must have burst asunder at either side from the adjoining plateau, and sunk down to its present level – leaving the two parallel gorges, or chasms, which form its lateral boundaries, to mark the limits of the disruption; or else, while the lava was still in a fluid state, its upper surface became solid, and formed a roof beneath, while the mother stream flowing on to lower levels, left a vast cavern into which the upper crust subsequently plumped down "and formed this level plain."'

For three hundred years did the little republic of Iceland hold their parliaments within this romantic precinct, three hundred years of remarkable independence, but during which period Paganism and spiritual darkness prevailed throughout the Island. In the organisation of the first 'Althing,' priestly power predominated, no less than thirty-nine priests having seats. During the early settlement of Iceland, the land was divided into four quarters, each quarter sending its quota of priests to parliament, while each priest thus nominated a member of the Althing, was accompanied by two retainers, or assessors, as they were termed. Inclusive of the President, the Log-men, and its numerous sacerdotal representatives, the members of the Althing are said to have numbered 145 persons.

As we stood by these time-honoured rocks, where in long ages past ancient Norse chieftains had promulgated their laws, we tried to conjure up the scene, – the rocky entrance to this weird spot, guarded by stalwart Norsemen, the stern senators and law-makers sitting in deep thought, or occupied in stormy debate, while the crowd of interested spectators looked down from the stony platform above. We wondered that although these grand old times of feudalism had passed away, no enterprising artist had been found to transfer to canvas an historic record of such deep interest, and thus make the scene live again in modern times.

It was in the year 1000, on the 4th of June, that Iceland abandoned Paganism, and accepted Christianity. This great change was principally brought about through the instrumentality of a Pagan priest named Snorri, who, while travelling in Christian lands, had been converted, and on his return had pressed his new convictions on the people of Iceland. Many of these accepting his tenets caused quite a division in the Island, and the Althing was summoned to take into consideration the new views which had been introduced.

Snorri was invited to address the assembly, and explain the principles of his new-found faith. The members of the Althing listened with great attention, evidently much impressed with what they heard, for Snorri spoke with the enthusiastic zeal of a fresh convert.

There were not wanting, however, those among the representatives who resented the introduction into the Island of this new belief, hence the debate, so records the 'Njol-Saga,' waxed warm, when a messenger rushed in and disturbed the council by the alarming news that a stream of lava had burst out at Olfas, and that the priest's dwelling would soon be overrun. On this one of the heathen opponents to Christianity remarked, 'No wonder the gods exhibit their wrath, when such speeches as we have just heard against their power have been permitted.' On this Snorri with great dignity rose up, saying, as he pointed to the riven rocks and deep fissures around them, 'At what then were the gods wroth when this lava was molten and overran the whole district upon which we now stand?' To this speech there was no reply, for all well knew that the plain was one of the most remarkable lava tracks in the Island.

It is presumed that Snorri's remark told, and his persuasive eloquence won the day, for shortly after, the Icelanders in a body accepted Christianity as their national faith, and this apparently without either bloodshed or quarrelling.

In the 'Saga' mention is made of many remarkable sittings and debates which took place within the Althing, some of which ended in such animosity between individual members as to be the cause of party feuds and bloodshed.

In connection with the deep rifts which encompass the Althing, a romantic story is told. A Norseman called Flossi, a leader of some conspiracy in the Island, was condemned to death; he evaded this sentence by taking a leap from the blood stone, on which he stood, across the adjoining rift, a feat neither his accusers nor condemners were likely to imitate, and one inspired only by his extreme peril.

In 1800 the Althing was abolished, Iceland having fallen under Danish government; it was re-established again in 1843, but only in a very restricted form, its legislation being cramped in every way by Danish supremacy. In 1845 the romantic precinct where the Icelanders held their parliament was abandoned, and the legislative body was removed to the capital of Reykjavik.

In the 'National Encyclopædia,' we found the following note in reference to the new constitution granted to the Icelanders, —

'In 1874, on the occasion of the millennial jubilee of the Island's colonisation, the King of Denmark visited Iceland, and conferred upon his subjects there a new and very liberal constitution, most of its articles being moulded upon the Danish charter of 1849. It conceded to Iceland, in all matters concerning the Island, its own independent legislation and administration, superintended by an assembly, the new Althing consisting of thirty-six members – thirty elected by popular suffrage, and six nominated by the King. It put at the head of the country's affairs a minister named by the King, and residing in Copenhagen, but responsible to the Althing, and exercising his functions through a local governor residing at Reykjavik. It also fully guaranteed the independence of the tribunals, individual freedom, liberty of faith, of the press, of public meetings, the individuality of property, the self-government of principalities, and the equality of all citizens before the law.'

As will clearly be seen, this is a case of Home Rule, though the Icelanders are still in a measure under the Danish Government; apparently much the same kind of legislature as Mr Gladstone is so anxious to confer upon Ireland. The present Althing or Parliament has two Houses – an Upper and Lower House; there are twelve members in the former, and twenty-four in the latter. They must all be Icelanders, and usually they sit for about six years. We peeped into the Parliament House during the short time we were in Reykjavik; it was then sitting, but much as I should like to have remained and listened to the proceedings, the odours in the gallery in which we were placed forbade it. The impression it made upon me was that it resembled a small English law-court, the governor sitting in uniform at the head of the Council.

Certainly the ancient mode of transacting affairs of state was a far more interesting one, and the precincts of its primitive Parliament House and law-courts were unrivalled in their rocky architecture and romantic scenery.

Not far from the Almannagya is a very picturesque fall, formed by the waters of the 'Oxara,' which leap in a single bound from an elevation west of the 'Thingfields,' or 'speaking-place' into the 'Almannagya,' flowing through a gap in the rocks, and again leaping into the plain below, forming a large pool.

In this pool it is said in olden times women convicted of witchcraft or infanticide used to be drowned.

Altogether the halt we made at the Thingfields interested us deeply, and the landscape was charming in the extreme. High mountains guard three sides of the plain; among these we had pointed out to us the 'Sular Range,' the dark peaks of the 'Armammsfell,' and the lower ridge of the 'Jornkliff,' below, on the north-east of the snow-capped 'Skjaldbreid,' and the peaks of 'Tindjjalla-jökull' with the more distant 'Langjökull' sparkling like silver. South-west of the lake there is another group of mountains seen, from one of which – Hengill – a cloud of steam ascends, it being evidently volcanic. Among the rocks of the 'Almannagya' we saw some pretty mountain sheep grazing, the only sign of life in this wild region. The Icelandic sheep are very small, and we noticed often wander in pairs, one black and one white: they mostly have horns; the wool of the white sheep is spotless. There are plenty of sheep in the Island, and it is for them as much as the ponies that the grass is cut, dried, and stacked under such woeful disadvantages and in such a marvellously painstaking manner.

Leaving the rift, and crossing over a small river, we arrived at the door of Thingvalla Parsonage. Here it was arranged we were to pass the night. The farms and inns are so few and far between in Iceland, that the parsonages are thrown open for the accommodation of travellers. Formerly the wooden benches of the Thingvalla Church itself used to be converted into sleeping-berths; travellers, however, behaved so indecorously within the sacred walls, that the Bishop forbade the further use of the edifice for this purpose. The church, a simple wooden building, is surrounded by a graveyard, a few iron crosses marking some of the graves. The pulpit dates from 1683, and there is an ancient altar-piece of the Last Supper. The so-called village of Thingvalla consists merely of the church, the parsonage, and a few outhouses for storing winter supplies. When we arrived at the parsonage, we learnt that the clergyman was absent, – further, that a party of travellers from our ship had arrived a few hours before us, and had engaged rooms, the only remaining accommodation being two very small bedrooms, and one sitting-room. To Miss T. and myself was assigned the clergyman's own bedroom. This contained the smallest bed I have ever seen, and having to be made available for two persons, we did not pass a very comfortable night. The only luxury in the room was a well-stored bookcase containing many standard works in various languages. Our three gentlemen occupied the remaining bed and sitting-room.

We ascertained that the party who had preceded us consisted of seven men, who having only one bedroom and a small sitting-room, had most of them to sleep on the floor rolled up in their rugs. These men it appeared were not accustomed to the saddle, and having ridden forty miles on the day they arrived at the parsonage, found themselves so stiff on the morrow as to be barely able to continue their journey; indeed, two of their party gave in, and never reached the 'Geysers' at all.

Among the ancient curios of the Thingvalla Parsonage was an old grinding-machine, such as one reads of in the Bible; at this a girl sat turning its stone wheel with her hand, whilst the corn thus converted into flour fell into a receptacle below. In all the domestic arrangements Icelanders are very primitive, but this operation was, I think, about the most so of any I witnessed. A large jar containing rice attracted my attention, and curiously enough the rice was not to eat but to make poultices of, instead of linseed. We found the commissariat at the parsonage at a very low ebb; in fact, nothing but coffee and skyr were procurable; and but for our provision of tinned meats we should have fared badly.

We could not even procure white bread, simply the black 'pumpernickel' bread so much prized in Germany. Vaughan persuaded a man to go to the lake and secure us some fish for the next morning's breakfast; this he did, and returned with some excellent pink trout, and yellow char, which we much enjoyed.

No one at Thingvalla Parsonage could speak English, and we had great difficulty in making ourselves understood; our guides, however, waited upon us as servants, and were very handy. After breakfast, we remounted and set out on our way to the Geysers, where we hoped to strike our camp that night. Our guide-books had led us to expect that the scenery of this ride would surpass all we had yet seen, and we certainly found it did so. Within an hour's ride of Thingvalla we reached the Hrafragja, another lava plain, though not so wide or long as the Almannagya, but which is crossed by an improvised road formed of blocks of lava. Our path led us past an extinct crater, which, from the curious form and emissions, had long puzzled geologists: it was called a Tintron.

This lava spout resembled the trunk of an old tree, and during an eruption the liquid flame soared through it high into the air, like water does from a hose or fire-engine. This curious volcanic spout is not the only one in the Island; further north there are several, some reaching as much as 30 feet in height. One curious thing in our 80 miles' journey to the Geysers was the number of rivers we crossed, seldom very deep, but some sufficiently so to necessitate lifting our feet from the stirrups, and laying them on the pony's back as high as possible to avoid a wetting.

One of the rivers had so many turns that we crossed and recrossed it about twenty times. The low-lying land around being all bog, it was necessary to keep our ponies to the comparatively firm shingle on the river side.

An abrupt ascent, long and steep, formed a pleasant change to the monotony of the rugged plain. Up this 'berg' our ponies wound their way zigzag between the rough boulders of rock which strewed the path. At the top we met several men with their train of ponies, waiting for us to pass them, the path being only wide enough for single file. Here we waited to give the ponies breath, and admired the view, which was wonderfully extensive. The road up looked like a ladder, so steep was it, and we wondered how the ponies could have climbed it at all.

The Icelanders are a very polite race; nearly every man you meet takes off his cap and salutes you. When meeting friends, they pull off their right hand glove and shake hands heartily. In Iceland, as elsewhere on the Continent, they also pass on the left side; indeed, I believe we English are the only nation who pass on the near side or right hand.

We halted for luncheon at a small cave, just such a place as one might expect to find Runic remains, but there were none, so we contented ourselves with eating chocolate, and letting the ponies enjoy a little grass. This cave, like many others in the Island, was used in winter as a sheep pen, the poor brutes being huddled together to prevent their being frozen to death during the long winter nights.

From here we galloped merrily on for some distance; at last we called each other's attention to an extraordinary yellow haze, like a band of London fog, across the horizon. Thicker and thicker it became: and as it rolled towards us, we realised we had encountered a regular dust-storm. Into it we rode: so thick in fact did it become, that by the time we reached the Geysers all around was hidden in yellow sand, and our eyes were filled with dust, until the tears streamed down and we were nearly blinded. It whirled round and round in its storm fury, until we were half-choked, two of our party getting very bad sore throats, produced by the irritation of the dust, as it filled eyes, nose, and mouth. It powdered our hair also to a yellow grey, but our faces, what a sight they were! The tears had run down, making little streams amid the dust, and certainly we were hardly recognisable to one another. These dust-storms are somewhat uncommon, but proceed, in certain winds, from a large sand desert.

We pulled up at some hot springs within a few feet of the lake, which were smoking and steaming to the height of several feet, and falling down again formed numerous boiling pools. In these we put our fingers, but pulled them out quickly. Next we inserted the handles of our riding-whips: the brass bands round them turning mauve and violet from the sulphur and alum in the water; but this pretty effect soon wore off. The colour of the water and deposit round the edges of this pool were very pretty, and the bubbles as they ascended took the most lovely colours – emerald, purple, etc., turning into aqua-marine before breaking on the surface; but the odour was like terribly bad eggs. These hot springs are a curious freak of Nature, boiling and bubbling up within three feet of a cold water lake; in fact, we sat down and placed one hand in cold water and the other in hot. This was a very curious experience.

Two hours' further riding through a tract covered with willow and birch scrub, and we arrived at the 'Bruara' river. When this river is low, it can be crossed by a rudely-constructed bridge, with strong iron-clamped hand-rails on either side; but during floods it is impassable, as several feet above the waters form a roaring cataract, when travellers have to be ferried across, at a higher point.