Chapter 9 - Page 2

Portland, the most southerly point of Iceland.

The passage was marked by nothing unusual. I bore the troubles of thesea pretty well; my uncle, to his own intense disgust, and hisgreater shame, was ill all through the voyage.

He therefore was unable to converse with the captain about Snæfell,the way to get to it, the facilities for transport, he was obliged toput off these inquiries until his arrival, and spent all his time atfull length in his cabin, of which the timbers creaked and shook withevery pitch she took. It must be confessed he was not undeserving ofhis punishment.

On the 11th we reached Cape Portland. The clear open weather gave usa good view of Myrdals jokul, which overhangs it. The cape is merelya low hill with steep sides, standing lonely by the beach.

The _Valkyria_ kept at some distance from the coast, taking awesterly course amidst great shoals of whales and sharks. Soon wecame in sight of an enormous perforated rock, through which the seadashed furiously. The Westman islets seemed to rise out of the oceanlike a group of rocks in a liquid plain. From that time the schoonertook a wide berth and swept at a great distance round CapeRejkianess, which forms the western point of Iceland.

The rough sea prevented my uncle from coming on deck to admire theseshattered and surf-beaten coasts.

Forty-eight hours after, coming out of a storm which forced theschooner to scud under bare poles, we sighted east of us the beaconon Cape Skagen, where dangerous rocks extend far away seaward. AnIcelandic pilot came on board, and in three hours the _Valkyria_dropped her anchor before Rejkiavik, in Faxa Bay.

The Professor at last emerged from his cabin, rather pale andwretched-looking, but still full of enthusiasm, and with ardentsatisfaction shining in his eyes.

The population of the town, wonderfully interested in the arrival ofa vessel from which every one expected something, formed in groupsupon the quay.

My uncle left in haste his floating prison, or rather hospital. Butbefore quitting the deck of the schooner he dragged me forward, andpointing with outstretched finger north of the bay at a distantmountain terminating in a double peak, a pair of cones covered withperpetual snow, he cried:

"Snæfell! Snæfell!"

Then recommending me, by an impressive gesture, to keep silence, hewent into the boat which awaited him. I followed, and presently wewere treading the soil of Iceland.

The first man we saw was a good-looking fellow enough, in a general'suniform. Yet he was not a general but a magistrate, the Governor ofthe island, M. le Baron Trampe himself. The Professor was soon awareof the presence he was in. He delivered him his letters fromCopenhagen, and then followed a short conversation in the Danishlanguage, the purport of which I was quite ignorant of, and for avery good reason. But the result of this first