1. June 19, 1867: thermometer in water 46° F. outside of Hrollaugseyar, 6 miles east of Ingólfshöfði, 48° F. 3 miles south-east of ditto, and 47° F. 20 miles west of ditto.2. June 20: thermometer 47° between Portland and the Vestmannaeyjar, 47° F. 12 miles west of the Vestmannaeyjar.3. June 23: thermometer 46° in the Breiði Fjörð, off Stykkishólm.4. June 24: 43° outside of the Dýrafjörð, and 43°-43°·50 outside of the Ísafjörð.5. June 25: 38° off the Húnafljói, and 43° off Cap Nord.6. July 1: 40° off the Axarfjörð.7. July 4: 39° off the Langanes (north-eastern point of Iceland).8. July 6: 40° off Viðivik, and 42° outside of Borgarfjörð.9. August 4: 46° 16 miles south-east of Langanes.10. August 6: 42° in the Testilfjörð, western side of Langanes.11. August 10: 38°·50 off Hornnes, and 39° same day off Gerpir, 4 miles south of Hornnes.12. August 19: 44° off Dalataur, entrance of Sydisfjörð.13. August 21: 44° off Héradsflói.14. August 22: 42° to north, with Kollumúli bearing south-west, 44° at sea.15. September 1: 41° off Berufjörð.
1. June 19, 1867: thermometer in water 46° F. outside of Hrollaugseyar, 6 miles east of Ingólfshöfði, 48° F. 3 miles south-east of ditto, and 47° F. 20 miles west of ditto.
2. June 20: thermometer 47° between Portland and the Vestmannaeyjar, 47° F. 12 miles west of the Vestmannaeyjar.
3. June 23: thermometer 46° in the Breiði Fjörð, off Stykkishólm.
4. June 24: 43° outside of the Dýrafjörð, and 43°-43°·50 outside of the Ísafjörð.
5. June 25: 38° off the Húnafljói, and 43° off Cap Nord.
6. July 1: 40° off the Axarfjörð.
7. July 4: 39° off the Langanes (north-eastern point of Iceland).
8. July 6: 40° off Viðivik, and 42° outside of Borgarfjörð.
9. August 4: 46° 16 miles south-east of Langanes.
10. August 6: 42° in the Testilfjörð, western side of Langanes.
11. August 10: 38°·50 off Hornnes, and 39° same day off Gerpir, 4 miles south of Hornnes.
12. August 19: 44° off Dalataur, entrance of Sydisfjörð.
13. August 21: 44° off Héradsflói.
14. August 22: 42° to north, with Kollumúli bearing south-west, 44° at sea.
15. September 1: 41° off Berufjörð.
The subjoined figures are the means of observations taken every fourth hour on board the “Jón Siggurðsson” steamer, in which the author voyaged (June 26 to August 5, 1872) between Hafnarfjörð and Grafarós:
Both series tend to show the capricious variation of temperature (from 38° to 48° F., and from 48°·2 to 58°·1 F.), where the summer sea is subject to the influx of a little snow-water, and none of the regularity which might fairly be expected from a “gulf-stream.”
2. Every book of travels from Horrebow and Mackenzie to the present day, has given notices of the climate of Iceland.[90]The mean temperature of the Iceland year between 1828 and 1834, has been laid down at 3°·42 Reaumur (= 39°·7 F.). The annual average of Copenhagen is assumed at 46°·8 (F.); the maximum, observed in the shade, being 94°, and the minimum about 19° (F.). That of Montreal stands at 6°·30 Reaumur (= 46°·2 F.). The winters in Iceland are colder than in Montreal in October and November (both included); warmer from December to March, and again cooler from April to December. Eyjafjörð (N. lat. 65° 40´) is more genial than Cumberland House (N. lat. 53° 57´), and much warmer than any place in its own parallel. The almost nightless summers from June to August, which must affect the respiration of plants, gather caloric, and the sun at that season fails to heat only at a very obtuse angle, when the rays are intercepted by a thicker column of air. The equatorial current which prevails in occidental England for eight or nine months during the year, as the south-wester in Iceland, must greatly modify the climate. Old travellers assure us that the sub-surface is frost-bound throughout the year; this takes place only after a succession of hard winters and ungenial summers—even the cellars are rarely frozen in winter if care be taken to close the doors. Mr Vice-Consul Crowe (first Report on Iceland, 1865-66), asserts that “the average temperature of the earth is about 4½° Reaumur all the year round.”
Reykjavik, the capital of Iceland (N. lat. 64° 9´), enjoys amore genial climate than any place whose temperature is recorded between the parallels of 55° and 85° (N. lat.), except only St Petersburg (N. lat. 59° 56´) and Sitka Sound (N. lat. 57° 3´). The mean of the year is but 1° (F.) less than that of St John’s, which lies 16° farther south. The winter corresponds with that of Illukuk, 10° to the south, and the summer is much hotter. Humboldt’s mean temperature, 40° F., is generally adopted, although some reduce it to 39°·4, and even to 39°. He makes February, the coldest month, average 28°·22, and July, the hottest, 56°·3—a difference of over 28°, which others reduce to 27°. He fixes the winter mean at 29°·1; the spring at 36°·9; the summer at 53°·6 (in Berghaus’ Atlas, 50°); and the autumn at 37°·9. Dillon (pp. 167, 168), during the severest season of half-a-century, saw the mercury as low as 10° (F.), in February; and Pliny Miles (p. 55) declares that the thermometer seldom falls below 12° or 18°.
It will be remembered that the annual mean of climates, where civilisation is highest, represents in Europe 52° (F.), and the zone is 15° north and south of N. lat. 40°, an undulating belt of 30° arching towards the equator and the poles. Including its protraction eastward and westward, it contains 95/100ths of the white races, and almost all the greatest development.
Certain valuable “notes on the distribution of animals available as food in the Arctic regions,” compiled by Herr Petermann, and published in the Journal of the R. Geog. Society (vol. xxii.), enable us to compare the thermometer in the south and in the north of the island. “Reykiavig” (N. lat. “64°·08´´) is placed between New Herrnhut and Fort Reliance, whilst Eyjafjörð (N. lat. 66° 30´), stands between Fort Hope and Winter Island.
The figures are as follows:
Ranged according to seasons and months, the figures stand:
Dr Joseph Chavanne, before alluded to, gives the following table of the wind temperature at Reykjavik, showing the deviations from mean:
Thus the climate of southern Iceland is insular and not excessive. We have a notorious instance of the same disposition in England. With us Devonia represents the south-western coast of Iceland, and justifies Carrington’s high praise:
“Thou hast a cloudFor ever in thy sky; a breeze, a showerFor ever on thy meads. Yet where shall man,Pursuing spring around the globe, refreshHis eye with scenes more beauteous than adornThy fields of matchless verdure?”
“Thou hast a cloudFor ever in thy sky; a breeze, a showerFor ever on thy meads. Yet where shall man,Pursuing spring around the globe, refreshHis eye with scenes more beauteous than adornThy fields of matchless verdure?”
“Thou hast a cloudFor ever in thy sky; a breeze, a showerFor ever on thy meads. Yet where shall man,Pursuing spring around the globe, refreshHis eye with scenes more beauteous than adornThy fields of matchless verdure?”
The northern climate of Iceland, distant only 3° or 180 direct geographical miles, is distinctly continental; the difference ranging between 14° and 17° (F.). This is easily accounted for by the Arctic current, by the proximity of Polar ice, and by the prevalence of northern and north-western winds, which, in south Iceland as in Palestine, drive away rain. Whatever discrepancy of opinion there may be concerning the Gulf Stream, there can be none about the cold drift which, between Greenland and Iceland, measures some fifty miles in breadth, and many hundred feet in depth. Hence the north-western digitations are more subject to floes and bergs than the Breiði Fjörð, which again is oftener invested than the Faxa Fjörð, the latter being rarely beset more than once during the century. According to Uno Von Troil, the sea-ice, now so rare, came regularly in January with the north-eastern gales, and was never far from the north-east coast. At present the season is about April and even later.
In the north, according to Metcalfe (p. 152), the winter is much keener, and the summer is proportionally milder than in the south; some observers deny the truth of the latter part of the proposition, and make the hot months average about the same figure. The snow often begins with October and lasts till mid-May when the temperature stands at a mean of 35° (F.). For Akureyri Baring-Gould (quoting the Almanak um Ár 1863), gives the year as 32° (F., freezing point = Eyjafjörð), the winter as 20°·7, and the summer 45°·5. He therefore determines that, while the mean of Reykjavik is very nearly that of Moscow, Akureyri almost corresponds with Julianshaab in Greenland.
At Stykkishólm on the mid-west coast (N. lat. 65° 4´ 44´´,and W. long. (G.) 22° 43´ 17´´), observations have been taken by Hr A. O. Thorlacius for nearly thirty years. The gross results are given in the following table, taken from the Journal of the Scottish Meteorological Society, iii. 148-304:
Mr A. Buchan, the learned Secretary of the Scottish Meteorological Society, has printed in the same Journal (1873, pp. 304-307), the following highly interesting notice on the climate of Iceland, and especially of Stykkishólm, which appear to have great differences of temperature in the same months of different years.[91]
“The mean annual temperature of the twenty-six years (1845-71) is 37°·0. The highest annual mean of any of the years was 39°·8 in 1847, and the lowest 29°·7, giving thus the enormous difference of 10°·1. This very low annual mean of 29°·7 occurred in 1866 under very exceptional circumstances, which were detailed by Mr Thorlacius in a letter 15th October 1866. Spitzbergen ice surrounded Iceland on the north and north-east coast from January to the close of August in a greater or less degree, and did not wholly disappear till about the middle of September. Its effect on the temperature of the summer was therefore perceptible. What enormous masses of ice filled up the ocean north of Iceland may be conceived from the fact that, in clear weather, its gleaming appearance could be observed from Stykkishólm twenty geographical miles, not only during the day but also at night. The depression of temperature which followed was very great, amounting on the mean of the year to 7°·3; of the nine months from January to September to 8°·1, and of February and March to 14°·5. Leaving, then, this exceptional year out of account, the next lowest annual mean was 33°·6 during 1859. Hence the coldest year fell short of the mean annual temperature to the extent of 3°·4, and the warmest year exceeded it by 2°·8.“With 1859 began a marked diminution of temperature. For the previous thirteen years the annual mean was on each, except 1848 and 1855, above the average—the mean of these thirteen years being 38°·2, or 1°·2 above the average. For the next thirteen years the mean was only 35°·8. Thus the first half of the period was 2°·4 warmer than the last half.“As regards the annual mean of temperature, the lowest (26°·9) occurs in February, and the highest (49°·0) in July—the difference between the coldest and the warmest months being thus 22°·1. The three coldest months are January, February, March, the mean temperature of which is 27°·6, that ofDecember being 2°·8 higher. In the northern part of the British Isles, and at the western station of the Atlantic, these are also the three coldest months, but the difference between their mean temperature and that of December is comparatively small, whereas in the south-east and interior of Great Britain, December, January, and February are the three coldest months.“In the extreme north of the British Isles, the warmest month is August, and the temperature of September, if it does not exceed, is nearly equal to that of June. But at Stykkishólm, July is the warmest month, and the temperature of September is 1°·6 colder than that of June. Another point of difference between Iceland and Scotland is that at Stykkishólm, the mean temperature of April and that of November are the same, viz., 33°·1, whereas in Scotland April is 44°·7 and November 40°·3, or April is 7°·4 warmer than November.“Hence the striking peculiarity of the climate of this part of Iceland is: During the cold half of the year the seasons are longer delayed than in any part of Great Britain. At Greenwich the mean temperature of April, as compared with November, being 6°·5 warmer; at York, 4°·9; at Aberdeen, 3°·9; at Bressay, Shetland, 0°·8; but at Stykkishólm, 0°·0. On the other hand, during the summer months the seasons at Stykkishólm are not delayed as in Shetland and Orkney, but resemble in this respect the eastern district of Great Britain.“The great annual increase of temperature takes place from April to June—the increase of April being 5°·3, of May 6°·7, and of June 4°·8, and the great annual decrease from September to November—the decrease of September being 4°·2, October 6°·3, and of November 4°·6.“But the most remarkable feature in the Icelandic climate is the great differences which occur in the temperature of the same month from year to year. This is seen in the highest and lowest temperature of each month during the twenty-six years. Thus, as regards March, the mean temperature in 1846 was 40°·1, but in 1866 it was only 12°·4, thus showing a fluctuation of 27°·7 in the mean temperature of March. The mean monthly fluctuation in the first four months of the year amounts to 22°·9, and for the whole twelve months 14°·9. As regards Scotland, the largest difference for any month during the past fifteen years was 11°·4—the temperature of December 1857 being 44°·9, and of the same month 1870 being 33°·5. In Scotland, the average of the whole twelve months is only 7°·1, or less than half of Iceland. These singular fluctuations of temperature are readily explained by the position of Iceland with respect to the Arctic regions on the one hand, and to the Atlantic with its warm currents on the other. As more than usual prevalence of easterly winds rapidly and greatly depresses the temperature by bringing to its coasts the cold, if not also the frozen regions. On the contrary a prevalence of south-westerly winds disperses the cold, and pours over the island the genial warmth of the Atlantic. This fluctuating character of the season is frequently very disastrous, it being evident that such summers as that of 1866, whose mean temperature was only 42°·9, will well-nigh altogether prevent the growth of vegetation.”
“The mean annual temperature of the twenty-six years (1845-71) is 37°·0. The highest annual mean of any of the years was 39°·8 in 1847, and the lowest 29°·7, giving thus the enormous difference of 10°·1. This very low annual mean of 29°·7 occurred in 1866 under very exceptional circumstances, which were detailed by Mr Thorlacius in a letter 15th October 1866. Spitzbergen ice surrounded Iceland on the north and north-east coast from January to the close of August in a greater or less degree, and did not wholly disappear till about the middle of September. Its effect on the temperature of the summer was therefore perceptible. What enormous masses of ice filled up the ocean north of Iceland may be conceived from the fact that, in clear weather, its gleaming appearance could be observed from Stykkishólm twenty geographical miles, not only during the day but also at night. The depression of temperature which followed was very great, amounting on the mean of the year to 7°·3; of the nine months from January to September to 8°·1, and of February and March to 14°·5. Leaving, then, this exceptional year out of account, the next lowest annual mean was 33°·6 during 1859. Hence the coldest year fell short of the mean annual temperature to the extent of 3°·4, and the warmest year exceeded it by 2°·8.
“With 1859 began a marked diminution of temperature. For the previous thirteen years the annual mean was on each, except 1848 and 1855, above the average—the mean of these thirteen years being 38°·2, or 1°·2 above the average. For the next thirteen years the mean was only 35°·8. Thus the first half of the period was 2°·4 warmer than the last half.
“As regards the annual mean of temperature, the lowest (26°·9) occurs in February, and the highest (49°·0) in July—the difference between the coldest and the warmest months being thus 22°·1. The three coldest months are January, February, March, the mean temperature of which is 27°·6, that ofDecember being 2°·8 higher. In the northern part of the British Isles, and at the western station of the Atlantic, these are also the three coldest months, but the difference between their mean temperature and that of December is comparatively small, whereas in the south-east and interior of Great Britain, December, January, and February are the three coldest months.
“In the extreme north of the British Isles, the warmest month is August, and the temperature of September, if it does not exceed, is nearly equal to that of June. But at Stykkishólm, July is the warmest month, and the temperature of September is 1°·6 colder than that of June. Another point of difference between Iceland and Scotland is that at Stykkishólm, the mean temperature of April and that of November are the same, viz., 33°·1, whereas in Scotland April is 44°·7 and November 40°·3, or April is 7°·4 warmer than November.
“Hence the striking peculiarity of the climate of this part of Iceland is: During the cold half of the year the seasons are longer delayed than in any part of Great Britain. At Greenwich the mean temperature of April, as compared with November, being 6°·5 warmer; at York, 4°·9; at Aberdeen, 3°·9; at Bressay, Shetland, 0°·8; but at Stykkishólm, 0°·0. On the other hand, during the summer months the seasons at Stykkishólm are not delayed as in Shetland and Orkney, but resemble in this respect the eastern district of Great Britain.
“The great annual increase of temperature takes place from April to June—the increase of April being 5°·3, of May 6°·7, and of June 4°·8, and the great annual decrease from September to November—the decrease of September being 4°·2, October 6°·3, and of November 4°·6.
“But the most remarkable feature in the Icelandic climate is the great differences which occur in the temperature of the same month from year to year. This is seen in the highest and lowest temperature of each month during the twenty-six years. Thus, as regards March, the mean temperature in 1846 was 40°·1, but in 1866 it was only 12°·4, thus showing a fluctuation of 27°·7 in the mean temperature of March. The mean monthly fluctuation in the first four months of the year amounts to 22°·9, and for the whole twelve months 14°·9. As regards Scotland, the largest difference for any month during the past fifteen years was 11°·4—the temperature of December 1857 being 44°·9, and of the same month 1870 being 33°·5. In Scotland, the average of the whole twelve months is only 7°·1, or less than half of Iceland. These singular fluctuations of temperature are readily explained by the position of Iceland with respect to the Arctic regions on the one hand, and to the Atlantic with its warm currents on the other. As more than usual prevalence of easterly winds rapidly and greatly depresses the temperature by bringing to its coasts the cold, if not also the frozen regions. On the contrary a prevalence of south-westerly winds disperses the cold, and pours over the island the genial warmth of the Atlantic. This fluctuating character of the season is frequently very disastrous, it being evident that such summers as that of 1866, whose mean temperature was only 42°·9, will well-nigh altogether prevent the growth of vegetation.”
The veteran observer Hr Thorlacius has laid down the following rule: “The great and sudden diminution of pressure which characterises the winter months is the outstanding feature of themeteorology of Iceland.”[92]The barometric mean during twenty-five years at 37 feet above the sea is 29·602. There are two annual maxima of pressure, the greater in May and the lesser in November; whilst the minima are in January and October. The average yearly rainfall closely agrees with the lower parts of the Scottish Lothians—between 1856-68 the mean was 26·81 inches; the maximum (1868) being 34·23, and the minimum (1867) 21·28. The greatest amount fell in autumn and winter—in October 3·16 inches, and in May 1·41. The amount of melted snow, annually registered, ranges from 4 to 12 feet; the mean of twelve years is 7·43; the maximum (1863) is 12·21, the minimum (1867) 4·76. The snowy days average 82 per annum, and the greatest falls are in January, 1·40; in February, 1·34; in December, 1·24; and in March, 1·18. During seven of the twelve years no snow appeared in June; during ten none in July; during eleven none in August; and during five none in September. The severest storm remembered was in 1868; snow began on January 15, and lasted till the end of March, making 7·14 inches. With one or two exceptions, Greenland ice annually showed itself at Stykkishólm between 1859-69. Thunderstorms were very variable. None were registered between February 1860 and August 1861 (included), but sixteen during the six months between November 1853 and April 1854. Of 111 thunderstorms in twenty-three years nearly half were in December (twenty-five) and January (twenty-seven); two occurred in May and July, none in June and August. In the Færoes, also, thunderstorms are wintry, not summery: the reason seems to be that when the peaks are bare, electricity is equally distributed; but when they are invested with snow, a bad conductor, the local congestion relieves itself by discharges. Thunder is said to sound, as we might expect, unusually loud, the effect of rocky hill and stony dale.[93]
3. The climate of Iceland, if not pleasant, is assuredly one of the most wholesome. All the English travellers upon the island in the summer of 1872 agreed that Anglo-Indians on “sick leave” should prefer a tour in the north to the debilitating German Bäder, or to the fantastic hydropathic establishments which are best suited to riotous health. Consumptive patients, and those suffering from constitutional and nervous debility, have of late years been diverted to the dry, cold, and bracing air of Canada, instead of the parts preferred by their fathers—Montpelier, with its dreadfulVent de bise; Pau, where the people describe their year as eight months of winter and four ofl’enfer; Pisa, where Johannum and Barahút—the hot and cold places of punishment—seem to meet; and bilious Madeira, with its enfeebling, warm milk-and-water air, which may relieve the one-lunged, but is sadly trying to those with two. In Iceland throughout summer the stimulus of light is never wanting; rich, oily fish can always enter into the bill of fare; and the evidence is in favour of “free ozone,” whose absence has accounted for the presence of cholera.[94]Hence phthisis hardly appears amongst the diseases of the islanders, although, when transported to warmer regions, they are as liable to it as natives of more genial climes. And whilst in Russia an overcoat may be necessary during the height of summer, in Iceland tourists walk about bare-headed at midnight.
There is a regular tide round the island, ebbing (Icel. fjara) and flowing (Icel. flóð) according to the rule of six hours. It sets into the Fjörðs, but in the offing it subtends the shore. According to old observers, these movements are stronger at the full and change, and strongest at the equinoxes. As every wind must blow more or less from the sea, those which pass over the least expanse of land bring rain condensed by the cold heights. Upon the coast there is a kind of daily trade following the summer sun’s course, like that known in Norway.[95]Cyclones are apparently wanting, but history records the most violent volcanic hurricanes; mountain squalls are the rule, and the smoke-gale of water-dust reminds us of the Continental Gauskuld, caused by the Finn-Lapp Magician sending forth his fly. In Iceland, as all the world over, the uplands are warmer than the lowlands—a fact well known to the ancients, but apparently puzzling to the modern traveller. “What is remarkable,” says Henderson (i. 104), “I found the temperature of the atmosphere twelve degrees warmer in this hyperborean region than it was below in the valley.” Yet it is easy to understand that whilst heated air rises, cold sinks; moreover, that, as a rule, there is more water, and consequently more evaporation, in lowlands than in highlands.
The mists (Mistar) are of the three kinds described by the Rev. G. Landt (Færoe Islands, London, Longmans, 1810): (1.) Skadda, or white cumulus on the hill-tops, supposed to show wet weather; (2.) Bolamjorkie, the vapour-belt which girdles the mountain flanks; and (3.) Mokyer (Icel. Thoka), the common fog of England.[96]
The Aurora Borealis, which the pagans held to be an emanation of the Deity—a nimbus encircling some mighty brow—and in which Greenland sees ghosts playing with walrus’ heads, is expected to appear in mid-August, but of course not so splendidly as in winter. The author never saw either streamers or zodiacal light. Uno Von Troil (p. 54) makes the former show from all quarters, but especially from the southern horizon. Metcalfe (p. 385) asserts that it ranges from north-east to south-west, and there is a popular idea that the focus is more easterly than it was a decade ago. In the Færoes it flashes either from west and north-west to east, or from east and north-east to west. The streamers are bluish-yellow, gold-coloured, and red; rarelyblue, green, and scarlet. The latter are called Lopt-eldr[97]or lift-fire, which shows the sky aflame. It comes with strong winds and drifting snows, and, as in most hyperborean parts, it betokens great carnage over the place where it rises. Icelanders can no longer make the aurora draw nearer by whistling to it.
The Alpen-glow, also called the evening aurora, is often a glorious spectacle when the reflection of the blood-red west, showing that the sun has just set, falls upon craggy hill and lowland slope, lighting up every house and field to a distance of five or six miles, and washing colour over the daguerrotyped outlines, usually so hard and sharp. When distant objects seem near in most countries men predict rain, here the rule apparently fails. The “Vetrar-braut,” or course of winter (Milky Way), is by no means so bright as some travellers have described it. In heathen times its appearance was used to forecast the hard months, especially as fortune-telling was part of the great autumnal feasts and sacrifices. The author never saw in Iceland the phosphorescent water supposed to betray the presence of electricity and ozone, nor thefulgor brutum seu spuriumof romantic meteorologists. The rainbow (Icel. Regnbogi Nikuðs,[98]or of “Old Nick”) is of course common; the twilights strike the stranger from the northern temperates as being unimportant like those of the tropics; and there is a name for the mirage or heat-reek, Hillingar, or Upp-hillingar, when rocks and islands look as if lifted (“up-heaved”) from the level of the sea. The common meteors are the Moorild or moor-fire of Norway (ignis labentes seu fatui), here called Hrævar-eldr[99]and Snæljós. Castor and Pollux in Christian times either became Saint Elmo’s (San Telmo’s) flames, or connected themselves with Saints Nicholas and Clare; hence the Corpo Santo, and hence our “corpusance,” frequently observed by the circumnavigator Pigafitta (A.D. 1519-1522). The old English sailor regarded them as Will-o’-the-wisps intimately related to a certain Davy Jones. The others are the Gýgjar-sól(gow-sun) or Auka-sólir, mock sun (parabolia); and paraselenæ or lunar halos, with Rosabaugr, or storm-rings, literally “sleet-rings,” the effect of minute ice spiculæ, or, perhaps, metallic particles, in the upper air refracting the light, and producing rainbow-hued circles and ovals, which often bisect one another. Water-spouts, the typhons of the Greeks, caused by the suction of clouds highly charged with electricity, have been observed. We read of fire-balls or shooting-stars (Viga-hnöttur or Stjörnuhrap); of electric flames and red-hot globes (volcanic bombs) discharged with loud detonations during eruptions; and the people still believe in the “fire-vomiting” of their craters. Modern science explains the phenomenon by the reflection of the brilliant, glowing, glaring lava and the red-hot scoriæ, upon the dust and ash column, and upon the “smoke-clouds,” which are really steam and other vapours. Yet M. Abich declares that in the Vesuvian eruption of 1834, he distinctly saw the flame of burning hydrogen, and this, indeed, might be expected.
As has been observed, the year of grace 1872 was exceptional. It opened with the finest weather till the equinox, after which it broke and strewed the ground with four feet of snow. Rain endured till the last quarter of June, but the rest of the travelling season was absolutely delightful. Mild east winds prevailed at Reykjavik, and the warmth of the “sirocco,” as it was called, set the citizens speculating upon the possibility of an eruption in the interior. After July 11th the sky was that of Italy for a whole fortnight. The autumn was rough, with heavy gales from north-east to east, and from south-east to south-west; there were also hard frosts about mid-November, after which the weather became as mild as in 1871. Dr Hjaltalín, Land-Physicus or Physician-General of Iceland, was inclined to think that the summers were waxing warmer in Snowland, as they are growing, or are supposed to grow, colder in Scotland.
The travelling season of 1873 was very raw and dry. From the 20th of June to the 20th of July strong north winds prevailed, and from the 16th to the 18th of July there was a considerable fall of snow. August was tolerably rainless, but cold, and winter set in in earnest about the 20th of September.
§ 4.Chronometry.
In these hyperborean regions the light season and the dark season represent the “dries” and “rains” of the tropical zone. The gradual changes from winter to summer, andvice versâ, known as spring and autumn, can hardly exist when the frost often binds the ground till mid-June, and reappears in latter August.[100]Thus the Edda of the old Northmen (Vafthrûðnismál, Thorpe’s trans., st. 27) very rightly distributes the year into only two parts:
“Vindsval hight heWho Winter’s father is,And Svâsud Summer’s.”[101]
“Vindsval hight heWho Winter’s father is,And Svâsud Summer’s.”[101]
“Vindsval hight heWho Winter’s father is,And Svâsud Summer’s.”[101]
The ancient heathen year contained 364 days (12 × 30 + 4 Auka-nætr, or Eke-nights):[102]the remaining day, with its fraction, was gathered up into an intercalary week, called Summer-eke, or Eke-week, introduced by Thorstein Surt (the black) about the middle of the tenth century. Of old it was inserted at the end of summer every sixth or seventh year, which then numbered 191 days. The Gregorian style inserts it every fifth or sixth year. Thus 1872 is marked the “first year after Sumar-auki;” the years 1860, 1866, and 1871 being years with “Sumar-auki.” New style was not adopted tillA.D.1700.
The light months technically began with the Thursday preceding April 16,[103]O. S., = April 26, N. S. On that day children received their Sumar-gjöf (summer presents), which take the place of our Easter gifts. The season consisted of 184 days (30 × 6 + 4 Auka-nætr); the eke-nights being inserted before midsummer, which parts the season into two halves, eachof three months. Thus in the Iceland almanac for 1872, Sumar-dagr-fyrsti (first summer day) fell on Thursday, April 25; the Auka-nætr ranged between July 24 to 27; Mið-sumar was on July 28; and Sumar-dagr-síðasti (last summer day) happened on October 25. In modern usage the time from April to October is reckoned by the Sumar-vikur (summer weeks), the first, second, seventh, and twentieth; and the calendars mark every Thursday, during the light season, by the current number of the week. The “travelling time” extends from the Invention of the Cross (May 3) to St Bartholomew’s Day (August 24). Meteorologically, summer opens with July. The winter, or dark half of the year (Vetr), began on the Saturday before St Luke’s Day (O. S.), or that Saint’s Day if a Saturday; and, like the summer, lasted twenty-six weeks. The Vetrar-dagr-fyrsti (first winter day) for 1872 and 1873 corresponds with Saturday, October 26. The following are the names of the months (Mánuðr or Mánaðr):
1.January—Icelandic,Mörsugr, “fatsucker;” Anglo-Saxon,Æftera(second)Giuli(Yule), from the turning or tropic of the sun; Old Danish,Julemaaned.
2.February—Icel.,Thorri; A. S.,Sol monath, from offerings made to the sun; O. D.,Blidemaaned, or “blythe month.”
3.March—Icel.,Gói;[104]A. S.,Rhed-monath, “travel-month,” or “month of the goddess Rheda,” to whom warlike sacrifices were offered; O. D.,Törmaaned, or “Thor’s month”—hence Lucan (Phars., lib. i.):
“Et Taranus Scythicæ non melior ara Dianæ.”
“Et Taranus Scythicæ non melior ara Dianæ.”
4.April—Icel.,Einmánuðr; A. S.,Eostre monath, “Easter month,” from the goddess Eostre; O. D.,Faaremaaned, “fair month,” or “sheep month.”
5.May—Icel.,Harpa, orgaukmánuðr,[105]“cuckoo month,” orsaðlid, “sowing season;” A. S.,Trimilchi, because the sheep were milked thrice a day; O. D.,Maimaaned, taken from the classics.
6.June—Icel.,Skerpla, oregglið, “egg-season,” orstekklið; A. S.,Ærra(first)Liða, “serene sea;” O. D.,Hömaaned, or “hay month.” The 3d to 5th of June are calledFardagar, “flitting-days,” because then householders change their abodes.
7.July—Icel.,Sólmánuðr, “sun-month,” orSelmánuðr, “saeter month;” A. S.,Æftera Liða; O. D.,Ormemaaned, or “worm (lumbrici) month.”
8.August—Icel.,Hey-annir, or “time of haymaking,” which ends about the middle of next month; A. S.,Weide monath, “pasture month,” orWenden monath, “tare month;” O. D.,Hoestmaaned.
9.September—Icel.,Tvímánuðr; A. S.,Haleg monath, or “holy month;” O. D.,Fiskemaaned.
10.October—Icel.,Haustmánuðr, “harvest or autumn month,” orGarðlagsmánuðr, “the month for building fences;” A. S.,Winterfyllath, or “winter-full;” O. D.,Sædemaaned, “seed-month.”
11.November—Icel,Gormánuðr, “gore-month,” or “slaughter-month;” A. S.,Bloth monath, “sacrifice-month;” O. D.,Slagtemaaned, “slaughter month.”
12.December—Icel.,Frermánuðr, “frost month,” orÝlir, “howler,” from the howling storms; A. S.,Ærra Giuli(first Yule); O. D.,Julemaaned.[106]
There is a quaint way of numbering the month-days by the knuckles of the closed fist, which denote the longer, while the intervals represent the shorter divisions, amemoria technica, thus taking the place of our mnemonic lines, “Thirty days hath September,” etc. This “Dactylismus Ecclesiasticus,”[107]concerningwhich Bishop Jón Arnason wrote, is possibly what Uno Von Troil means (p. 118), “They make use of an art to discover the sun by their fingers.”
The heathen week consisted of “Fimts” (pentads), whence, probably, the sacred pentagonal star of Odinism; and six of these formed the month. Thus the year was composed of seventy-two weeks, a holy number (= 2 × 36, or 6 × 12). This old style lingered long after the introduction of the planetary heptad, and lasts in such expressions as “There are many turns of the weather in five days (a fimt), but more in a month.” Yet the week (vika) was already in use about the middle of the tenth century. Bishop John, who died inA.D.1121, induced Iceland to adopt the hebdomadal division, and the ecclesiastical names of the days, as they survive in Spanish and Portuguese,e.g., Feria secunda, etc. Here we recognise, with the exception of the two first, the familiar Quaker custom:
SundayisSunnu-dagr, orDrottins-dagr, “the Lord’s day.”
Monday—Mána-dagr, modern Icel. Mánu-dagr.
Tuesday—Thriði, orThriðju-dagr, “third day.”
Wednesday—Miðviku, contracted toMiðku-dagr, the Germ.Mittwoch.
Thursday—Fimti-dagr, or “fifth day.”
Friday—Föstu-dagr, “fast-day,” the O. Swed.Vor Frudag, “le jour de Nôtre Dame,” who took the place of Freya.
Saturday—Laugar-dagr, “bath day,” as in the times of England before “tubbing.”
The old Icelandic names of the week days were: Sunnudagr, Mánadagr, Týsdagr (from Týr, Tuisco, the one-armed god of war), Óðinsdagr, Thórsdagr, Frjádagr, and Laugar or Thvátt dagr (“washing-day,”i.e., Saturday).
Both Iceland and the Færoes have preserved the classical and Oriental system of dividing into watches (Icel. Dagsmark,plur.Dagsmörk, “day’s marks”[108]), corresponding with the “Pahar” still used throughout Hindostan. They ignored the hour, whichwould have been too troublesome and minute. Wanting timepieces, they used sundials (Sólskifa) and sand-glasses. The rudest form was the peak or cairn, whose shadow noted the time: the same system still prevails amongst the Bedawin. By the sun also they learned to calculate the periods of ebb and flow, and the southern altitude of the luminary denoted the meridian. In winter evenings time was marked by the position of the Pleiades, called,par excellence, the Stjarna (star). The other constellations found useful at night were Örvindals-tá (toe of Orwendel, = Rigel Orionis?); Thjaza augu (the eyes of Thiassi, = Castor and Pollux?); Reið Rögnis (Charles’ Wain, the Wain of Rögn or Odin; whence also Ragna-rök, the twilight of the gods and doom of the world); and Loka-brenna (Sirius, Loki’s fire, also referring to the final Odinic conflagration).
The Færoese divide the day into eight öktur (Icel. eyktir) and sixteen half-öktur, the word Okt being shortened from octava.[109]The Icelanders reckon nine like our seamen, the additional one being a “dog-watch,” formed by dividing the 180 minutes into two. Their names are:
1.Nátt-mál, or night-meal to 9P.M.
2.Miðnætti, to midnight.
3.Ótta, from midnight to 3A.M.: “hana-ótta” is cock-crow.
4.Miður-morgun, also calledHirðis-rismál, “the rising time of the shepherd,” to 6A.M.
5.Dagmál, day-meal to 9A.M.(hora tertia.)
6.Hádegi, orHiðr-dagr, “high-day” till noon.
7.Mið-mundi, first dog-watch from noon to 1.30P.M.
8.Nón, in olden times alsoEykt, second dog-watch from 1.30P.M.to “nona,” or 3P.M.
9.Miðr-aptn, or mid-afternoon to 6P.M.
The shortest day in the south averages five hours,[110]and the longest is everywhere twenty-four.
As will appear in the Journal, Iceland preserves the Hebrew style of beginning the civil day with evening, not with midnightlike the rest of Europe. So Tacitus (cap. ii.) of the Germans: “Nec dierum numerum, ut nos, sed noctium computant;” and the older ecclesiastical law reckoned the greater feasts from the nones or evenings of the preceding days. The hours are fractioned after the English-Norwegian, not the German fashion: thus 3.30 would be called “half (after) three,” instead of “half (to) four” (halb vier). Similarly our seamen when heaving the lead sing out, “And a half three,”i.e., three fathoms and a half.
§ 5.Summary.
Iceland has the general contour of Ireland with the eastern side turned round to face the Arctic Pole. It is a square, cut, furrowed, and digitated by the violence of the northern, the north-eastern, and the south-western winds and waves; and its shape is regular, and unsupplied with ports only in the south, where, like Sicily, it is least exposed to weather.
The “little white spot in the Arctic Sea” is the epitome of a world generated by the upheaval and the eruption; dislocated and distorted by the earthquake, and sorely troubled and tortured by wintry storms, rains, snows, avalanches, fierce débâcles, and furious gales. The far greater portion, the plateau above the seaboard, has a weird and sinister aspect; verging on the desolation of Greenland, and lacking the sternness and grandeur of nature in Norway. And nowhere, even in the fairest portions, can we expect the dense forest on the Alp, “up to the summit clothed with green;” the warbling of birds, the murmurs of innumerous bees, the susurrus of the morning breeze, or the melodious whispering of the “velvet forest:” their places are taken by black rock and glittering ice, by the wild roar of the foss, and by the mist-cloud hung to the rugged hill-side. We may not look for that prodigality of colour with which sun and air paint the scenery of the happier south. The first impressions recorded by travellers are the astonishing transparency of the atmosphere, the absence of trees, the metallic green of the grass-fields, the pink and purple sheen of the mountain heaths, the sharp contrast of Ossas and warts,of ice and fire-born rock; and the prevalence of raw-white and dull-black hues, like gulls’ feathers strewed upon a roof of tarred shingles, in fact the magpie suits of snowy jökull and sable fell.
Despite the almost hyperborean latitude, the frequent oases—Wadys or Fiumaras—of admirable verdure, soft and secluded from the horrors of loose sand and black lava, have suggested reminiscences of the Arabian wildernesses, whilst the caravans of ponies, the “dromedaries of the glacial desert,” add a special feature of resemblance.
The “general glance” of southern travellers is perhaps too gloomy. It was hardly fair of the ancient Icelandic poet (tenth century) to call his native island a “gallows of slush,” or for the modern Icelandic parson to describe it as “nothing but bogs, rocks, and precipices; precipices, rocks, and bogs; ice, snow, lava; lava, snow, ice; rivers and torrents; torrents and rivers.” Cleasby crudely assures us that “the whole of Iceland may be said to be a burnt-out lava field, from eruptions previous to the peopling of the country.” Henderson says rudely: “The general aspect of the country is the most rugged and dreary imaginable;” he quotes Jeremiah about a region “where all life dies, death lives, and Nature breeds all monstrous, all prodigious things;” and he dwells with apparent gusto upon the “doleful and haggard tracts,” through which it was his “privilege” safely to pass. Baring-Gould repeats: “The general aspect of Iceland is one of utter desolation.” Forbes gives an even more gloomy picture of repulsive deformity. One might be reading in these travellers a description of St Magnus’ Bay: