Chapter 12 - Page 2

and gain the opposite bank. Butwe must not hurry him; we must let him have his way, and we shall geton at the rate of thirty miles a day."

"We may; but how about our guide?"

"Oh, never mind him. People like him get over the ground without athought. There is so little action in this man that he will never gettired; and besides, if he wants it, he shall have my horse. I shallget cramped if I don't have- a little action. The arms are all right,but the legs want exercise."

We were advancing at a rapid pace. The country was already almost adesert. Here and there was a lonely farm, called a boër built eitherof wood, or of sods, or of pieces of lava, looking like a poor beggarby the wayside. These ruinous huts seemed to solicit charity frompassers-by; and on very small provocation we should have given almsfor the relief of the poor inmates. In this country there were noroads and paths, and the poor vegetation, however slow, would soonefface the rare travellers' footsteps.

Yet this part of the province, at a very small distance from thecapital, is reckoned among the inhabited and cultivated portions ofIceland. What, then, must other tracts be, more desert than thisdesert? In the first half mile we had not seen one farmer standingbefore his cabin door, nor one shepherd tending a flock less wildthan himself, nothing but a few cows and sheep left to themselves.What then would be those convulsed regions upon which we wereadvancing, regions subject to the dire phenomena of eruptions, theoffspring of volcanic explosions and subterranean convulsions?

We were to know them before long, but on consulting Olsen's map, Isaw that they would be avoided by winding along the seashore. Infact, the great plutonic action is confined to the central portion ofthe island; there, rocks of the trappean and volcanic class,including trachyte, basalt, and tuffs and agglomerates associatedwith streams of lava, have made this a land of supernatural horrors.I had no idea of the spectacle which was awaiting us in the peninsulaof Snæfell, where these ruins of a fiery nature have formed afrightful chaos.

In two hours from Rejkiavik we arrived at the burgh of Gufunes,called Aolkirkja, or principal church. There was nothing remarkablehere but a few houses, scarcely enough for a German hamlet.

Hans stopped here half an hour. He shared with us our frugalbreakfast; answering my uncle's questions about the road and ourresting place that night with merely yes or no, except when he said"Gardär."

I consulted the map to see where Gardär was. I saw there was a smalltown of that name on the banks of the Hvalfiord, four miles fromRejkiavik. I showed it to my uncle.

"Four miles only!" he exclaimed; "four miles out of twenty-eight.What a nice little walk!"

He was about to make an observation to the guide, who withoutanswering resumed his place at the head, and went on his