THE weather was overcast but settled,when we commenced our adventurous and perilous journey.We had neither to fear fatiguing heat nor drenching rain.It was,in fact,real tourist weather.
As there was nothing I liked better than horse exercise,the pleasure of riding through an unknown country caused the early part of our enterprise to be particularly agreeable to me.
I began to enjoy the exhilarating delight of traveling,a life of desire,gratification and liberty.The truth is,that my spirits rose so rapidly,that I began to be indifferent to what had once appeared to be a terrible journey.
"After all,"I said to myself,"what do I risk?Simply to take a journey through a curious country,to climb a remarkable mountain,and if the worst comes to the worst,to descend into the crater of an extinct volcano."There could be no doubt that this was all this terrible Saknussemm had done.As to the existence of a gallery,or of subterraneous passages leading into the interior of the earth,the idea was simply absurd,the hallucination of a distempered imagination.All,then,that may be required of me I will do cheerfully,and will create no difficulty.
It was just before we left Reykjavik that I came to this decision.
Hans,our extraordinary guide,went first,walking with a steady,rapid,unvarying step.Our two horses with the luggage followed of their own accord,without requiring whip or spur.My uncle and Icame behind,cutting a very tolerable figure upon our small but vigorous animals.
Iceland is one of the largest islands in Europe.It contains thirty thousand square miles of surface,and has about seventy thousand inhabitants.Geographers have divided it into four parts,and we had to cross the southwest quarter which in the vernacular is called Sudvestr Fjordungr.
Hans,on taking his departure from Reykjavik,had followed the line of the sea.We took our way through poor and sparse meadows,which made a desperate effort every year to show a little green.
They very rarely succeed in a good show of yellow.
The rugged summits of the rocky hills were dimly visible on the edge of the horizon,through the misty fogs;every now and then some heavy flakes of snow showed conspicuous in the morning light,while certain lofty and pointed rocks were first lost in the grey low clouds,their summits clearly visible above,like jagged reefs rising from a troublous sea.
Every now and then a spur of rock came down through the arid ground,leaving us scarcely room to pass.Our horses,however,appeared not only well acquainted with the country,but by a kind of instinct,knew which was the best road.My uncle had not even the satisfaction of urging forward his steed by whip,spur,or voice.It was utterly useless to show any signs of impatience.I could not help smiling to see him look so big on his little horse;his long legs now and then touching the ground made him look like a six-footed centaur.
"Good beast,good beast,"he would cry."I assure you,"Good beast,good beast,Henry,that I begin to think no animal is more intelligent than an Icelandic horse.Snow,tempest,impracticable roads,rocks,icebergs-nothing stops him.He is brave;he is sober;he is safe;he never makes a false step;never glides or slips from his path.I dare to say that if any river,any fjord has to be crossed-and I have no doubt there will be many-you will see him enter the water without hesitation like an amphibious like an amphibious animal,and reach the opposite side in safety.We must not,however,attempt to hurry him;we must allow him to have his own way,and I will undertake to say that between us we shall do our ten leagues a day.""We may do so,"was my reply,"but what about our worthy guide?""I have not the slightest anxiety about him:that sort of people go ahead without knowing even what they are about.Look at Hans.He moves so little that it is impossible for him to become fatigued.
Besides,if he were to complain of weariness,he could have the loan of my horse.I should have a violent attack of the cramp if I were not to have some sort of exercise.My arms are right-but my legs are getting a little stiff."All this while we were advancing at a rapid pace.The country we had reached was already nearly a desert.Here and there could be seen an isolated farm,some solitary bur,or Icelandic house,built of wood,earth,fragments of lava-looking like beggars on the highway of life.
These wretched and miserable huts excited in us such pity that we felt half disposed to leave alms at every door.In this country there are no roads,paths are nearly unknown,and vegetation,poor as it was,slowly as it reached perfection,soon obliterated all traces of the few travelers who passed from place to place.
Nevertheless,this division of the province,situated only a few miles from the capital,is considered one of the best cultivated and most thickly peopled in all Iceland.What,then,must be the state of the less known and more distant parts of the island?After traveling fully half a Danish mile,we had met neither a farmer at the door of his hut,nor even a wandering shepherd with his wild and savage flock.
A few stray cows and sheep were only seen occasionally.What,then,must we expect when we come to the upheaved regions-to the districts broken and roughened from volcanic eruptions and subterraneous commotions?