You must forgive me if sometimes I become a little magniloquent;--for really,amid the grandeur of that fresh primaeval world,it was almost impossible to prevent one's imagination from absorbing a dash of the local colouring.We seemed to have suddenly waked up among the colossal scenery of Keats'Hyperion.The pulses of young Titans beat within our veins.Time itself,--no longer frittered down into paltry divisions,--had assumed a more majestic aspect.We had the appetite of giants--was it unnatural we should also adopt "the large utterance of the early gods?"As the "Reine Hortense"could not carry coals sufficient for the entire voyage we had set out upon,it had been arranged that the steamer "Saxon"should accompany her as a tender,and the Onunder Fiord,on the north-west coast of the island,had been appointed as the place of rendezvous.Suddenly wheeling round therefore to the right we quitted the open sea,and dived down a long grey lane of water that ran on as far as the eye could reach between two lofty ranges of porphyry and amygdaloid.The conformation of these mountains was most curious:it looked as if the whole district was the effect of some prodigious crystallization,so geometrical was the outline of each particular hill,sometimes rising cube-like,or pentagonal,but more generally built up into a perfect pyramid,with stairs mounting in equal gradations to the summit.Here and there the cone of the pyramid would be shaven off,leaving it flat-topped like a Babylonian altar or Mexican teocalli;and as the sun's level rays,--shooting across above our heads in golden rafters from ridge to ridge,--smote brighter on some loftier peak behind,you might almost fancy you beheld the blaze of sacrificial fires.The peculiar symmetrical appearance of these rocks arises from the fact of their being built up in layers of trap,alternating with Neptunian beds;the disintegrating action of snow and frost on the more exposed strata having gradually carved their sides into flights of terraces.
It is in these Neptunian beds that the famous surturbrand is found,a species of bituminous timber,black and shining like pitch coal;but whether belonging to the common carboniferous system,or formed from ancient drift-wood,is still a point of dispute among the learned.
In this neighbourhood considerable quantities both of zerlite and chabasite are also found,but,generally speaking,Iceland is less rich in minerals than one would suppose;opal,calcedony,amethyst,malachite,obsidian,agate,and feldspar,being the principal.Of sulphur the supply is inexhaustible.
After steaming down for several hours between these terraced hills,we at last reached the extremity of the fiord,where we found the "Saxon"looking like a black sea-dragon coiled up at the bottom of his den.Up fluttered a signal to the mast-head of the corvette,and blowing off her steam,she wore round upon her heel,to watch the effects of her summons.As if roused by the challenge of an intruder,the sleepy monster seemed suddenly to bestir itself,and then pouring out volumes of sulphureous breath,set out with many an angry snort in pursuit of the rash troubler of its solitude.At least,such I am sure might have been the notion of the poor peasant inhabitants of two or three cottages I saw scattered here and there along the loch,as,startled from their sleep,they listened to the stertorous breathing of the long snake-like ships,and watched them glide past with magic motion along the glassy surface of the water.Of course the novelty and excitement of all we had been witnessing had put sleep and bedtime quite out of our thoughts:but it was already six o'clock in the morning;it would require a considerable time to get out of the fiord,and in a few hours after we should be within the Arctic circle,so that if we were to have any sleep at all--now was the time.Acting on these considerations,we all three turned in;and for the next half-dozen hours I lay dreaming of a great funeral among barren mountains,where white bears in peers'robes were the pall-bearers,and a sea-dragon chief-mourner.When we came on deck again,the northern extremity of Iceland lay leagues away on our starboard quarter,faintly swimming through the haze;up overhead blazed the white sun,and below glittered the level sea,like a pale blue disc netted in silver lace.I seldom remember a brighter day;the thermometer was at 72degrees,and it really felt more as if we were crossing the line than entering the frigid zone.
Animated by that joyous inspiration which induces them to make a fete of everything,the French officers,it appeared,wished to organize a kind of carnival to inaugurate their arrival in Arctic waters,and by means of a piece of chalk and a huge black board displayed from the hurricane-deck of the "Reine Hortense,"an inquiry was made as to what suggestion I might have to offer in furtherance of this laudable object.With that poverty of invention and love of spirits which characterise my nation,I am obliged to confess that,after deep reflection,I was only able to answer,"Grog."But seeing an extra flag or two was being run up at each masthead of the Frenchman,the lucky idea occurred to me to dress the "Foam"in all her colours.The schooner's toilette accomplished,I went on board the "Reine Hortense,"and you cannot imagine anything more fragile,graceful,or coquettish,than her appearance from the deck of the corvette,--as she curtsied and swayed herself on the bosom of the almost imperceptible swell,or flirted up the water with her curving bows.She really looked like a living little lady.
