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CHAPTER XVIII.

THE HRUTAFJORD.

Leave Melr-Icelandic Etiquette-A beautiful Frith-Mr. Briggs' StoryThorodds-stathr -Row across the Fjord-Merchant Vessels-Hospitality -Mr. Briggs recovers his Heart-Trouble with the Pack-saddle Holtavörthu Heithi-Sclavonian Grebe-Arctic Foxes-Icelandic Traditions concerning the Fox-Icelandic Mice-Travellers' Tales-Swans— Terns-Difficult Pass-Baula-MSS.-Church of Hvammr.

ON Monday, July 21, we started tolerably early, after having drunk the bride's health, in what the archdeacon called port, but which seemed to me to be a composition of black currant jam, treacle, and water. We paid the pastor in English gold, with the request that he would hammer it into a keeper for his daughter's bridal ring.

The son of the archdeacon accompanied us over the heithi, past Burfell, to the scene of the fight which took place between Grettir and Kormak. The hill-top is strewn with stones, deposited during the glacial period, but nowhere did I see any

traces of morraines.

One large block, a Grettis-tak, mentioned in the Saga, marks the scene of conflict. Below it is a little pool, on which floated a diver. Here we parted with our young guide; and Mr. Briggs, our guides, and I struck over the hill, S. by S.W.

In a little dell, filled with bog, stood half a dozen shaggy ponies, leisurely cropping the rank grass, whilst the men to whom they belonged lay on their backs fast asleep in the

sun, with their caps drawn over their eyes. Grímr stopped his horse, jumped off, stepped up to the men, lifted their caps, and awoke each with a kiss.

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May you be blessed!" said the men, starting up and scratching.

"And may you be blessed!" replied Grímr. Then he remounted his horse, the men lay down for another nap, and we rode on.

"Could you not leave those poor wretches to sleep in peace?" asked I.

Certainly not," replied Grímr. "It would have been against all laws of etiquette, to pass men on a journey without saluting them."

We descended suddenly upon the wildly beautiful Hrutafjord, a narrow strip of water extending twenty-three miles inland, and only a mile and a quarter broad at the point where we descended upon it. The frith is hemmed in between stony wastes, and the only grass visible is at its head, and in the swamps which fill indentations of the hills on either side.

map

Anchored near the farther shore, in front of the wooden store of Bortheyri, were two merchant vessels. On the of Iceland, Bortheyri is marked in large type, as though it were a capital town, and I had expected to find that it consisted of at least half a dozen cottages, and not of a wooden shed only, which is locked up all the year round, except during the fortnight in the summer when the merchant ships lie off it.

"Thank goodness!" exclaimed Mr. Briggs, when he heard that these vessels were floating shops. "Now I may chance to get what I have been wanting for many a day,-a bottle of strong essential oil, by means of which I hope to keep my tormentors at bay."

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My dear fellow!" said I; "I provided myself with camphor and oil of lavender, before leaving England. But Icelandic vermin have no noses, and set at defiance all tions taken against them."

precau

"These creatures always out-manœuvre me," said Mr.

Briggs. "Once, when I was in Wales, I was just as unsuccessful in keeping them off. Shall I tell you what I did? I was stopping at a little inn, and had not been in bed five minutes, before I became sensible that it was alive. I lit a candle, but the light only served to show me the whole room was swarming. I rang the bell. Up came a servant. 'Mary! a pot of treacle!' The treacle was produced. I made a ring of it round each leg of a chair, then folded myself up in my rug, and sat complacently on the seat, thinking that I had defeated my inveterate foes at last. But no! they were too clever for me! What do you think they did? They crept up the walls, and dropped on me from the ceiling."

We reached the base of the hill at Thorodds-stathr, the farm which had belonged once to Thorbjorn Strong-as-a-bull, the murderer of Grettir's elder brother. It is a neat farm, with a large tún, enclosed within high turf walls, with a gate, a rare sight in Iceland!

Between this and Reykir is a swamp, in which, according to the Saga, Grettir lost his spear-head. This was found about two hundred years afterwards, and the marsh is called 'Spear-swamp" to this day.

The farmer of Thorodds-stathr was absent at the ships, so that we had to ride to the next farm before we could obtain a boat in which to row across to the vessels. The object I had in visiting the ships was to procure small change, as I was unprovided with any smaller coin than dollars, and I could get none exchanged at the farms, as the people live by barter, and use money only in occasional transactions.

The larger of the vessels belonged to M. Sandhop, a merchant, who, if I remember right, was a Dane by extraction, though he had been born in Iceland. He received us with every civility and insisted on our dining with him.

He had come from the I'safjord, and was going to visit two or three other stations, and then sail for England.

The hold of his vessel was fitted up like a shop, with counter and desk. Round the sides were ranged sacks of rye

meal and coffee, canisters of sugar and snuff, kegs of brandy and rum, suits of secondhand clothes, whips, bridles, saddles, ranges of pottery and hardware. Above the entrance to the lower hold were heaped up fox and swan skins, and bales of wool and eider-down, which had been received from the natives.

Unfortunately for Mr. Briggs there was neither camphor nor oil of lavender among the stores. M. Sandhop let us overhaul the ship's medicine-chest, but we could find nothing which would avail us as a specific against "jumpers," as the Danes designate a disagreeable form of insect life. We then visited the second ship, which belonged to a kind old Dane with white hair, who was bent on showing us hospitality, and was distressed beyond measure at being unable to provide us with what we wanted.

Surely Iceland is a glorious field for the operations of Mr. Harper Twelvetrees!

On this vessel we found the whole of the upper deck converted into a shop under canvas. A steady traffic was going on, bags of wool were being hoisted up the ship's side from Icelandic boats, and meal, coffee, and brandy barrels were being swung down in exchange. The merchant laughed when we told him of our discomforts, and assured us that he was compelled to swab down his deck, and wash the boards which constituted his counter, every night, so as to purify them from the loathsome creatures, which had been left on board by his customers.

The old gentleman brought us into his cabin and insisted on our toasting Denmark with him, in bumpers of raw brandy. On our return to the larger vessel, we found that dinner was ready in the cabin.

The merchant and his captain, Mr. Briggs, Grímr, and I sat down to a capital repast of hot roast mutton and black bread. After having lived for so long on curd, stockfish, and occasional junks of cold, semi-putrid mutton, the fresh roast meat was most delicious, and I never enjoyed a dinner so thoroughly as that on board the merchant vessel.

LETTING THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG.

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We drank bottle after bottle of foaming Bavarian beer, and glasses of good claret; after which an "Alexandra pudding" was brought in. This consisted of a very light raisin pudding, floating in egg, brandy, and flour sauce. With this we drank port and champagne, and the meal concluded with a steaming bowl of punch, very hot and strong.

"Well! has either of you lost his heart in Iceland?" suddenly asked the merchant. Mr. Briggs dropped his head, and became red as a peony.

Why, what is the matter?" asked M. Sandhop; "there is something in the wind, I can see!"

"What glorious Jökulls there are in this island," said my fat friend, making a clumsy attempt to turn the conversation. "Yes! but that is neither here nor there. What do you think of the fair maids of this icy clime?" Grímr burst out laughing, and looked at my friend.

Poor Mr. Briggs! his confusion became terrible.

Neither Mr. Briggs nor I answered, but Grímr maliciously told the story of my friend's affaire de cœur, to the great amusement of the merchant.

"Well!" said M. Sandhop, "you have certainly chosen. the prettiest of all Icelandic belles. The lovely Thorney has not only got the most beautiful eyes

"And nose," interpolated Mr. Briggs.

"But she is also as good as she is beautiful; and she is well connected too! for she is the grand-daughter of an Archdeacon, daughter of a Sysselman, and niece of a Thing-man. I do not know that a more eligible match is to be found in the whole island, but there is a drawback.

"A drawback!" echoed Mr. Briggs, with a groan.

"Yes," answered the merchant; "though no daughter could behave better to her widowed mother-still there is a drawback!"

"Tell me, oh! tell me, what that is!" pleaded my fat friend, with an expression of agony on his usually cheery

countenance.