Transcriber’s Note

Transcriber added text to the existing Cover; the result has been placed in the Public Domain.

1. ESQUIMAUX DOG-TEAM.

THE POLAR WORLD:
A POPULAR DESCRIPTION OF
MAN AND NATURE
IN THE
ARCTIC AND ANTARCTIC REGIONS OF THE GLOBE.

By Dr. G. HARTWIG,

AUTHOR OF
“THE SEA AND ITS LIVING WONDERS,” “THE HARMONIES OF NATURE,”
AND “THE TROPICAL WORLD.”

WITH ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS AND ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THREE ILLUSTRATIONS.

NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE. 1869.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by

HARPER & BROTHERS,

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern
District of New York.

PREFACE.

The object of the following pages is to describe the Polar World in its principal natural features, to point out the influence of its long winter-night and fleeting summer on the development of vegetable and animal existence, and finally to picture man waging the battle of life against the dreadful climate of the high latitudes of our globe either as the inhabitant of their gloomy solitudes, or as the bold investigator of their mysteries.

The table of contents shows the great variety of interesting subjects embraced within a comparatively narrow compass; and as my constant aim has been to convey solid instruction under an entertaining form, I venture to hope that the public will grant this new work the favorable reception given to my previous writings.

G. Hartwig.

NOTE BY THE AMERICAN EDITOR.

I have made no alterations in the text of Dr. Hartwig’s book beyond changing the orthography of a few geographical and ethnological terms so that they shall conform to the mode of representation usual in our maps and books of travel. For example, I substitute Nova Zembla for “Novaya Zemla”, and Samoïedes for “Samojedes.” Here and there throughout the work I have added a sentence or a paragraph. The two chapters on “Alaska” and “The Innuits” have been supplied by me; and for them Dr. Hartwig is in no way responsible.

The Illustrations have been wholly selected and arranged by me. I found at my disposal an immense number of illustrations which seemed to me better to elucidate the text than those introduced by Dr. Hartwig. In the List of Illustrations the names of the authors to whom I am indebted are supplied. The following gives the names of the authors, and the titles of the works from which the illustrations have been taken:

Atkinson, Thomas Witlam: “Travels in the Regions of the Upper Amoor;” and “Oriental and Western Siberia.”

Browne, J. Ross: “The Land of Thor.”

Dufferin, Lord: “Letters from High Latitudes.”

Hall, Charles Francis: “Arctic Researches, and Life among the Esquimaux.”

Harper’s Magazine: The Illustrations credited to this periodical have been furnished during many years by more than a score of travellers and voyagers. They are in every case authentic.

Lamont, James: “Seasons with the Sea-Horses; or, Sporting Adventures in the Northern Seas.”

Milton, Viscount: “North-west Passage by Land.”

Whymper, Frederick: “Alaska, and British America.”

Wood, Rev. J. G.: “Natural History;” and “Homes without Hands.”

I trust that I have throughout wrought in the spirit of the author; and that my labors will enhance the value of his admirable book.

A. H. G.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

THE POLAR WORLD.

2. THE TUNDRA OF SIBERIA.

CHAPTER I.
THE ARCTIC LANDS.

The barren Grounds or Tundri.—Abundance of animal Life on the Tundri in Summer.—Their Silence and Desolation in Winter.—Protection afforded to Vegetation by the Snow.—Flower-growth in the highest Latitudes.—Character of Tundra Vegetation.—Southern Boundary-line of the barren Grounds.—Their Extent.—The forest Zone.—Arctic Trees.—Slowness of their Growth.—Monotony of the Northern Forests.—Mosquitoes.—The various Causes which determine the Severity of an Arctic Climate.—Insular and Continental Position.—Currents.—Winds.—Extremes of Cold observed by Sir E. Belcher and Dr. Kane.—How is Man able to support the Rigors of an Arctic Winter?—Proofs of a milder Climate having once reigned in the Arctic Regions.—Its Cause according to Dr. Oswald Heer.—Peculiar Beauties of the Arctic Regions.—Sunset.—Long lunar Nights.—The Aurora.

A glance at a map of the Arctic regions shows us that many of the rivers belonging to the three continents—Europe, Asia, America—discharge their waters into the Polar Ocean or its tributary bays. The territories drained by these streams, some of which (such as the Mackenzie, the Yukon, the Lena, the Yenisei, and the Obi) rank among the giant rivers of the earth, form, along with the islands within or near the Arctic circle, the vast region over which the frost-king reigns supreme.

Man styles himself the lord of the earth, and may with some justice lay claim to the title in more genial lands where, armed with the plough, he compels the soil to yield him a variety of fruits; but in those desolate tracts which are winter-bound during the greater part of the year, he is generally a mere wanderer over its surface—a hunter, a fisherman, or a herdsman—and but few small settlements, separated from each other by immense deserts, give proof of his having made some weak attempts to establish a footing.

It is difficult to determine with precision the limits of the Arctic lands, since many countries situated as low as latitude 60° or even 50°, such as South Greenland, Labrador, Alaska, Kamchatka, or the country about Lake Baikal, have in their climate and productions a decidedly Arctic character, while others of a far more northern position, such as the coast of Norway, enjoy even in winter a remarkably mild temperature. But they are naturally divided into two principal and well-marked zones—that of the forests, and that of the treeless wastes.

3. INDIAN SUMMER ENCAMPMENT, ALASKA.

The latter, comprising the islands within the Arctic Circle, form a belt, more or less broad, bounded by the continental shores of the North Polar seas, and gradually merging toward the south into the forest-region, which encircles them with a garland of evergreen coniferæ. This treeless zone bears the name of the “barren grounds,” or the “barrens,” in North America, and of “tundri” in Siberia and European Russia. Its want of trees is caused not so much by its high northern latitude as by the cold sea-winds which sweep unchecked over the islands or the flat coast-lands of the Polar Ocean, and for miles and miles compel even the hardiest plant to crouch before the blast and creep along the ground.

Nothing can be more melancholy than the aspect of the boundless morasses or arid wastes of the tundri. Dingy mosses and gray lichens form the chief vegetation, and a few scanty grasses or dwarfish flowers that may have found a refuge in some more sheltered spot are unable to relieve the dull monotony of the scene.

In winter, when animal life has mostly retreated to the south or sought a refuge in burrows or in caves, an awful silence, interrupted only by the hooting of a snow-owl or the yelping of a fox, reigns over their vast expanse; but in spring, when the brown earth reappears from under the melted snow and the swamps begin to thaw, enormous flights of wild birds appear upon the scene and enliven it for a few months. An admirable instinct leads their winged legions from distant climes to the Arctic wildernesses, where in the morasses or lakes, on the banks of the rivers, on the flat strands, or along the fish-teeming coasts, they find an abundance of food, and where at the same time they can with greater security build their nests and rear their young. Some remain on the skirts of the forest-region; others, flying farther northward, lay their eggs upon the naked tundra. Eagles and hawks follow the traces of the natatorial and strand birds; troops of ptarmigans roam among the stunted bushes; and when the sun shines, the finch or the snow-bunting warbles his merry note.

While thus the warmth of summer attracts hosts of migratory birds to the Arctic wildernesses, shoals of salmon and sturgeons enter the rivers in obedience to the instinct that forces them to quit the seas and to swim stream upward, for the purpose of depositing their spawn in the tranquil sweet waters of the stream or lake. About this time also the reindeer leaves the forests to feed on the herbs and lichens of the tundra, and to seek along the shores fanned by the cooled sea-breeze some protection against the attacks of the stinging flies that rise in myriads from the swamps. Thus during several months the tundra presents an animated scene, in which man also plays his part. The birds of the air, the fishes of the water, the beasts of the earth, are all obliged to pay their tribute to his various wants, to appease his hunger, to clothe his body, or to gratify his greed of gain.

But as soon as the first frosts of September announce the approach of winter, all animals, with but few exceptions, hasten to leave a region where the sources of life must soon fail. The geese, ducks, and swans return in dense flocks to the south; the strand-birds seek in some lower latitude a softer soil which allows their sharp beak to seize a burrowing prey; the water-fowl forsake the bays and channels that will soon be blocked up with ice; the reindeer once more return to the forest, and in a short time nothing is left that can induce man to prolong his stay in the treeless plain. Soon a thick mantle of snow covers the hardened earth, the frozen lake, the ice-bound river, and conceals them all—seven, eight, nine months long—under its monotonous pall, except where the furious north-east wind sweeps it away and lays bare the naked rock.

This snow, which after it has once fallen persists until the long summer’s day has effectually thawed it, protects in an admirable manner the vegetation of the higher latitudes against the cold of the long winter season. For snow is so bad a conductor of heat, that in mid-winter in the high latitude of 78° 50° (Rensselaer Bay), while the surface temperature was as low as -30°, Kane found at two feet deep a temperature of -8°, at four feet +2°, and at eight feet +26°, or no more than six degrees below the freezing-point of water. Thus covered by a warm crystal snow-mantle, the northern plants pass the long winter in a comparatively mild temperature, high enough to maintain their life, while, without, icy blasts—capable of converting mercury into a solid body—howl over the naked wilderness; and as the first snow-falls are more cellular and less condensed than the nearly impalpable powder of winter, Kane justly observes that no “eider-down in the cradle of an infant is tucked in more kindly than the sleeping-dress of winter about the feeble plant-life of the Arctic zone.” Thanks to this protection, and to the influence of a sun which for months circles above the horizon, and in favorable localities calls forth the powers of vegetation in an incredibly short time, even Washington, Grinnell Land, and Spitzbergen are able to boast of flowers. Morton plucked a crucifer at Cape Constitution (80° 45’ N. lat.), and, on the banks of Mary Minturn River (78° 52’), Kane came across a flower-growth which, though drearily Arctic in its type, was rich in variety and coloring. Amid festuca and other tufted grasses twinkled the purple lychnis and the white star of the chickweed; and, not without its pleasing associations, he recognized a solitary hesperis—the Arctic representative of the wall-flowers of home.

4. ROCKS AND ICE.

Next to the lichens and mosses, which form the chief vegetation of the treeless zone, the cruciferæ, the grasses, the saxifragas, the caryophyllæ, and the compositæ are the families of plants most largely represented, in the barren grounds or tundri. Though vegetation becomes more and more uniform on advancing to the north, yet the number of individual plants does not decrease. When the soil is moderately dry, the surface is covered by a dense carpet of lichens (Corniculariæ), mixed in damper spots with Icelandic moss. In more tenacious soils, other plants flourish, not however to the exclusion of lichens, except in tracts of meadow ground, which occur in sheltered situations, or in the alluvial inundated flats where tall reed-grasses or dwarf willows frequently grow as closely as they can stand.

5. COAST OF LABRADOR.

It may easily be supposed that the boundary-line which separates the tundri from the forest zone is both indistinct and irregular. In some parts where the cold sea-winds have a wider range, the barren grounds encroach considerably upon the limits of the forests; in others, where the configuration of the land prevents their action, the woods advance farther to the north.

6. COAST OF NORWAY.

Thus the barren grounds attain their most southerly limit in Labrador, where they descend to latitude 57°, and this is sufficiently explained by the position of that bleak peninsula, bounded on three sides by icy seas, and washed by cold currents from the north. On the opposite coasts of Hudson’s Bay they begin about 60°, and thence gradually rise toward the mouth of the Mackenzie, where the forests advance as high as 68°, or even still farther to the north along the low banks of that river. From the Mackenzie the barrens again descend until they reach Bering’s Sea in 65° N. On the opposite or Asiatic shore, in the land of the Tchuktchi, they begin again more to the south, in 63°, thence continually rise as far as the Lena, where Anjou found trees in 71° N., and then fall again toward the Obi, where the forests do not even reach the Arctic circle. From the Obi the tundri retreat farther and farther to the north, until finally, on the coasts of Norway, in latitude 70°, they terminate with the land itself.

Hence we see that the treeless zone of Europe, Asia, and America occupies a space larger than the whole of Europe. Even the African Sahara, or the Pampas of South America, are inferior in extent to the Siberian tundri. But the possession of a few hundred square miles of fruitful territory on the south-western frontiers of his vast empire would be of greater value to the Czar than that of those boundless wastes, which are tenanted only by a few wretched pastoral tribes, or some equally wretched fishermen.

7. ARCTIC FOREST.

The Arctic forest-regions are of a still greater extent than the vast treeless plains which they encircle. When we consider that they form an almost continuous belt, stretching through three parts of the world, in a breadth of from 15° to 20°, even the woods of the Amazon, which cover a surface fifteen times greater than that of the United Kingdom, shrink into comparative insignificance. Unlike the tropical forests, which are characterized by an immense variety of trees, these northern woods are almost entirely composed of coniferæ, and one single kind of fir or pine often covers an immense extent of ground. The European and Asiatic species differ, however, from those which grow in America.

8. VERGE OF FOREST REGION.

Thus in the Russian empire and Scandinavia we find the Scotch fir (Pinus sylvestris), the Siberian fir and larch (Abies sibirica, Larix sibirica), the Picea obovata, and the Pinus cembra; while in the Hudson’s Bay territories the woods principally consist of the white and black spruce (Abies alba and nigra), the Canadian larch (Larix canadensis), and the gray pine (Pinus banksiana). In both continents birch-trees grow farther to the north than the coniferæ, and the dwarf willows form dense thickets on the shores of every river and lake. Various species of the service-tree, the ash, and the elder are also met with in the Arctic forests; and both under the shelter of the woods and beyond their limits, nature, as if to compensate for the want of fruit-trees, produces in favorable localities an abundance of bilberries, bogberries, cranberries, etc. (Empetrum, Vaccinium), whose fruit is a great boon to man and beast. When congealed by the autumnal frosts, the berries frequently remain hanging on the bushes until the snow melts in the following June, and are then a considerable resource to the flocks of water-fowl migrating to their northern breeding-places, or to the bear awakening from his winter sleep.

Another distinctive character of the forests of the high latitudes is their apparent youth, so that generally the traveller would hardly suppose them to be more than fifty years, or at most a century old. Their juvenile appearance increases on advancing northward, until suddenly their decrepit age is revealed by the thick bushes of lichens which clothe or hang down from their shrivelled boughs. Farther to the south, large trees are found scattered here and there, but not so numerous as to modify the general appearance of the forest, and even these are mere dwarfs when compared with the gigantic firs of more temperate climates. This phenomenon is sufficiently explained by the shortness of the summer, which, though able to bring forth new shoots, does not last long enough for the formation of wood. Hence the growth of trees becomes slower and slower on advancing to the north; so that on the banks of the Great Bear Lake, for instance, 400 years are necessary for the formation of a trunk not thicker than a man’s waist. Toward the confines of the tundra, the woods are reduced to stunted stems, covered with blighted buds that have been unable to develop themselves into branches, and which prove by their numbers how frequently and how vainly they have striven against the wind, until finally the last remnants of arboreal vegetation, vanquished by the blasts of winter, seek refuge under a carpet of lichens and mosses, from which their annual shoots hardly venture to peep forth.

A third peculiarity which distinguishes the forests of the north from those of the tropical world is what may be called their harmless character. There the traveller finds none of those noxious plants whose juices contain a deadly poison, and even thorns and prickles are of rare occurrence. No venomous snake glides through the thicket; no crocodile lurks in the swamp; and the northern beasts of prey—the bear, the lynx, the wolf—are far less dangerous and blood-thirsty than the large felidæ of the torrid zone.

The comparatively small number of animals living in the Arctic forests corresponds with the monotony of their vegetation. Here we should seek in vain for that immense variety of insects, or those troops of gaudy birds which in the Brazilian woods excite the admiration, and not unfrequently cause the despair of the wanderer; here we should in vain expect to hear the clamorous voices that resound in the tropical thickets. No noisy monkeys or quarrelsome parrots settle on the branches of the trees; no shrill cicadæ or melancholy goat-suckers interrupt the solemn stillness of the night; the howl of the hungry wolf, or the hoarse screech of some solitary bird of prey, are almost the only sounds that ever disturb the repose of these awful solitudes. When the tropical hurricane sweeps over the virgin forests, it awakens a thousand voices of alarm; but the Arctic storm, however furiously it may blow, scarcely calls forth an echo from the dismal shades of the pine-woods of the north.

In one respect only the forests and swamps of the northern regions vie in abundance of animal life with those of the equatorial zone, for the legions of gnats which the short polar summer calls forth from the Arctic morasses are a no less intolerable plague than the mosquitoes of the tropical marshes.

9. FOREST CONFLAGRATION.

Though agriculture encroaches but little upon the Arctic woods, yet the agency of man is gradually working a change in their aspect. Large tracts of forest are continually wasted by extensive fires, kindled accidentally or intentionally, which spread with rapidity over a wide extent of country, and continue to burn until they are extinguished by a heavy rain. Sooner or later a new growth of timber springs up, but the soil, being generally enriched and saturated with alkali, now no longer brings forth its aboriginal firs, but gives birth to a thicket of beeches (Betula alba) in Asia, or of aspens in America.

The line of perpetual snow may naturally be expected to descend lower and lower on advancing to the pole, and hence many mountainous regions or elevated plateaux, such as the interior of Spitzbergen, of Greenland, of Nova Zembla, etc., which in a more temperate clime would be verdant with woods or meadows, are here covered with vast fields of ice, from which frequently glaciers descend down to the verge of the sea. But even in the highest northern latitudes, no land has yet been found covered as far as the water’s edge with eternal snow, or where winter has entirely subdued the powers of vegetation. The reindeer of Spitzbergen find near 80° N. lichens or grasses to feed upon; in favorable seasons the snow melts by the end of June on the plains of Melville Island, and numerous lemmings, requiring vegetable food for their subsistence, inhabit the deserts of New Siberia. As far as man has reached to the north, vegetation, when fostered by a sheltered situation and the refraction of solar heat from the rocks, has everywhere been found to rise to a considerable altitude above the level of the sea; and should there be land at the North Pole, there is every reason to believe that it is destitute neither of animal nor vegetable life. It would be equally erroneous to suppose that the cold of winter invariably increases as we near the pole, as the temperature of a land is influenced by many other causes besides its latitude. Even in the most northern regions hitherto visited by man, the influence of the sea, particularly when favored by warm currents, is found to mitigate the severity of the winter, while at the same time it diminishes the warmth of summer. On the other hand, the large continental tracts of Asia or America that shelve toward the pole have a more intense winter cold and a far greater summer’s heat than many coast-lands or islands situated far nearer to the pole. Thus, to cite but a few examples, the western shores of Nova Zembla, fronting a wide expanse of sea, have an average winter temperature of only -4°, and a mean summer temperature but little above the freezing-point of water (+36½°), while Jakutsk, situated in the heart of Siberia, and 20° nearer to the Equator, has a winter of -36° 6’, and a summer of +66° 6’.

The influence of the winds is likewise of considerable importance in determining the greater or lesser severity of an Arctic climate. Thus the northerly winds which prevail in Baffin’s Bay and Davis’s Straits during the summer months, and fill the straits of the American north-eastern Archipelago with ice, are probably the main cause of the abnormal depression of temperature in that quarter; while, on the contrary, the southerly winds that prevail during summer in the valley of the Mackenzie tend greatly to extend the forest of that favored region nearly down to the shores of the Arctic Sea. Even in the depth of a Siberian winter, a sudden change of wind is able to raise the thermometer from a mercury-congealing cold to a temperature above the freezing-point of water, and a warm wind has been known to cause rain to fall in Spitzbergen in the month of January.

The voyages of Kane and Belcher have made us acquainted with the lowest temperatures ever felt by man. On Feb. 5, 1854, while the former was wintering in Smith’s Sound (78° 37’ N. lat.), the mean of his best spirit-thermometer showed the unexampled temperature of -68° or 100° below the freezing-point of water. Then chloric ether became solid, and carefully prepared chloroform exhibited a granular pellicle on its surface. The exhalations from the skin invested the exposed or partially clad parts with a wreath of vapor. The air had a perceptible pungency upon inspiration, and every one, as it were involuntarily, breathed guardedly with compressed lips. About the same time (February 9 and 10, 1854), Sir E. Belcher experienced a cold of -55° in Wellington Channel (75° 31’ N.), and the still lower temperature of -62° on January 13, 1853, in Northumberland Sound (76° 52’ N.). Whymper, on December 6, 1866, experienced -58° at Nulatto, Alaska (64° 42’ N.).

Whether the temperature of the air descends still lower on advancing toward the pole, or whether these extreme degrees of cold are not sometimes surpassed in those mountainous regions of the north which, though seen, have never yet been explored, is of course an undecided question: so much is certain, that the observations hitherto made during the winter of the Arctic regions have been limited to too short a time, and are too few in number, to enable us to determine with any degree of certainty those points where the greatest cold prevails. All we know is, that beyond the Arctic Circle, and eight or ten degrees farther to the south in the interior of the continents of Asia and America, the average temperature of the winter generally ranges from -20° to -30°, or even lower, and for a great part of the year is able to convert mercury into a solid body.

It may well be asked how man is able to bear the excessively low temperature of an Arctic winter, which must appear truly appalling to an inhabitant of the temperate zone. A thick fur clothing; a hut small and low, where the warmth of a fire, or simply of a train-oil lamp, is husbanded in a narrow space, and, above all, the wonderful power of the human constitution to accommodate itself to every change of climate, go far to counteract the rigor of the cold.

After a very few days the body develops an increasing warmth as the thermometer descends; for the air being condensed by the cold, the lungs inhale at every breath a greater quantity of oxygen, which of course accelerates the internal process of combustion, while at the same time an increasing appetite, gratified with a copious supply of animal food, of flesh and fat, enriches the blood and enables it to circulate more vigorously. Thus not only the hardy native of the north, but even the healthy traveller soon gets accustomed to bear without injury the rigors of an Arctic winter.

“The mysterious compensations,” says Kane, “by which we adapt ourselves to climate are more striking here than in the tropics. In the Polar zone the assault is immediate and sudden, and, unlike the insidious fatality of hot countries, produces its results rapidly. It requires hardly a single winter to tell who are to be the heat-making and acclimatized men. Petersen, for instance, who has resided for two years at Upernavik, seldom enters a room with a fire. Another of our party, George Riley, with a vigorous constitution, established habits of free exposure, and active cheerful temperament, has so inured himself to the cold, that he sleeps on our sledge journeys without a blanket or any other covering than his walking suit, while the outside temperature is -30°.”

10. ARCTIC CLOTHING.

There are many proofs that a milder climate once reigned in the northern regions of the globe. Fossil pieces of wood, petrified acorns and fir-cones have been found in the interior of Banks’s Land by M’Clure’s sledging-parties. At Anakerdluk, in North Greenland (70° N.), a large forest lies buried on a mountain surrounded by glaciers, 1080 feet above the level of the sea. Not only the trunks and branches, but even the leaves, fruit-cones, and seeds have been preserved in the soil, and enable the botanist to determine the species of the plants to which they belong. They show that, besides firs and sequoias, oaks, plantains, elms, magnolias, and even laurels, indicating a climate such as that of Lausanne or Geneva, flourished during the miocene period in a country where now even the willow is compelled to creep along the ground. During the same epoch of the earth’s history Spitzbergen was likewise covered with stately forests. The same poplars and the same swamp-cypress (Taxodium dubium) which then flourished in North Greenland have been found in a fossilized state at Bell Sound (76° N.) by the Swedish naturalists, who also discovered a plantain and a linden as high as 78° and 79° in King’s Bay—a proof that in those times the climate of Spitzbergen can not have been colder than that which now reigns in Southern Sweden and Norway, eighteen degrees nearer to the line.

We know that at present the fir, the poplar, and the beech grow fifteen degrees farther to the north than the plantain—and the miocene period no doubt exhibited the same proportion. Thus the poplars and firs which then grew in Spitzbergen along with plantains and lindens must have ranged as far as the pole itself, supposing that point to be dry land.

In the miocene times the Arctic zone evidently presented a very different aspect from that which it wears at present. Now, during the greater part of the year, an immense glacial desert, which through its floating bergs and drift-ice depresses the temperature of countries situated far to the south, it then consisted of verdant lands covered with luxuriant forests and bathed by an open sea.

What may have been the cause of these amazing changes of climate? The readiest answer seems to be—a different distribution of sea and land; but there is no reason to believe that in the miocene times there was less land in the Arctic zone than at present, nor can any possible combination of water and dry land be imagined sufficient to account for the growth of laurels in Greenland or of plantains in Spitzbergen. Dr. Oswald Heer is inclined to seek for an explanation of the phenomenon, not in mere local terrestrial changes, but in a difference of the earth’s position in the heavens.

11. ARCTIC MOONLIGHT.

We now know that our sun, with his attendant planets and satellites, performs a vast circle, embracing perhaps hundreds of thousands of years, round another star, and that we are constantly entering new regions of space untravelled by our earth before. We come from the unknown, and plunge into the unknown; but so much is certain, that our solar system rolls at present through a space but thinly peopled with stars, and there is no reason to doubt that it may once have wandered through one of those celestial provinces where, as the telescope shows us, constellations are far more densely clustered. But, as every star is a blazing sun, the greater or lesser number of these heavenly bodies must evidently have a proportionate influence upon the temperature of space; and thus we may suppose that during the miocene period our earth, being at that time in a populous sidereal region, enjoyed the benefit of a higher temperature, which clothed even its poles with verdure. In the course of ages the sun conducted his herd of planets into more solitary and colder regions, which caused the warm miocene times to be followed by the glacial period, during which the Swiss flat lands bore an Arctic character, and finally the sun emerged into a space of an intermediate character, which determines the present condition of the climates of our globe.

12. AURORA SEEN IN NORWAY.

Though Nature generally wears a more stern and forbidding aspect on advancing toward the pole, yet the high latitudes have many beauties of their own. Nothing can exceed the magnificence of an Arctic sunset, clothing the snow-clad mountains and the skies with all the glories of color, or be more serenely beautiful than the clear star-light night, illumined by the brilliant moon, which for days continually circles around the horizon, never setting until she has run her long course of brightness. The uniform whiteness of the landscape and the general transparency of the atmosphere add to the lustre of her beams, which serve the natives to guide their nomadic life, and to lead them to their hunting-grounds.

13. AURORA SEEN IN GREENLAND.

But of all the magnificent spectacles that relieve the monotonous gloom of the Arctic winter, there is none to equal the magical beauty of the Aurora. Night covers the snow-clad earth; the stars glimmer feebly through the haze which so frequently dims their brilliancy in the high latitudes, when suddenly a broad and clear bow of light spans the horizon in the direction where it is traversed by the magnetic meridian. This bow sometimes remains for several hours, heaving or waving to and fro, before it sends forth streams of light ascending to the zenith. Sometimes these flashes proceed from the bow of light alone; at others they simultaneously shoot forth from many opposite parts of the horizon, and form a vast sea of fire whose brilliant waves are continually changing their position. Finally they all unite in a magnificent crown or copula of light, with the appearance of which the phenomenon attains its highest degree of splendor. The brilliancy of the streams, which are commonly red at their base, green in the middle, and light yellow toward the zenith, increases, while at the same time they dart with greater vivacity through the skies. The colors are wonderfully transparent, the red approaching to a clear blood-red, the green to a pale emerald tint. On turning from the flaming firmament to the earth, this also is seen to glow with a magical light. The dark sea, black as jet, forms a striking contrast to the white snow-plain or the distant ice-mountain; all the outlines tremble as if they belonged to the unreal world of dreams. The imposing silence of the night heightens the charms of the magnificent spectacle.

But gradually the crown fades, the bow of light dissolves, the streams become shorter, less frequent, and less vivid; and finally the gloom of winter once more descends upon the northern desert.

CHAPTER II.
ARCTIC LAND QUADRUPEDS AND BIRDS.

The Reindeer.—Structure of its Foot.—Clattering Noise when walking.—Antlers.—Extraordinary olfactory Powers.—The Icelandic Moss.—Present and Former Range of the Reindeer.—Its invaluable Qualities as an Arctic domestic Animal.—Revolts against Oppression.—Enemies of the Reindeer.—The Wolf.—The Glutton or Wolverine.—Gad-flies.—The Elk or Moose-deer.—The Musk-ox.—The Wild Sheep of the Rocky Mountains.—The Siberian Argali.—The Arctic Fox.—Its Burrows.—The Lemmings.—Their Migrations and Enemies.—Arctic Anatidæ.—The Snow-bunting.—The Lapland Bunting.—The Sea-eagle.—Drowned by a Dolphin.

The reindeer may well be called the camel of the northern wastes, for it is a no less valuable companion to the Laplander or to the Samojede than the “ship of the desert” to the wandering Bedouin. It is the only member of the numerous deer family that has been domesticated by man; but though undoubtedly the most useful, it is by no means the most comely of its race. Its clear, dark eye has, indeed, a beautiful expression, but it has neither the noble proportions of the stag nor the grace of the roebuck, and its thick square-formed body is far from being a model of elegance. Its legs are short and thick, its feet broad, but extremely well adapted for walking over the snow or on a swampy ground. The front hoofs, which are capable of great lateral expansion, curve upward, while the two secondary ones behind (which are but slightly developed in the fallow deer and other members of the family) are considerably prolonged: a structure which, by giving the animal a broader base to stand upon, prevents it from sinking too deeply into the snow or the morass. Had the foot of the reindeer been formed like that of our stag, it would have been as unable to drag the Laplander’s sledge with such velocity over the yielding snow-fields as the camel would be to perform his long marches through the desert without the broad elastic sole-pad on which he firmly paces the unstable sands.

The short legs and broad feet of the reindeer likewise enable it to swim with greater ease—a power of no small importance in countries abounding in rivers and lakes, and where the scarcity of food renders perpetual migrations necessary. When the reindeer walks or merely moves, a remarkable clattering sound is heard to some distance, about the cause of which naturalists and travellers by no means agree. Most probably it results from the great length of the two digits of the cloven hoof, which when the animal sets its foot upon the ground separate widely, and when it again raises its hoof suddenly clap against each other.

A long mane of a dirty white color hangs from the neck of the reindeer. In summer the body is brown above and white beneath; in winter, long-haired and white. Its antlers are very different from those of the stag, having broad palmated summits, and branching back to the length of three or four feet. Their weight is frequently very considerable—twenty or twenty-five pounds; and it is remarkable that both sexes have horns, while in all other members of the deer race the males alone are in possession of this ornament or weapon.

14. GROUP OF REINDEER.

The female brings forth in May a single calf, rarely two. This is small and weak, but after a few days it follows the mother, who suckles her young but a short time, as it is soon able to seek and to find its food. The reindeer gives very little milk—at the very utmost, after the young has been weaned, a bottleful daily; but the quality is excellent, for it is uncommonly thick and nutritious. It consists almost entirely of cream, so that a great deal of water can be added before it becomes inferior to the best cow-milk. Its taste is excellent, but the butter made from it is rancid, and hardly to be eaten, while the cheese is very good.

The only food of the reindeer during winter consists of moss, and the most surprising circumstance in his history is the instinct, or the extraordinary olfactory powers, whereby he is enabled to discover it when hidden beneath the snow. However deep the Lichen rangiferinus may be buried, the animal is aware of its presence the moment he comes to the spot, and this kind of food is never so agreeable to him as when he digs for it himself. In his manner of doing this he is remarkably adroit. Having first ascertained, by thrusting his muzzle into the snow, whether the moss lies below or not, he begins making a hole with his fore feet, and continues working until at length he uncovers the lichen. No instance has ever occurred of a reindeer making such a cavity without discovering the moss he seeks. In summer their food is of a different nature; they are then pastured upon green herbs or the leaves of trees. Judging from the lichen’s appearance in the hot months, when it is dry and brittle, one might easily wonder that so large a quadruped as the reindeer should make it his favorite food and fatten upon it; but toward the month of September the lichen becomes soft, tender, and damp, with a taste like wheat-bran. In this state its luxuriant and flowery ramifications somewhat resemble the leaves of endive, and are as white as snow.

Though domesticated since time immemorial, the reindeer has only partly been brought under the yoke of man, and wanders in large wild herds both in the North American wastes, where it has never yet been reduced to servitude, and in the forests and tundras of the Old World.

In America, where it is called “caribou,” it extends from Labrador to Melville Island and Washington Land; in Europe and Asia it is found from Lapland and Norway, and from the mountains of Mongolia and the banks of the Ufa, as far as Nova Zembla and Spitzbergen. Many centuries ago—probably during the glacial period—its range was still more extensive, as reindeer bones are frequently found in French and German caves, and bear testimony to the severity of the climate which at that time reigned in Central Europe; for the reindeer is a cold-loving animal, and will not thrive under a milder sky. All attempts to prolong its life in our zoological gardens have failed, and even in the royal park at Stockholm Hogguer saw some of these animals, which were quite languid and emaciated during the summer, although care had been taken to provide them with a cool grotto to which they could retire during the warmer hours of the day. In summer the reindeer can enjoy health only in the fresh mountain air or along the bracing sea-shore, and has as great a longing for a low temperature as man for the genial warmth of his fireside in winter.

The reindeer is easily tamed, and soon gets accustomed to its master, whose society it loves, attracted as it were by a kind of innate sympathy; for, unlike all other domestic animals, it is by no means dependent on man for its subsistence, but finds its nourishment alone, and wanders about freely in summer and in winter without ever being inclosed in a stable. These qualities are inestimable in countries where it would be utterly impossible to keep any domestic animal requiring shelter and stores of provisions during the long winter months, and make the reindeer the fit companion of the northern nomad, whose simple wants it almost wholly supplies. During his wanderings, it carries his tent and scanty household furniture, or drags his sledge over the snow. On account of the weakness of its back-bone, it is less fit for riding, and requires to be mounted with care, as a violent shock easily dislocates its vertebral column; the saddle is placed on the haunches. You would hardly suppose the reindeer to be the same animal when languidly creeping along under a rider’s weight, as when, unencumbered by a load, it vaults with the lightness of a bird over the obstacles in its way to obey the call of its master. The reindeer can be easily trained to drag a sledge, but great care must be taken not to beat or otherwise ill-treat it, as it then becomes obstinate, and quite unmanageable. When forced to drag too heavy a load, or taxed in any way above its strength, it not seldom turns round upon its tyrant, and attacks him with its horns and fore feet. To save himself from its fury, he is then obliged to overturn his sledge, and to seek a refuge under its bottom until the rage of the animal has abated.

After the death of the reindeer, it may truly be said that every part of its body is put to some use. The flesh is very good, and the tongue and marrow are considered a great delicacy. The blood, of which not a drop is allowed to be lost, is either drunk warm or made up into a kind of black pudding. The skin furnishes not only clothing impervious to the cold, but tents and bedding; and spoons, knife-handles, and other household utensils are made out of the bones and horns; the latter serve also, like the claws, for the preparation of an excellent glue, which the Chinese, who buy them for this purpose of the Russians, use as a nutritious jelly. In Tornea the skins of new-born reindeer are prepared and sent to St. Petersburg to be manufactured into gloves, which are extremely soft, but very dear.

Thus the cocoa-nut palm, the tree of a hundred uses, hardly renders a greater variety of services to the islanders of the Indian Ocean than the reindeer to the Laplander or the Samojede; and, to the honor of these barbarians be it mentioned, they treat their invaluable friend and companion with a grateful affection which might serve as an example to far more civilized nations.

The reindeer attains an age of from twenty to twenty-five years, but in its domesticated state it is generally killed when from six to ten years old. Its most dangerous enemies are the wolf, and the glutton or wolverine (Gulo borealis or arcticus), which belongs to the bloodthirsty marten and weasel family, and is said to be of uncommon fierceness and strength. It is about the size of a large badger, between which animal and the pole-cat it seems to be intermediate, nearly resembling the former in its general figure and aspect, and agreeing with the latter as to its dentition. No dog is capable of mastering a glutton, and even the wolf is hardly able to scare it from its prey. Its feet are very short, so that it can not run swiftly, but it climbs with great facility upon trees, or ascends even almost perpendicular rock-walls, where it also seeks a refuge when pursued.

When it perceives a herd of reindeer browsing near a wood or a precipice, it generally lies in wait upon a branch or some high cliff, and springs down upon the first animal that comes within its reach. Sometimes also it steals unawares upon its prey, and suddenly bounding upon its back, kills it by a single bite in the neck. Many fables worthy of Münchausen have been told about its voracity; for instance, that it is able to devour two reindeer at one meal, and that, when its stomach is exorbitantly distended with food, it will press itself between two trees or stones to make room for a new repast. It will, indeed, kill in one night six or eight reindeer, but it contents itself with sucking their blood, as the weasel does with fowls, and eats no more at one meal than any other carnivorous animal of its own size.

Besides the attacks of its mightier enemies, the reindeer is subject to the persecutions of two species of gad-fly, which torment it exceedingly. The one (Œstrus tarandi), called Hurbma by the Laplanders, deposits its glutinous eggs upon the animal’s back. The larvæ, on creeping out, immediately bore themselves into the skin, where by their motion and suction they cause so many small swellings or boils, which gradually grow to the size of an inch or more in diameter, with an opening at the top of each, through which the larvæ may be seen imbedded in a purulent fluid. Frequently the whole back of the animal is covered with these boils, which, by draining its fluids, produce emaciation and disease. As if aware of this danger, the reindeer runs wild and furious as soon as it hears the buzzing of the ’fly, and seeks a refuge in the nearest water. The other species of gad-fly (Œstrus nasalis) lays its eggs in the nostrils of the reindeer; and the larvæ, boring themselves into the fauces and beneath the tongue of the poor animal, are a great source of annoyance, as is shown by its frequent sniffling and shaking of the head.

A pestilential disorder like the rinderpest will sometimes sweep away whole herds. Thus in a few weeks a rich Laplander or Samojede may be reduced to poverty, and the proud possessor of several thousands of reindeer be compelled to seek the precarious livelihood of the northern fisherman.

The elk or moose-deer (Cervus alces) is another member of the cervine race peculiar to the forests of the north. In size it is far superior to the stag, but it can not boast of an elegant shape, the head being disproportionately large, the neck short and thick, and its immense horns, which sometimes weigh near fifty pounds, each dilating almost immediately from the base into a broad palmated form; while its long legs, high shoulders, and heavy upper lip hanging very much over the lower, give it an uncouth appearance. The color of the elk is a dark grayish-brown, but much paler on the legs and beneath the tail.

15. ELKS

We owe the first description of this gigantic deer to Julius Cæsar, in whose time it was still a common inhabitant of the German forests. But the conqueror of Gaul can hardly have seen it himself, or he would not have ascribed to it a single horn, placed in the middle of the forehead, or said that both sexes are perfectly alike, for the female is smaller and has no antlers. At present the elk is still found in the swampy forests of East Prussia, Lithuania, and Poland, but it chiefly resides in the more northern woods of Russia, Siberia, and America. It is a mild and harmless animal, principally supporting itself by browsing the boughs of willows, asps, service-trees, and other soft species of wood. It does not, like the reindeer, seek a refuge against the attacks of the gad-flies, by wandering to the coasts of the sea, or retreating to the bare mountains, where it would soon perish for the want of adequate food, but plunges up to the nose into the next river, where it finds, moreover, a species of water-grass (Festuca fluitans) which it likes to feed upon. Though naturally mild and harmless, it displays a high degree of courage, and even ferocity when suddenly attacked; defending itself with great vigor, not only with its horns, but also by striking violently with its fore feet, in the use of which it is particularly dexterous. It is generally caught in traps, as it is extremely shy and watchful, and finds an easy retreat in the swamp or the forest. The only time of the year when it can be easily chased is in the spring, when the softened snow gets covered during the night with a thin crust of ice which is too weak to bear the animal’s weight.

Though not ranging so far north as the reindeer or the elk, we find in the Old World the red-deer (Cervus elaphus), in the vicinity of Drontheim, in Norway, and along with the roebuck beyond Lake Baikal, in Siberia, while in America the large-eared deer (Cervus macrotis), and the Wapiti, or Canada stag (Cervus strongylo-ceras), extend their excursions beyond 55° of northern latitude. The latter is much larger and of a stronger make than the European red-deer, frequently growing to the height of our tallest oxen, and possessing great activity as well as strength. The flesh is little prized, but the hide, when made into leather after the Indian fashion, is said not to turn hard in drying after being wet—a quality which justly entitles it to a preference over almost every other kind of leather.

16. THE MUSK-OX.

One of the most remarkable quadrupeds of the high northern regions is the musk-ox (Ovibos moschatus), which by some naturalists has been considered as intermediate between the sheep and the ox. It is about the height of a deer, but of much stouter proportions. The horns are very broad at the base, almost meeting on the forehead, and curving downward between the eye and ears until about the level of the mouth, when they turn upward. Its long thick brown or black hair hanging down below the middle of the leg, and covering on all parts of the animal a fine kind of soft ash-colored wool, which is of the finest description, and capable of forming the most beautiful fabrics manufactured, enables it to remain even during the winter beyond 70° of northern latitude. In spring it wanders over the ice as far as Melville Island, or even Smith’s Sound, where a number of its bones were found by Dr. Kane. In September it withdraws more to the south, and spends the coldest months on the verge of the forest region. Like the reindeer, it subsists chiefly on lichens and grasses. It runs nimbly, and climbs hills and rocks with great ease. Its fossil remains, or those of a very analogous species, have been discovered in Siberia: at present it is exclusively confined to the New World.

In the Rocky Mountains, from the Mexican Cordillera plateaux as far as 68° N. lat., dwells the wild sheep (Ovis montana), distinguished by the almost circular bend of its large, triangular, transversely striped horns, from its relative the Siberian argali (Ovis argali), which is supposed to be the parent of our domestic sheep, and far surpasses it in size and delicacy of flesh. Both the American and the Asiatic wild sheep are in the highest degree active and vigorous, ascending abrupt precipices with great agility, and, like the wild goat, going over the narrowest and most dangerous passes with perfect safety.

Among the carnivorous quadrupeds of the northern regions, many, like the lynx, the wolf, the bear, the glutton, and other members of the weasel tribe, have their head-quarters in the forests, and only occasionally roam over the tundras; but the Arctic fox (Canis lagopus) almost exclusively inhabits the treeless wastes that fringe the Polar Ocean, and is found on almost all the islands that lie buried in its bosom. This pretty little creature, which in winter grows perfectly white, knows how to protect itself against the most intense cold, either by seeking a refuge in the clefts of rocks, or by burrowing to a considerable depth in a sandy soil. It principally preys upon lemmings, stoats, polar hares, as well as upon all kinds of water-fowl and their eggs; but when pinched by hunger, it does not disdain the carcasses of fish, or the molluscs and crustaceans it may chance to pick up on the shore. Its enemies are the glutton, the snowy owl, and man, who, from the Equator to the poles, leaves no creature unmolested that can in any way satisfy his wants.

17. ARGALI.

The lemmings, of which there are many species, are small rodents, peculiar to the Arctic regions, both in the New and in the Old World, where they are found as far to the north as vegetation extends. They live on grass, roots, the shoots of the willow, and the dwarf birch, but chiefly on lichens. They do not gather hoards of provisions for the winter, but live upon what they find beneath the snow. They seldom prove injurious to man, as the regions they inhabit are generally situated beyond the limits of agriculture. From the voles, to whom they are closely allied, they are distinguished by having the foot-sole covered with stiff hairs, and by the strong crooked claws with which their fore feet are armed. The best known species is the Norwegian lemming (Lemmus norwegicus), which is found on the high mountains of the Dovrefjeld, and farther to the north on the dry parts of the tundra, where it inhabits small burrows under stones or in the moss. Its long and thick hair is of a tawny color, and prettily marked with black spots. The migrations of the lemming have been grossly exaggerated by Olaus Magnus and Pontoppidan, to whom the natural history of the North owes so many fables. As they breed several times in the year, producing five or six at a birth, they of course multiply very fast under favorable circumstances, and are then forced to leave the district which is no longer able to afford them food. But this takes place very seldom, for when Mr. Brehm visited Scandinavia, the people on the Dovrefjeld knew nothing about the migrations of the lemming, and his inquiries on the subject proved equally fruitless in Lapland and in Finland. At all events, it is a fortunate circumstance that the lemmings have so many enemies, as their rapid multiplication might else endanger the balance of existence in the northern regions. The inclemencies of the climate are a chief means for keeping them in check. A wet summer, an early cold and snowless autumn destroy them by millions, and then of course years are necessary to recruit their numbers. With the exception of the bear and the hedgehog, they are pursued by all the northern carnivora. The wolf, the fox, the glutton, the marten, the ermine devour them with avidity, and a good lemming season is a time of unusual plenty for the hungry Laplander’s dog. The snowy owl, whose dense plumage enables it to be a constant resident on the tundra, almost exclusively frequents those places where lemmings, its favorite food, are to be found; the buzzards are constantly active in their destruction; the crow feeds its young with lemmings; and even the poor Lap, when pressed by hunger, seizes a stick, and, for want of better game, goes out lemming-hunting, and rejoices when he can kill a sufficient number for his dinner.

18. THE SNOWY OWL.

Several birds, such as the snowy owl and the ptarmigan (Lagopus albus), which can easily procure its food under the snow, winter in the highest latitudes; but by far the greater number are merely summer visitants of the Arctic regions. After the little bunting, the first arrivals in spring are the snow-geese, who likewise are the first to leave the dreary regions of the north on their southerly migration. The common and king eider-duck, the Brent geese, the great northern black and red throated divers, are the next to make their appearance, followed by the pintail and longtail ducks (Anas caudacuta and glacialis), the latest visitors of the season. These birds generally take their departure in the same order as they arrive. The period of their stay is but short, but their presence imparts a wonderfully cheerful aspect to regions at other times so deserted and dreary. As soon as the young are sufficiently fledged, they again betake themselves to the southward; the character of the season much influencing the period of their departure.

As far as man has penetrated, on the most northern islets of Spitzbergen, or on the ice-blocked shores of Kennedy Channel, the eider-duck and others of the Arctic anatidæ build their nests; and there is no reason to doubt that if the pole has breeding-places for them, it re-echoes with their cries. Nor need they fear to plunge into the very heart of the Arctic zone, for the flight of a goose being forty or fifty miles an hour, these birds may breed in the remotest northern solitude, and in a few hours, on a fall of deep autumn snow, convey themselves by their swiftness of wing to better feeding-grounds.

One of the most interesting of the Arctic birds is the snow-bunting (Plectrophanes nivalis), which may properly be called the polar singing-bird, as it breeds in the most northern isles, such as Spitzbergen and Novaja Zemlya, or on the highest mountains of the Dovrefjeld, in Scandinavia, where it enlivens the fugitive summer with its short but agreeable notes, sounding doubly sweet from the treeless wastes in which they are heard. It invariably builds its nest, which it lines with feathers and down, in the fissures of mountain rocks or under large stones, and the entrance is generally so narrow as merely to allow the parent birds to pass. The remarkably dense winter plumage of the snow-bunting especially qualifies it for a northern residence, and when in captivity it will rather bear the severest cold than even a moderate degree of warmth. In its breeding-places it lives almost exclusively on insects, particularly gnats: during the winter it feeds on all sorts of seeds, and then famine frequently compels it to wander to a less rigorous climate.

19. BERNIDE GOOSE.

The Lapland bunting (Centrophanes lapponicus), whose white and black plumage is agreeably diversified with red, is likewise an inhabitant of the higher latitudes, where it is frequently seen in the barren grounds and tundras. Both these birds are distinguished by the very long claw of their hind toe, a structure which enables them to run about with ease upon the snow.

20. THE SEA-EAGLE.

Among the raptorial birds of the Arctic regions, the sea-eagle (Haliatus albicilla) holds a conspicuous rank. At his approach the gull and the auk conceal themselves in the fissures of the rocks, but are frequently dragged forth by their relentless enemy. The divers are, according to Wahlengren, more imperilled from his attacks than those sea-birds which do not plunge, for the latter rise into the air as soon as their piercing eye espies the universally dreaded tyrant, and thus escape; while the former, blindly trusting to the element in which they are capable of finding a temporary refuge, allow him to approach, and then suddenly diving, fancy themselves in safety, while the eagle is only waiting for the moment of their re-appearance to repeat his attack. Twice or thrice they may possibly escape his claws by a rapid plunge, but when for the fourth time they dive out of the water, and remain but one instant above the surface, that instant seals their doom. The sea-eagle is equally formidable to the denizens of the ocean, but sometimes too great a confidence in his strength leads to his destruction, for Kittlitz was informed by the inhabitants of Kamschatka that, pouncing upon a dolphin, he is not seldom dragged down into the water by the diving cetacean in whose skin his talons remain fixed.

21. ARCTIC NAVIGATION.

CHAPTER III.
THE ARCTIC SEAS.

Dangers peculiar to the Arctic Sea.—Ice-fields.—Hummocks.—Collision of Ice-fields.—Icebergs.—Their Origin.—Their Size.—The Glaciers which give them Birth.—Their Beauty.—Sometimes useful Auxiliaries to the Mariner.—Dangers of anchoring to a Berg.—A crumbling Berg.—The Ice-blink.—Fogs.—Transparency of the Atmosphere.—Phenomena of Reflection and Refraction.—Causes which prevent the Accumulation of Polar Ice.—Tides.—Currents.—Ice a bad Conductor of Heat.—Wise Provisions of Nature.

The heart of the first navigator, says Horace, must have been shielded with threefold brass—and yet the poet knew but the sunny Mediterranean, with its tepid floods and smiling shores: how, then, would he have found words to express his astonishment at the intrepid seamen who, to open new vistas to science or new roads to commerce, first ventured to face the unknown terrors of the Arctic main?

In every part of the ocean the mariner has to guard against the perils of hidden shoals and sunken cliffs, but the high northern waters are doubly and trebly dangerous; for here, besides those rocks which are firmly rooted to the ground, there are others which, freely floating about, threaten to crush his vessel to pieces, or to force it along with them in helpless bondage.

The Arctic navigators have given various names to these movable shoals, which are the cause of so much delay and danger. They are icebergs when they tower to a considerable height above the waters, and ice-fields when they have a vast horizontal extension. A floe is a detached portion of a field; pack-ice, a large area of floes or smaller fragments closely driven together so as to oppose a firm barrier to the progress of a ship; and drift-ice, loose ice in motion, but not so firmly packed as to prevent a vessel from making her way through its yielding masses.

22. AMONG HUMMOCKS.

The large ice-fields which the whaler encounters in Baffin’s Bay, or on the seas between Spitzbergen and Greenland, constitute one of the marvels of the deep. There is a solemn grandeur in the slow majestic motion with which they are drifted by the currents to the south; and their enormous masses, as mile after mile comes floating by, impress the spectator with the idea of a boundless extent and an irresistible power. But, vast and mighty as they are, they are unable to withstand the elements combined for their destruction, and their apparently triumphal march leads them only to their ruin.

23. DRIFTING IN THE ICE.

When they first descend from their northern strongholds, the ice of which they are composed is of the average thickness of from ten to fifteen feet, and their surface is sometimes tolerably smooth and even, but in general it is covered with numberless ice-blocks or hummocks piled upon each other in wild confusion to a height of forty or fifty feet, the result of repeated collisions before flakes and floes were soldered into fields. Before the end of June they are covered with snow, sometimes six feet deep, which melting during the summer forms small ponds or lakes upon their surface.

24. FORMS OF ICEBERGS.

Not seldom ice-fields are whirled about in rotatory motion, which causes their circumference to gyrate with a velocity of several miles per hour. When a field thus sweeping through the waters comes into collision with another which may possibly be revolving with equal rapidity in an opposite direction—when masses not seldom twenty or thirty miles in diameter, and each weighing many millions of tons, clash together, imagination can hardly conceive a more appalling scene. The whalers at all times require unremitting vigilance to secure their safety, but scarcely in any situation so much as when navigating amidst these fields, which are more particularly dangerous in foggy weather, as their motions can not then be distinctly observed. No wonder that since the establishment of the fishery numbers of vessels have been crushed to pieces between two fields in motion, for the strongest ship ever built must needs be utterly unable to resist their power. Some have been uplifted and thrown upon the ice; some have had their hulls completely torn open; and others have been overrun by the ice, and buried beneath the fragments piled upon their wreck.

25. FORMS OF ICEBERGS.

26. FORMS OF ICEBERGS.

The icebergs, which, as their name indicates, rise above the water to a much more considerable height than the ice-fields, have a very different origin, as they are not formed in the sea itself, but by the glaciers of the northern highlands. As our rivers are continually pouring their streams into the ocean, so many of the glaciers or ice-rivers of the Arctic zone, descending to the water-edge, are slowly but constantly forcing themselves farther and farther into the sea. In the summer season, when the ice is particularly fragile, the force of cohesion is often overcome by the weight of the prodigious masses that overhang the sea or have been undermined by its waters; and in the winter, when the air is probably 40° or 50° below zero and the sea from 28° to 30° above, the unequal expansion of those parts of the mass exposed to so great a difference of temperature can not fail to produce the separation of large portions.

Most of these swimming glacier-fragments, or icebergs, which are met with by the whaler in the Northern Atlantic, are formed on the mountainous west coast of Greenland by the large glaciers which discharge themselves into the fiords from Smith’s Sound to Disco Bay, as here the sea is sufficiently deep to float them away, in spite of the enormous magnitude they frequently attain. As they drift along down Baffin’s Bay and Davis’s Strait, they not seldom run aground on some shallow shore, where, bidding defiance to the short summer, they frequently remain for many a year.

27. ICEBERGS AGROUND.

Dr. Hayes measured an immense iceberg which had stranded off the little harbor of Tessuissak, to the north of Melville Bay. The square wall which faced toward his base of measurement was 315 feet high, and a fraction over three-quarters of a mile long. Being almost square-sided above the sea, the same shape must have extended beneath it; and since, by measurements made two days before, Hayes had discovered that fresh-water ice floating in salt water has above the surface to below it the proportion of one to seven, this crystallized mountain must have gone aground in a depth of nearly half a mile. A rude estimate of its size, made on the spot, gave in cubical contents about 27,000 millions of feet, and in weight something like 2000 millions of tons!

Captain Ross in his first voyage mentions another of these wrecked bergs, which was found to be 4169 yards long, 3689 yards broad, and 51 feet high above the level of the sea. It was aground in 61 fathoms, and its weight was estimated by an officer of the “Alexander” at 1,292,397,673 tons. On ascending the flat top of this iceberg, it was found occupied by a huge white bear, who justly deeming “discretion the best part of valor,” sprang into the sea before he could be fired at.

The vast dimensions of the icebergs appear less astonishing when we consider that many of the glaciers or ice-rivers from which they are dislodged are equal in size or volume to the largest streams of continental Europe.

Thus one of the eight glaciers existing in the district of Omenak, in Greenland, is no less than an English mile broad, and forms an ice-wall rising 160 feet above the sea. Further to the north, Melville Bay and Whale Sound are the seat of vast ice-rivers. Here Tyndall glacier forms a coast-line of ice over two miles long, almost burying its face in the sea, and carrying the eye along a broad and winding valley, up steps of ice of giant height, until at length the slope loses itself in the unknown ice-desert beyond. But grand above all is the magnificent Humboldt glacier, which, connecting Greenland and Washington Land, forms a solid glassy wall 300 feet above the water-level, with an unknown depth below it, while its curved face extends full sixty miles in length from Cape Agassiz to Cape Forbes. In the temperate zone it would be one of the mightiest rivers of the earth; here, in the frozen solitudes of the North, it slowly drops its vast fragments into the waters, making the solitudes around re-echo with their fall.

As the Polar shores of continental America and Siberia are generally flat, and below the snow-line, they are consequently deprived both of glaciers and of the huge floating masses to which these give birth.

In a high sea the waves beat against an iceberg as against a rock; and in calm weather where there is a swell, the noise made by their rising and falling is tremendous. Their usual form is that of a high vertical wall, gradually sloping down to the opposite side, which is very low; but frequently they exhibit the most fantastic shapes, particularly after they have been a long time exposed to the corroding power of the waves, or of warm rains pelting them from above.

A number of icebergs floating in the sea is one of the most magnificent spectacles of nature, but the wonderful beauty of these crystal cliffs never appears to greater advantage than when clothed by the midnight sun with all the splendid colors of twilight.

28. ICEBERGS AND GLACIER, FROBISHER BAY.

“The bergs,” says Dr. Hayes, describing one of these enchanting nights, “had wholly lost their chilly aspect, and glittering in the blaze of the brilliant heavens, seemed in the distance like masses of burnished metal or solid flame. Nearer at hand they were huge blocks of Parian marble inlaid with mammoth gems of pearl and opal. One in particular exhibited the perfection of the grand. Its form was not unlike that of the Colosseum, and it lay so far away that half its height was buried beneath the line of blood-red waters. The sun, slowly rolling along the horizon, passed behind it, and it seemed as if the old Roman ruins had suddenly taken fire. In the shadow of the bergs the water was a rich green, and nothing could be more soft and tender than the gradations of color made by the sea shoaling on the sloping tongue of a berg close beside us. The tint increased in intensity where the ice overhung the water, and a deep cavern near by exhibited the solid color of the malachite mingled with the transparency of the emerald, while in strange contrast a broad streak of cobalt blue ran diagonally through its body. The bewitching character of the scene was heightened by a thousand little cascades which leaped into the sea from these floating masses, the water being discharged from lakes of melted snow and ice which reposed in quietude far up in the valleys separating the high icy hills of their upper surface. From other bergs large pieces were now and then detached, plunging down into the water with deafening noise, while the slow moving swell of the ocean resounded through their broken archways.”

29. GLACIER, BUTE INLET.

A similar gorgeous spectacle was witnessed by Dr. Kane in Melville Bay. The midnight sun came out over a great berg, kindling variously-colored fires on every part of its surface, and making the ice around the ship one great resplendency of gemwork, blazing carbuncles and rubies, and molten gold.

In the night the icebergs are readily distinguished even at a distance by their natural effulgence, and in foggy weather by a peculiar blackness in the atmosphere. As they are not unfrequently drifted by the Greenland stream considerably to the south of Newfoundland, sometimes even as far as the fortieth or thirty-ninth degree of latitude (May, 1841, June, 1842), ships sailing through the north-western Atlantic require to be always on their guard against them. The ill-fated “President,” one of our first ocean-steamers, which was lost on its way to New York, without leaving a trace behind, is supposed to have been sunk by a collision with an iceberg, and no doubt many a gallant bark has either foundered in the night, or been hurled by the storm against these floating rocks.

But though often dangerous neighbors, the bergs occasionally prove useful auxiliaries to the mariner. From their greater bulk lying below the water-line, they are either drifted along by the under-current against the wind, or, from their vast dimensions, are not perceptibly influenced even by the strongest gale, but, on the contrary, have the appearance of moving to windward, because every other kind of ice is drifted rapidly past them. Thus in strong adverse winds, their broad masses, fronting the storm like bulwarks, not seldom afford protection to ships mooring under their lee.

Anchoring to a berg is, however, not always unattended with danger, particularly when the summer is far advanced, or in a lower latitude, as all ice becomes exceedingly fragile when acted on by the sun or by a temperate atmosphere. The blow of an axe then sometimes suffices to rend an iceberg asunder, and to bury the careless seaman beneath its ruins, or to hurl him into the yawning chasm.

30. SCALING AN ICEBERG.

Thus Scoresby relates the adventure of two sailors who were attempting to fix an anchor to a berg. They began to hew a hole into the ice, but scarcely had the first blow been struck, when suddenly the immense mass split from top to bottom and fell asunder, the two halves falling in contrary directions with a prodigious crash. One of the sailors, who was possessed of great presence of mind, immediately scaled the huge fragment on which he was standing, and remained rocking to and fro on its summit until its equilibrium was restored; but his companion, falling between the masses, would most likely have been crushed to pieces if the current caused by their motion had not swept him within reach of the boat that was waiting for them.

Frequently large pieces detach themselves spontaneously from an iceberg and fall into the sea with a tremendous noise. When this circumstance, called “calving,” takes place, the iceberg loses its equilibrium, sometimes turns on one side, and is occasionally inverted.

Dr. Hayes witnessed the crumbling of an immense berg, resembling in its general appearance the British House of Parliament. First one lofty tower came tumbling into the water, starting from its surface an immense flock of gulls; then another followed; and at length, after five hours of rolling and crashing, there remained of this splendid mass of congelation not a fragment that rose fifty feet above the water.

One of the most remarkable phenomena of the Polar Sea is the ice-blink, or reflection of the ice against the sky. A stripe of light, similar to the early dawn of morning, but without its redness, appears above the horizon, and traces a complete aërial map of the ice to a distance of many miles beyond the ordinary reach of vision. To the experienced navigator the “blink” is frequently of the greatest use, as it not only points out the vicinity of the drift-ice, but indicates its nature, whether compact or loose, continuous or open. Thus Scoresby relates that on the 7th of June, 1821, he saw so distinct an ice-blink, that as far as twenty or thirty miles all round the horizon he was able to ascertain the figure and probable extent of each ice-field. The packed ice was distinguished from the larger fields by a more obscure and yellow color; while each water-lane or open passage was indicated by a deep blue stripe or patch. By this means he was enabled to find his way out of the vast masses of ice in which he had been detained for several days, and to emerge into the open sea.

The tendency of the pack-ice to separate in calm weather, so that one might almost be tempted to believe in a mutual repulsive power of the individual blocks, is likewise favorable to the Arctic navigator. The perpetual daylight of summer is another advantage, but unfortunately the sun is too often veiled by dense mists, which frequently obscure the air for weeks together, particularly in July. These fogs, which are a great impediment to the whaler’s operations, have a very depressing influence upon the spirits; and as they are attended with a low temperature, which even at noon does not rise much above freezing-point, the damp cold is also physically extremely unpleasant.

At other times the sun sweeps two or three times round the pole without being for a moment obscured by a cloud, and then the transparency of the air is such that objects the most remote may be seen perfectly distinct and clear. A ship’s top-gallant mast, at the distance of five or six leagues, may be discerned when just appearing above the horizon with a common perspective-glass, and the summits of mountains are visible at the distance of from sixty to a hundred miles.

On such sunny days, the strong contrasts of light and shade between the glistening snow and the dark protruding rocks produce a remarkable deception in the apparent distance of the land, along a steep mountainous coast. When at the distance of twenty miles from Spitzbergen, for instance, it would be easy to induce even a judicious stranger to undertake a passage in a boat to the shore, from a belief that he was within a league of the land. At this distance the portions of rock and patches of snow, as well as the contour of the different hills, are as distinctly marked as similar objects in many other countries, not having snow about them, would be at a fourth or a fifth part of the distance.

Nothing can be more wonderful than the phenomena of the atmosphere dependent on reflection and refraction, which are frequently observed in the Arctic seas, particularly at the commencement or approach of easterly winds. They are probably occasioned by the commixture, near the surface of the land or sea, of two streams of air of different temperatures, so as to occasion an irregular deposition of imperfectly condensed vapor, which when passing the verge of the horizon apparently raises the objects there situated to a considerable distance above it, or extends their height beyond their natural dimensions. Ice, land, ships, boats, and other objects, when thus enlarged and elevated, are said to loom. The lower part of looming objects are sometimes connected with the horizon by an apparent fibrous or columnar extension of their parts; at other times they appear to be quite lifted into the air, a void space being seen between them and the horizon.

A most remarkable delusion of this kind was observed by Scoresby while sailing through the open ice, far from land. Suddenly an immense amphitheatre inclosed by high walls of basaltic ice, so like natural rock as to deceive one of his most experienced officers, rose around the ship. Sometimes the refraction produced on all sides a similar effect, but still more frequently remarkable contrasts. Single ice-blocks expanded into architectural figures of an extraordinary height, and sometimes the distant, deeply indented ice-border looked like a number of towers or minarets, or like a dense forest of naked trees. Scarcely had an object acquired a distinct form, when it began to dissolve into another.

It is well known that similar causes produce similar effects in the warmer regions of the earth. In the midst of the tropical ocean, the mariner sees verdant islands rise from the waters, and in the treeless desert fantastic palm-groves wave their fronds, as if in mockery of the thirsty caravan.

When we consider the intense cold which reigns during the greatest part of the year in the Arctic regions, we might naturally, expect to find the whole of the Polar Sea covered, during the winter at least, with one solid unbroken sheet of ice. But experience teaches us that this is by no means the case; for the currents, the tides, the winds, and the swell of a turbulent ocean are mighty causes of disruption, or strong impediments to congelation. Both Lieutenant de Haven and Sir Francis M’Clintock[1] were helplessly carried along, in the depth of winter, by the pack-ice in Lancaster Sound and Baffin’s Bay. A berg impelled by a strong under-current rips open an ice-field as if it were a thin sheet of glass; and in channels, or on coasts where the tides rise to a considerable height, their flux and reflux is continually opening crevices and lanes in the ice which covers the waters. That even in the highest latitudes the sea does not close except when at rest, was fully experienced by Dr. Hayes during his wintering at Port Foulke; for at all times, even when the temperature of the air was below the freezing-point of mercury, he could hear from the deck of his schooner the roar of the beating waves. From all these causes there has at no point within the Arctic Circle been found a firm ice-belt extending, either in winter or in summer, more than from fifty to a hundred miles from land. And even in the narrow channels separating the islands of the Parry Archipelago, or at the mouth of Smith Sound, the waters will not freeze over, except when sheltered by the land, or when an ice-pack, accumulated by long continuance of winds from one quarter, affords the same protection.

31. AN ARCTIC CHANNEL.

But the constant motion of the Polar Sea, wherever it expands to a considerable breadth, would be insufficient to prevent its total congelation, if it were not assisted by other physical causes. A magnificent system of currents is continually displacing the waters of the ocean, and forcing the warm floods of the tropical regions to wander to the pole, while the cold streams of the frigid zone are as constantly migrating toward the Equator. Thus we see the Gulf Stream flowing through the broad gateway east of Spitzbergen, and forcing out a return current of cold water to the west of Spitzbergen, and through Davis’s Strait.

32. OPEN WATER.

The comparatively warm floods which, in consequence of this great law of circulation, come pouring into the Arctic seas, naturally require some time before they are sufficiently chilled to be converted into ice; and as sea-water has its maximum of density, or, in other words, is heaviest a few degrees above the freezing-point of water, and then necessarily sinks, the whole depth of the sea must of course be cooled down to that temperature before freezing can take place. Ice being a bad conductor of heat, likewise limits the process of congelation; for after attaining a thickness of ten or fifteen feet, its growth is very slow, and probably even ceases altogether; for when floating fields, or floes, are found of a greater thickness, this increase is due to the snow that falls upon their surface, or to the accumulation of hummocks caused by their collision.

Thus, by the combined influence of these various physical agencies, bounds have been set to the congelation of the Polar waters. Were it otherwise, the Arctic lands would have been mere uninhabitable wastes; for the existence of the seals, the walrus, and the whale depends upon their finding some open water at every season of the year; and deprived of this resource, all the Esquimaux, whose various tribes fringe the coasts in the highest latitudes hitherto discovered, would perish in a single winter.

If the Arctic glaciers did not discharge their bergs into the sea, or if no currents conveyed the ice-floes of the north into lower latitudes, ice would be constantly accumulating in the Polar world, and, destroying the balance of nature, would ultimately endanger the existence of man over the whole surface of the globe.

33. GLACIER DISCHARGING.

CHAPTER IV.
ARCTIC MARINE ANIMALS

Populousness of the Arctic Seas.—The Greenland Whale.—The Fin Whales.—The Narwhal.—The Beluga, or White Dolphin.—The Black Dolphin.—His wholesale Massacre on the Faeroe Islands.—The Orc, or Grampus.—The Seals.—The Walrus.—Its acute Smell.—History of a young Walrus.—Parental Affection.—The Polar Bear.—His Sagacity.—Hibernation of the She-bear.—Sea-birds.

The vast multitudes of animated beings which people the Polar Seas form a remarkable contrast to the nakedness of their bleak and desolate shores. The colder surface-waters almost perpetually exposed to a chilly air, and frequently covered, even in summer, with floating ice, are indeed unfavorable to the development of organic life; but this adverse influence is modified by the higher temperature which constantly prevails at a greater depth; for, contrary to what takes place in the equatorial seas, we find in the Polar Ocean an increase of temperature from the surface downward, in consequence of the warmer under-currents, flowing from the south northward, and passing beneath the cold waters of the superficial Arctic current.

Thus the severity of the Polar winter remains unfelt at a greater depth of the sea, where myriads of creatures find a secure retreat against the frost, and whence they emerge during the long summer’s day, either to line the shores or to ascend the broad rivers of the Arctic world. Between the parallels of 74° and 80° Scoresby observed that the color of the Greenland sea varies from the purest ultramarine to olive green, and from crystalline transparency to striking opacity—appearances which are not transitory, but permanent. This green semi-opaque water, whose position varies with the currents, often forming isolated stripes, and sometimes spreading over two or three degrees of latitude, mainly owes its singular aspect to small medusæ and nudibranchiate molluscs. It is calculated to form one-fourth part of the surface of the sea between the above-mentioned parallels, so that many thousands of square miles are absolutely teeming with life.

On the coast of Greenland, where the waters are so exceedingly clear that the bottom and every object upon it are plainly visible even at a depth of eighty fathoms, the ground is seen covered with gigantic tangles, which, together with the animal world circulating among their fronds, remind the spectator of the coral-reefs of the tropical ocean. Nullipores, mussels, alcyonians, sertularians, ascidians, and a variety of other sessile animals, incrust every stone or fill every hollow or crevice of the rocky ground. A dead seal or fish thrown into the sea is soon converted into a skeleton by the myriads of small crustaceans which infest these northern waters, and, like the ants in the equatorial forests, perform the part of scavengers of the deep.

Thus we find an exuberance of life, in its smaller and smallest forms, peopling the Arctic waters, and affording nourishment to a variety of strange and bulky creatures—cetaceans, walruses, and seals—which annually attract thousands of adventurous seamen to the icy ocean.

Of these sea-mammalians, the most important to civilized man is undoubtedly the Greenland whale (Balæna mysticetus), or smooth-back, thus called from its having no dorsal fin. Formerly these whales were harpooned in considerable numbers in the Icelandic waters, or in the fiords of Spitzbergen and Danish Greenland; then Davis’s Straits became the favorite fishing-grounds; and more recently the inlets and various channels to the east of Baffin’s Bay have been invaded; while, on the opposite side of America, several hundreds of whalers penetrate every year through Bering’s Straits into the icy sea beyond, where previously they lived and multiplied, unmolested except by the Esquimaux.

34. THE WHALE.

More fortunate than the smooth-back, the rorquals, or fin-whales (Balænoptera boops, musculus, physalis, and rostratus), still remain in their ancient seats, from which they are not likely to be dislodged, as the agility of their movements makes their capture more difficult and dangerous; while at the same time the small quantity of their fat and the shortness of their baleen render it far less remunerative. They are of a more slender form of body, and with a more pointed muzzle than the Greenland whale; and while the latter attains a length of only sixty feet, the Balænoptera boops grows to the vast length of 100 feet and more. There is also a difference in their food, for the Greenland whale chiefly feeds upon the minute animals that crowd the olive-colored waters above described, or on the hosts of little pteropods that are found in many parts of the Arctic seas, while the rorquals frequently accompany the herring-shoals, and carry death and destruction into their ranks.

The seas of Novaja Zemlya, Spitzbergen, and Greenland are the domain of the narwhal, or sea-unicorn, a cetacean quite as strange, but not so fabulous as the terrestrial animal which figures in the arms of England. The use of the enormous spirally wound tusk projecting from its upper jaw, and from which it derives its popular name, has not yet been clearly ascertained, some holding it to be an instrument of defense, while others suppose it to be only an ornament or mark of the superior dignity of the sex to which it has been awarded.

35. THE NARWHAL.

Among the numerous dolphins which people the Arctic and Subarctic seas, the beluga (Delphinus leucas), improperly called the white whale, is one of the most interesting. When young it has a brown color, which gradually changes into a perfect white. It attains a length of from twelve to twenty feet, has no dorsal fin, a strong tail three feet broad, and a round head with a broad truncated snout. Beyond 56° of latitude it is frequently seen in large shoals, particularly near the estuaries of the large Siberian and North American rivers, which it often ascends to a considerable distance in pursuit of the salmon. A troop of belugas diving out of the dark waves of the Arctic Sea is said to afford a magnificent spectacle. Their white color appears dazzling, from the contrast of the sombre background, as they dart about with arrow-like velocity.

The black dolphin (Globicephalus globiceps) is likewise very common in the Arctic seas, both beyond Bering’s Straits and between Greenland and Spitzbergen, whence it frequently makes excursions to the south. It grows to the length of twenty-four feet, and is about ten feet in circumference. The skin, like that of the dolphin tribe in general, is smooth, resembling oiled silk; the color a bluish-black on the back, and generally whitish on the belly; the blubber is three or four inches thick.

The full-grown have generally twenty-two or twenty-four teeth in each jaw; and when the mouth is shut, the teeth lock between one another, like the teeth of a trap. The dorsal fin is about fifteen inches high, the tail five feet broad; the pectoral fins are as many, long and comparatively narrow; so that, armed with such excellent paddles, the black dolphin is inferior to none of his relatives in swiftness. Of an eminently social disposition, these dolphins sometimes congregate in herds of many hundreds, under the guidance of several old experienced males, whom the rest follow like a flock of sheep—a property from which the animal is called in Shetland the “ca’ing whale.” No cetacean strands more frequently than the black dolphin, and occasionally large herds have been driven on the shores of Iceland, Norway, and the Orkney, Shetland and Faeroe islands, where their capture is hailed as a godsend. The intelligence that a shoal of ca’ing whales or grinds has been seen approaching the coast, creates great excitement among the otherwise phlegmatic inhabitants of the Faeroe Islands. The whole neighborhood, old and young, is instantly in motion, and soon numerous boats shoot off from shore to intercept the retreat of the dolphins. Slowly and steadily they are driven toward the coast; the phalanx of their enemies draws closer and closer together; terrified by stones and blows, they run ashore, and lie gasping as the flood recedes. Then begins the work of death, amid the loud shouts of the executioners and the furious splashings of the victims. In this manner more than 800 grinds were massacred on August 16, 1776; and during the four summer months that Langbye sojourned on the island in 1817, 623 were driven on shore, and served to pay one-half of the imported corn. But, on the other hand, many years frequently pass without yielding one single black whale to the tender mercies of the islanders.

The ferocious orc, or grampus (Delphinus orca), is the tiger of the Arctic seas. Black above, white beneath, it is distinguished by its large dorsal fin, which curves backward toward the tail, and rises to the height of two feet or more. Measuring no less than twenty-five feet in length and twelve or thirteen in girth, of a courage equal to its strength, and armed with formidable teeth, thirty in each jaw, the grampus is the dread of the seals, whom it overtakes in spite of their rapid flight; and the whale himself would consider it as his most formidable enemy, were it not for the persecutions of man. The grampus generally ploughs the seas in small troops of four or five, following each other in close single file, and alternately disappearing and rising so as to resemble the undulatory motions of one large serpentiform animal.

The family of the seals has also numerous and mighty representatives in the Arctic waters. In the sea of Bering we meet with the formidable sea-lion and the valuable sea-bear, while the harp-seal, the bearded seal, and the hispid seals (Phoca grœnlandica, barbata, hispida), spreading from the Parry Islands to Novaja Zemlya, yield the tribute of their flesh to numerous wild tribes, and that of their skins to the European hunter.

Few Arctic animals are more valuable to man, or more frequently mentioned in Polar voyages than the walrus or morse (Trichechus rosmarus), which, though allied to the seals, differs greatly from them by the development of the canines of the upper jaw, which form two enormous tusks projecting downward to the length of two feet. The morse is one of the largest quadrupeds existing, as it attains a length of twenty feet, and a weight of from fifteen hundred to two thousand pounds. In uncouthness of form it surpasses even the ungainly hippopotamus. It has a small head with a remarkably thick upper lip, covered with large pellucid whiskers or bristles; the neck is thick and short; the naked gray or red-brown skin hangs loosely on the ponderous and elongated trunk; and the short feet terminate in broad fin-like paddles, resembling large ill-fashioned flaps of leather. Its movements on land are extremely slow and awkward, resembling those of a huge caterpillar, but in the water it has all the activity of the seals, or even surpasses them in speed.

36. WALRUSES ON THE ICE.

Gregarious, like the seals and many of the dolphins, the walruses love to lie on the ice or on the sand-banks, closely huddled together. On the spot where a walrus lands, others are sure to follow; and when the first comers block the shore, those which arrive later, instead of landing on a free spot farther on, prefer giving their friends who are in the way a gentle push with their tusks so as to induce them to make room.

Timorous and almost helpless on land, where, in spite of its formidable tusks, it falls an easy prey to the attacks of man, the walrus evinces a greater degree of courage in the water, where it is able to make a better use of the strength and weapons bestowed upon it by nature. Many instances are known where walruses, which never attack but when provoked, have turned upon their assailants, or have even assembled from a distance to assist a wounded comrade.

Like the seals, the walrus is easily tamed, and of a most affectionate temper. This was shown in a remarkable manner by a young walrus brought alive from Archangel to St. Petersburg in 1829. Its keeper, Madame Dennebecq, having tended it with the greatest care, the grateful animal expressed its pleasure whenever she came near it by an affectionate grunt. It not only followed her with its eyes, but was never happier than when allowed to lay its head in her lap. The tenderness was reciprocal, and Madame Dennebecq used to talk of her walrus with the same warmth of affection as if it had been a pet lapdog.

That parental love should be highly developed in animals thus susceptible of friendship may easily be imagined. Mr. Lamont, an English gentleman whom the love of sport led a few years since to Spitzbergen, relates the case of a wounded walrus who held a very young calf under her right arm. Whenever the harpoon was raised against it, the mother carefully shielded it with her own body. The countenance of this poor animal was never to be forgotten: that of the calf expressive of abject terror, and yet of such a boundless confidence in its mother’s power of protecting it, as it swam along under her wing, and the old cow’s face showing such reckless defiance for all that could be done to herself, and yet such terrible anxiety as to the safety of her calf. This parental affection is shamefully misused by man, for it is a common artifice of the walrus-hunters to catch a young animal and make it grunt, in order to attract a herd.

The walrus is confined to the coasts of the Arctic regions, unless when drift-ice, or some other accident, carries it away into the open sea. Its chief resorts are Spitzbergen, Nova Zembla, North Greenland, the shores of Hudson’s and Baffin’s bays; and on the opposite side of the Polar Ocean, the coasts of Bering’s Sea, and to the north of Bering’s Straits, the American and Asiatic shores from Point Barrow to Cape North. It has nowhere been found on the coasts of Siberia from the mouth of the Jenisei to the last-mentioned promontory, and on those of America from Point Barrow to Lancaster Sound; so that it inhabits two distinct regions, separated from each other by vast extents of coast. Its food seems to consist principally of marine plants and shell-fish, though Scoresby relates that he found the remains of fishes, or even of seals, in its stomach.

As the Polar bear is frequently found above a hundred miles from the nearest land, upon loose ice steadily drifting into the sea, it seems but fair to assign him a place among the marine animals of the Arctic zone. He hunts by scent, and is constantly running across and against the wind, which prevails from the northward, so that the same instinct which directs his search for prey also serves the important purpose of guiding him in the direction of the land and more solid ice. His favorite food is the seal, which he surprises crouching down with his fore paws doubled underneath, and pushing himself noiselessly forward with his hinder legs until within a few yards, when he springs upon his victim, whether in the water or upon the ice. He can swim at the rate of three miles an hour, and can dive to a considerable distance. Though he attacks man when hungry, wounded, or provoked, he will not injure him when food more to his liking is at hand. Sir Francis M’Clintock relates an anecdote of a native of Upernavik who was out one dark winter’s day visiting his seal-nets. He found a seal entangled, and whilst kneeling down over it upon the ice to get it clear, he received a slap on the back—from his companion as he supposed; but a second and heavier blow made him look smartly round. He was horror-stricken to see a peculiarly grim old bear instead of his comrade. Without taking further notice of the man, Bruin tore the seal out of the net, and began his supper. He was not interrupted, nor did the man wait to see the meal finished, fearing, no doubt, that his uninvited and unceremonious guest might keep a corner for him.

Many instances have been observed of the peculiar sagacity of the Polar bear. Scoresby relates that the captain of a whaler, being anxious to procure a bear without wounding the skin, made trial of the stratagem of laying the noose of a rope in the snow, and placing a piece of kreng, or whale’s carcass, within it. A bear, ranging the neighboring ice, was soon enticed to the spot. Approaching the bait, he seized it in his mouth; but his foot, at the same moment, by a jerk of the rope, being entangled in the noose, he pushed it off with the adjoining paw, and deliberately retired. After having eaten the piece he carried away with him, he returned. The noose, with another piece of kreng, being then replaced, he pushed the rope aside, and again walked triumphantly off with the kreng. A third time the noose was laid, and this time the rope was buried in the snow, and the bait laid in a deep hole dug in the centre. But Bruin, after snuffing about the place for a few minutes, scraped the snow away with his paw, threw the rope aside, and escaped unhurt with his prize.

The she-bear is taught by a wonderful instinct to shelter her young under the snow. Towards the month of December she retreats to the side of a rock, where, by dint of scraping and allowing the snow to fall upon her, she forms a cell in which to reside during the winter. There is no fear that she should be stifled for want of air, for the warmth of her breath always keeps a small passage open, and the snow, instead of forming a thick uniform sheet, is broken by a little hole, round which is collected a mass of glittering hoar-frost, caused by the congelation of the breath. Within this strange nursery she produces her young, and remains with them beneath the snow until the month of March, when she emerges into the open air with her baby bears. As the time passes on, the breath of the family, together with the warmth exhaled from their bodies, serves to enlarge the cell, so that with their increasing dimensions the accommodation is increased to suit them. As the only use of the snow-burrow is to shelter the young, the male bears do not hibernate like the females, but roam freely about during the winter months. Before retiring under the snow, the bear eats enormously, and, driven by an unfailing instinct, resorts to the most nutritious diet, so that she becomes prodigiously fat, thus laying in an internal store of alimentary matter which enables her not only to support her own life, but to suckle her young during her long seclusion, without taking a morsel of food. By an admirable provision of nature, the young are of wonderfully small dimensions when compared with the parent; and as their growth, as long as they remain confined in their crystal nursery, is remarkably slow, they consequently need but little food and space.

37. HOME OF THE POLAR BEAR.

The Polar bear is armed with formidable weapons, and a proportionate power to use them. His claws are two inches in length, and his canine teeth, exclusive of the part in the jaw, about an inch and a half. Thus the hoards of provisions which are frequently deposited by Arctic voyagers to provide for some future want, have no greater enemy than the Polar bear. “The final cache,” says Kane, “which I relied so much upon, was entirely destroyed. It had been built with extreme care, of rocks which had been assembled by very heavy labor, and adjusted with much aid, often, from capstan-bars as levers. The entire construction was, so far as our means permitted, most effective and resisting. Yet these tigers of the ice seemed hardly to have encountered an obstacle. Not a morsel of pemmican remained, except in the iron cases, which being round, with conical ends, defied both claws and teeth. They had rolled and pawed them in every direction, tossing them about like footballs, although over eighty pounds in weight. An alcohol can, strongly iron-bound, was dashed into small fragments, and a tin can of liquor smashed and twisted almost into a ball. The claws of the beast had perforated the metal and torn it up as with a chisel. They were too dainty for salt meats; ground coffee they had an evident relish for; old canvas was a favorite, for some reason or other; even our flag, which had been reared ‘to take possession’ of the waste, was gnawed down to the very staff. They had made a regular frolic of it; rolling our bread-barrels over the ice; and, unable to masticate our heavy India-rubber cloth, they had tied it up in unimaginable hard knots.”

38. THE GULL.

Numbers of sea-birds are found breeding along the Arctic shores as far as man has hitherto penetrated; some even keep the sea in the high latitudes all the winter, wherever open water exists. On the most northern rocks the razorbill rears its young, and the fulmar and Ross’s gull have been seen in lanes of water beyond 82° lat. As the sun gains in power, enormous troops of puffins, looms, dovekies, rotges, skuas, burgermasters, Sabine’s gulls, kittiwakes, ivory gulls, and Arctic terns, return to the north. There they enjoy the long summer day, and revel in the abundance of the fish-teeming waters, bringing life and animation into solitudes seldom or perhaps never disturbed by the presence of man, and mingling their wild screams with the hoarse-resounding surge or the howling of the storm. In many localities they breed in such abundance, that it may be said, almost without exaggeration, that they darken the sun when they fly, and hide the waters when they swim.

39. LAVA-FIELDS.

CHAPTER V.
ICELAND.

Volcanic Origin of the Island.—The Klofa Jökul.—Lava-streams.—The Burning Mountains of Krisuvik.—The Mud-caldrons of Reykjahlid.—The Tungo-hver at Reykholt.—The Great Geysir.—The Strokkr.—Crystal Pools.—The Almannagja.—The Surts-hellir.—Beautiful Ice-cave.—The Gotha Foss.—The Detti Foss.—Climate.—Vegetation.—Cattle.—Barbarous Mode of Sheep-shearing.—Reindeer.—Polar Bears.—Birds.—The Eider-duck.—Videy.—Vigr.—The Wild Swan.—The Raven.—The Jerfalcon.—The Giant auk, or Geirfugl.—Fish.—Fishing Season.—The White Shark.—Mineral Kingdom.—Sulphur.—Peat.—Drift-wood.

Iceland might as well be called Fireland, for all its 40,000 square miles have originally been upheaved from the depths of the waters by volcanic power. First, at some immeasurably distant period of the world’s history, the small nucleus of the future island began to struggle into existence against the superincumbent weight of the ocean; then, in the course of ages, cone rose after cone, crater was formed after crater, eruption followed on eruption, and lava-stream on lava-stream, until finally the Iceland of the present day was piled up with her gigantic “jökuls,” or ice-mountains, and her vast promontories, stretching like huge buttresses far out into the sea.

In winter, when an almost perpetual night covers the wastes of this fire-born land, and the waves of a stormy ocean thunder against its shores, imagination can hardly picture a more desolate scene; but in summer the rugged nature of Iceland invests itself with many a charm. Then the eye reposes with delight on green valleys and crystal lakes, on the purple hills or snow-capped mountains rising in Alpine grandeur above the distant horizon, and the stranger might almost be tempted to exclaim with her patriotic sons, “Iceland is the best land under the sun.” That it is one of the most interesting—through its history, its inhabitants, and, above all, its natural curiosities—no one can doubt. It has all that can please and fascinate the poet, the artist, the geologist, or the historian; the prosaic utilitarian alone, accustomed to value a country merely by its productions, might turn with some contempt from a land without corn, without forests, without mineral riches, and covered for about two-thirds of its surface with bogs, lava-wastes, and glaciers.

The curse of sterility rests chiefly on the south-eastern and central parts of the island. Here nothing is to be seen but deserts of volcanic stone or immense ice-fields, the largest of which—the Klofa Jökul—alone extends over more than 4000 square miles. The interior of this vast region of névè and glacier is totally unknown. The highest peaks, the most dreadful volcanoes of the island, rise on the southern and south-western borders of this hitherto inaccessible waste; the Oraefa looking down from a height of 6000 feet upon all its rivals—the Skaptar, a name of dreadful significance in the annals of Iceland, and farther on, like the advanced guards of this host of slumbering fires, the Katla, the Myrdal, the Eyjafjalla, and the Hecla, the most renowned, though not the most terrible, of all the volcanoes of Iceland.

As the ice-fields of this northern island far surpass in magnitude those of the Alps, so also the lava-streams of Ætna or Vesuvius are insignificant when compared with the enormous masses of molten stone which at various periods have issued from the craters of Iceland. From Mount Skjaldebreith, on both sides of the lake of Thingvalla as far as Cape Reykjanes, the traveller sees an uninterrupted lava-field more than sixty miles long, and frequently from twelve to fifteen broad; and lava-streams of still more gigantic proportions exist in many other parts of the island, particularly in the interior. In general, these lava-streams have cooled down into the most fantastic forms imaginable. “It is hardly possible,” says Mr. Holland, “to give any idea of the general appearance of these once molten masses. Here a great crag has toppled over into some deep crevasse, there a huge mass has been upheaved above the fiery stream which has seethed and boiled around its base. Here is every shape and figure that sculpture could design or imagination picture, jumbled together in grotesque confusion, whilst everywhere myriads of horrid spikes and sharp shapeless irregularities bristle amidst them.”

By the eruptions of the Icelandic volcanoes many a fair meadow-land has been converted into a stony wilderness; but if the subterranean fires have frequently brought ruin and desolation over the island, they have also endowed it with many natural wonders.

In the “burning mountains” of Krisuvik, on the south-western coast, a whole hill-slope, with a deep narrow gorge at its foot, is covered with innumerable boiling springs and fumaroles, whose dense exhalations, spreading an intolerable stench, issue out of the earth with a hissing noise, and completely hide the view.

40. EFFIGY IN LAVA.

The Námar, or boiling mud-caldrons of Reykjahlid, situated among a range of mountains near the Myvatn (Gnat-Lake), in one of the most solitary spots in the north of the island, on the border of enormous lava-fields and of a vast unknown wilderness, exhibit volcanic power on a still more gigantic scale. There are no less than twelve of these seething pits, all filled with a disgusting thick slimy gray or black liquid, boiling or simmering with greater or less vehemence, and emitting dense volumes of steam strongly impregnated with sulphurous gases. Some sputter furiously, scattering their contents on every side, while in others the muddy soup appears too thick to boil, and after remaining quiescent for about half a minute, rises up a few inches in the centre of the basin, emits a puff of steam, and then subsides into its former state. The diameter of the largest of all the pits can not be less than fifteen feet; and it is a sort of mud Geysir, for at intervals a column of its black liquid contents, accompanied with a violent rush of steam, is thrown up to the height of six or eight feet. Professor Sartorius von Waltershausen, one of the few travellers who have visited this remarkable spot, says that the witches in Macbeth could not possibly have desired a more fitting place for the preparation of their infernal gruel than the mud-caldrons of Reykjahlid.

Among the hot or boiling springs of Iceland, which in hundreds of places gush forth at the foot of the mountains, some are of a gentle and even flow, and can be used for bathing, washing, or boiling, while others of an intermittent nature are mere objects of curiosity or wonder. One of the most remarkable of the latter is the Tungo-hver, at Reykholt, in the “valley of smoke,” thus named from the columns of vapor emitted by the thermal springs which are here scattered about with a lavish hand. It consists of two fountains within a yard of each other—the larger one vomiting a column of boiling water ten feet high for the space of about four minutes, when it entirely subsides, and then the smaller one operates for about three minutes, ejecting a column of about five feet. The alternation is perfectly regular in time and force, and there are authentic accounts of its unfailing exactitude for the last hundred years.

But of all the springs and fountains of Iceland there is none to equal, either in grandeur or renown, the Great Geysir, which is not merely one of the curiosities of the country, but one of the wonders of the earth, as there is nothing to compare to it in any other part of the world.

At the foot of the Laugafjall hill, in a green plain, through which several rivers meander like threads of silver, and where chains of dark-colored mountains, overtopped here and there by distant snow-peaks, form a grand but melancholy panorama, dense volumes of steam indicate from afar the site of a whole system of thermal springs congregated on a small piece of ground which does not exceed twelve acres. In any other spot, the smallest of these boiling fountains would arrest the traveller’s attention, but here his whole mind is absorbed by the Great Geysir. In the course of countless ages this monarch of springs has formed, out of the silica it deposits, a mound which rises to about thirty feet above the general surface of the plain, and slopes on all sides to the distance of a hundred feet or thereabouts from the border of a large circular basin situated in its centre, and measuring about fifty-six feet in the greatest diameter and fifty-two feet in the narrowest. In the middle of this basin, forming as it were a gigantic funnel, there is a pipe or tube, which at its opening in the basin is eighteen or sixteen feet in diameter, but narrows considerably at a little distance from the mouth, and then appears to be not more than ten or twelve feet in diameter. It has been probed to a depth of seventy feet, but it is more than probable that hidden channels ramify farther into the bowels of the earth. The sides of the tube are smoothly polished, and so hard that it is not possible to strike off a piece of it with a hammer.

Generally the whole basin is found filled up to the brim with sea-green water as pure as crystal, and of a temperature of from 180° to 190°. Astonished at the placid tranquillity of the pool, the traveller can hardly believe that he is really standing on the brink of the far-famed Geysir; but suddenly a subterranean thunder is heard, the ground trembles under his feet, the water in the basin begins to simmer, and large bubbles of steam rise from the tube and burst on reaching the surface, throwing up small jets of spray to the height of several feet. Every instant he expects to witness the grand spectacle which has chiefly induced him to visit this northern land, but soon the basin becomes tranquil as before, and the dense vapors produced by the ebullition are wafted away by the breeze. These smaller eruptions are regularly repeated every eighty or ninety minutes, but frequently the traveller is obliged to wait a whole day, or even longer, before he sees the whole power of the Geysir. A detonation louder than usual precedes one of these grand eruptions; the water in the basin is violently agitated; the tube boils vehemently; and suddenly a magnificent column of water, clothed in vapor of a dazzling whiteness, shoots up into the air with immense impetuosity and noise to the height of seventy or eighty feet, and, radiating at its apex, showers water and steam in every direction. A second eruption and a third rapidly follow, and after a few minutes the fairy spectacle has passed away like a fantastic vision. The basin is now completely dried up, and on looking down into the shaft, one is astonished to see the water about six feet from the rim, and as tranquil as in an ordinary well. After about thirty or forty minutes it again begins to rise, and after a few hours reaches the brim of the basin, whence it flows down the slope of the mound into the Hvita, or White River. Soon the subterraneous thunder, the shaking of the ground, the simmering above the tube, and the other phenomena which attend each minor eruption, begin again, to be followed by a new period of rest, and thus this wonderful play of nature goes on day after day, year after year, and century after century. The mound of the Geysir bears witness to its immense antiquity, as its water contains but a minute portion of silica.

41. THE STROKKR.

After the Geysir, the most remarkable fountain of these Phlegræan fields is the great Strokkr, situated about four hundred feet from the former. Its tube, the margin of which is almost even with the general surface, the small mound and basin being hardly discernible, is funnel-shaped, or resembling the flower of a convolvulus, having a depth of forty-eight feet, and a diameter of six feet at the mouth, but contracting, at twenty-two feet from the bottom, to only eleven inches. The water stands from nine to twelve feet under the brim, and is generally in violent ebullition. A short time before the beginning of the eruptions, which are more frequent than those of the Great Geysir, an enormous mass of steam rushes from the tube, and is followed by a rapid succession of jets, sometimes rising to the height of 120 or 150 feet, and dissolving into silvery mist. A peculiarity of the Strokkr is that it can at any time be provoked to an eruption by throwing into the orifice large masses of peat or turf; thus choking the shaft, and preventing the free escape of the steam. After the lapse of about ten minutes, the boiling fluid, as if indignant at this attempt upon its liberty, heaves up a column of mud and water, with fragments of peat, as black as ink.

About 150 paces from the Great Geysir are several pools of the most beautifully clear water, tinting with every shade of the purest green and blue the fantastical forms of the silicious travertin which clothes their sides. The slightest motion communicated to the surface quivers down to the bottom of these crystal grottoes, and imparts what might be called a sympathetic tremor of the water to every delicate incrustation and plant-like efflorescence. “Aladdin’s Cave could not be more beautiful,” says Preyer; and Mr. Holland remarks that neither description nor drawing is capable of giving a sufficient idea of the singularity and loveliness of this spot. In many places it is dangerous to approach within several feet of the margin, as the earth overhangs the water, and is hollow underneath, supported only by incrustations scarcely a foot thick. A plunge into waters of about 200° would be paying rather too dearly for the contemplation of their fairy-like beauty.

42. ENTRANCE TO THE ALMANNAGJA.

The gigantic chasm of the Almannagja is another of the volcanic wonders of Iceland. After a long and tedious ride over the vast lava-plain which extends between the Skalafell and the lake of Thingvalla, the traveller suddenly finds himself arrested in his path by an apparently insurmountable obstacle, for the enormous Almannagja, or Allman’s Rift, suddenly gapes beneath his feet—a colossal rent extending above a mile in length, and inclosed on both sides by abrupt walls of black lava, frequently upward of a hundred feet high, and separated from about fifty to seventy feet from each other.

43. THE ALMANNAGJA.

A corresponding chasm, but of inferior dimensions, the Hrafnagja, or Raven’s Rift, opens its black rampart to the east, about eight miles farther on; and both form the boundaries of the verdant plain of Thingvalla, which by a grand convulsion of nature has itself been shattered into innumerable small parallel crevices and fissures fifty or sixty feet deep.

44. THE HRAFNAGJA.

Of the Hrafnagja Mr. Ross Browne says: “A toilsome ride of eight miles brought us to the edge of the Pass, which in point of rugged grandeur far surpasses the Almannagja, though it lacks the extent and symmetry which give the latter such a remarkable effect. Here was a tremendous gap in the earth, over a hundred feet deep, hacked and shivered into a thousand fantastic shapes; the sides a succession of the wildest accidents; the bottom a chaos of broken lava, all tossed about in the most terrific confusion. It is not, however, the extraordinary desolation of the scene that constitutes its principal interest. The resistless power which had rent the great lava-bed asunder, as if touched with pity at the ruin, had also flung from the tottering cliffs a causeway across the gap, which now forms the only means of passing over the great Hrafnagja. No human hands could have created such a colossal work as this; the imagination is lost in its massive grandeur; and when we reflect that miles of an almost impassable country would otherwise have to be traversed in order to reach the opposite side of the gap, the conclusion is irresistible that in the battle of the elements Nature still had a kindly remembrance of man.

45. THE TINTRON ROCK.

“Five or six miles beyond the Hrafnagja, near the summit of a dividing ridge, we came upon a very singular volcanic formation, called the Tintron. It stands, a little to the right of the trail, on a rise of scoria and burnt earth, from which it juts up in rugged relief to the height of twenty or thirty feet. This is, strictly speaking, a huge clinker, not unlike what comes out of a grate—hard, glassy in spots, and scraggy all over. The top part is shaped like a shell; in the centre is a hole about three feet in diameter, which opens into a vast subterranean cavity of unknown depth. Whether the Tintron is an extinct crater, through which fires shot out of the earth in by-gone times, or an isolated mass of lava, whirled through the air out of some distant volcano, is a question that geologists must determine. The probability is that it is one of those natural curiosities so common in Iceland which defy research. The whole country is full of anomalies—bogs where one would expect to find dry land, and parched deserts where it would not seem strange to see bogs; fire where water ought to be, and water in the place of fire.”

46. FALL OF THE OXERAA.

46. FALL OF THE OXERAA.

“Ages ago,” says Lord Dufferin, “some vast commotion shook the foundations of the island; and bubbling up from sources far away amid the inland hills, a fiery deluge must have rushed down between their ridges, until, escaping from the narrower gorges, it found space to spread itself into one broad sheet of molten stone over an entire district of country, reducing its varied surface to one vast blackened level. One of two things then occurred: either, the vitrified mass contracting as it cooled, the centre area of fifty square miles (the present plain of Thingvalla) burst asunder at either side from the adjoining plateau, and sinking down to its present level, left two parallel gjas, or chasms, which form its lateral boundaries, to mark the limits of the disruption; or else, while the pith or marrow of the lava was still in a fluid state, its upper surface became solid, and formed a roof, beneath which the molten stream flowed on to lower levels, leaving a vast cavern into which the upper crust subsequently plumped down.” In the lapse of years, the bottom of the Almannagja has become gradually filled up to an even surface, covered with the most beautiful turf, except where the river Oxeraa, bounding in a magnificent cataract from the higher plateau over the precipice, flows for a certain distance between its walls. At the foot of the fall the waters linger for a moment in a dark, deep, brimming pool, hemmed in by a circle of ruined rocks, in which anciently all women convicted of capital crimes were immediately drowned. Many a poor crone, accused of witchcraft, has thus ended her days in the Almannagja. As may easily be imagined, it is rather a nerve-trying task to descend into the chasm over a rugged lava-slope, where the least false step may prove fatal; but the Icelandic horses are so sure-footed that they can safely be trusted. From the bottom it is easy to distinguish on the one face marks and formations exactly corresponding, though at a different level, with those on the face opposite, and evidently showing that they once had dovetailed into each other, before the igneous mass was rent asunder.

Two leagues from Kalmanstunga, in an immense lava-field, which probably originated in the Bald Jökul, are situated the renowned Surts-hellir, or caves of Surtur, the prince of darkness and fire of the ancient Scandinavian mythology. The principal entrance to the caves is an extensive chasm formed by the falling in of a part of the lava-roof; so that, on descending into it, the visitor finds himself right in the mouth of the main cavern, which runs in an almost straight line, and is nearly a mile in length. Its average height is about forty, and its breadth fifty feet. The lava-crust which forms its roof is about twelve feet thick, and has the appearance of being stratified and columnar, like basaltic pillars, in its formation. Many of the blocks of lava thus formed have become detached and fallen into the cavern, where they lie piled up in great heaps, and heavily tax the patience of the traveller, who has to scramble over the rugged stones, and can hardly avoid slipping and stumbling into the holes between them, varied by pools of water and masses of snow. But after having toiled and plodded to the extremity of this dismal cavern, his perseverance is amply rewarded by the sight of an ice-grotto, whose fairy beauty appears still more charming, in contrast with its gloomy vestibule. From the crystal floor rises group after group of transparent pillars tapering to a point, while from the roof brilliant icy pendants hang down to meet them. Columns and arches of ice are ranged along the crystalline walls, and the light of the candles is reflected back a hundred-fold from every side, till the whole cavern shines with astonishing lustre. Mr. Holland, the latest visitor of the Surts-hellir, declares he never saw a more brilliant spectacle; and the German naturalist, Preyer, pronounces it one of the most magnificent sights in nature, reminding him of the fairy grottoes of the Arabian Nights’ Tales.

From the mountains and the vast plateau which occupies the centre of the island, numerous rivers descend on all sides, which, fed in summer by the melting glaciers, pour enormous quantities of turbid water into the sea, or convert large alluvial flats into morasses. Though of a considerable breadth, their course is frequently very short, particularly along the southern coast, where the jokuls from which they derive their birth are only separated from the sea by a narrow foreland. In their impetuous flow, they not seldom bear huge blocks of stone along with them, and cut off all communication between the inhabitants of their opposite banks.

The chief rivers of Iceland are, in the south, the Thiorsa and the Hvita, which are not inferior in width to the Rhine in the middle part of its course; in the north, the Skjalfandafljot and the Jökulsa and the Jökulsa i Axarfirdi, large and rapid streams above a hundred miles long; and in the east the Lagarfliot. As may be expected in a mountainous country, containing many glacier-fed rivers, Iceland has numerous cascades, many of them rivalling or surpassing in beauty the far-famed falls of Switzerland.

One of the most celebrated of these gems of nature is the Goda-foss, in the northern part of the island, formed by the deep and rapid Skjalfandafljot, as it rushes with a deafening roar over rocks fifty feet high into the caldron below; but it is far surpassed in magnificence by the Dettifoss, a fall of the Jökulsa i Axarfirdi.

“In some of old earth’s convulsions,” says its discoverer, Mr. Gould,—for from its remote situation, deep in the northern wilds of Iceland, it had escaped the curious eye of previous travellers—“the crust of rock has been rent, and a frightful fissure formed in the basalt, about 200 feet deep, with the sides columnar and perpendicular. The gash terminates abruptly at an acute angle, and at this spot the great river rolls in. The wreaths of water sweeping down; the frenzy of the confined streams where they meet, shooting into each other from either side at the apex of an angle; the wild rebound when they strike a head of rock, lurching out half way down; the fitful gleam of battling torrents, obtained through a veil of eddying vapor; the Geysir-spouts which blow up about seventy feet from holes whence basaltic columns have been shot by the force of the descending water; the blasts of spray which rush upward and burst into fierce showers on the brink, feeding rills which plunge over the edge as soon as they are born; the white writhing vortex below, with now and then an ice-green wave tearing through the foam to lash against the walls; the thunder and bellowing of the water, which make the rock shudder under foot, are all stamped on my mind with a vividness which it will take years to efface. The Almannagja is nothing to this chasm, and Schaffhausen is dwarfed by Dettifoss.”

The ocean-currents which wash the coasts of Iceland from opposite directions have a considerable influence on its climate. The south and west coasts, fronting the Atlantic, and exposed to the Gulf Stream, remain ice-free even in winter, and enjoy a comparatively mild temperature, while the cold Polar current, flowing in a south-western direction from Spitzbergen to Jan Mayen and Iceland, conveys almost every year to the eastern and northern shores of the island large masses of drift-ice, which sometimes do not disappear before July or even August. According to Dr. Thorstensen, the mean annual temperature of the air at Reykjavik is +40°, and that of the sea +42°, while according to Herr von Scheele the mean annual temperature at Akureyre, on the north coast, is only +33°, though even this shows a comparatively mild climate in so high a latitude. But if Iceland, thanks to its insular position and to the influence of the Gulf Stream, remains free from the excessive winter cold of the Arctic continents, its summer, on the other hand, is inferior in warmth to that which reigns in the interior of Siberia, or of the Hudson’s Bay territories.

The mean summer temperature at Reykjavik is not above +54°; during many years the thermometer never rises a single time above +80°; sometimes even its maximum is not higher than +59°; and, on the northern coast, snow not seldom falls even in the middle of summer. Under such circumstances, the cultivation of the cereals is of course impossible; and when the drift-ice remains longer than usual on the northern coasts, it prevents even the growth of the grass, and want and famine are the consequence.

The Icelandic summer is characterized by constant changes in the weather, rain continually alternating with sunshine, as with us in April. The air is but seldom tranquil, and storms of terrific violence are of frequent occurrence. Towards the end of September winter begins, preceded by mists, which finally descend in thick masses of snow. Travelling over the mountain-tracks is at this time particularly dangerous, although cairns or piles of stone serve to point out the way, and here and there, as over the passes of the Alps, small huts have been erected to serve as a refuge for the traveller.

In former times Iceland could boast of forests, so that houses and even ships used to be built of indigenous timber; at present it is almost entirely destitute of trees, for the dwarf shrubberies here and there met with, where the birch hardly attains the height of twenty feet, are not to be dignified with the name of woods. A service-tree (Sorbus ancuparia) fourteen feet high, and measuring three inches in diameter at the foot, is the boast of the governor’s garden at Reykjavik; it is, however, surpassed by another at Akureyre, which spreads a full crown twenty feet from the ground, but never sees its clusters of berries ripen into scarlet.

The damp and cool Icelandic summer, though it prevents the successful cultivation of corn, is favorable to the growth of grasses, so that in some of the better farms the pasture-grounds are hardly inferior to the finest meadows in England. About one-third of the surface of the country is covered with vegetation of some sort or other fit for the nourishment of cattle; but, as yet, art has done little for its improvement—ploughing, sowing, drainage, and levelling being things undreamt of. With the exception of the grasses, which are of paramount importance, and the trees, which, in spite of their stunted proportions, are of great value, as they supply the islanders with the charcoal needed for shoeing their horses, few of the indigenous plants of Iceland are of any use to man. The Angelica archangelica is eaten raw with butter; the matted roots or stems of the Menyanthes trifoliata serve to protect the backs of the horses against the rubbing of the saddle; and the Icelandic moss, which is frequently boiled in milk, is likewise an article of exportation. The want of better grain frequently compels the poor islanders to bake a kind of bread from the seeds of the sand-reed (Elymus arenarius), which on our dunes are merely picked by the birds of passage; and the oarweed or tangle (Laminaria saccharina) is prized as a vegetable in a land where potatoes and turnips are but rarely cultivated.

When the first settlers came to Iceland, they found but two indigenous land-quadrupeds: a species of field-vole (Arvicola œconomus) and the Arctic fox; but the seas and shores were no doubt tenanted by a larger number of whales, dolphins, and seals than at the present day.

The ox, the sheep, and the horse which accompanied the Norse colonists to their new home, form the staple wealth of their descendants; for the number of those who live by breeding cattle is as three to one, compared with those who chiefly depend on the sea for their subsistence. Milk and whey are almost the only beverages of the Icelanders. Without butter they will eat no fish; and curdled milk, which they eat fresh in summer and preserve in a sour state during the winter, is their favorite repast. Thus they set the highest value on their cattle, and tend them with the greatest care. In the preservation of their sheep, they are much hampered by the badness of the climate, by the scantiness of winter food, and by the attacks of the eagles, the ravens, and the foxes, more particularly at the lambing season, when vast numbers of the young animals are carried off by all of them. The wool is not sheared off, but torn from the animal’s back, and woven by the peasantry, during the long winter evenings, into a kind of coarse cloth, or knit into gloves and stockings, which form one of the chief articles of export.

“While at breakfast,” says Mr. Shepherd, “we witnessed the Icelandic method of sheep-shearing. Three or four powerful young women seized, and easily threw on their backs the struggling victims. The legs were then tied, and the wool pulled off by main force. It seemed, from the contortions of some of the wretched animals, to be a cruel method; but we were told that there is a period in the year when the young wool, beginning to grow, pushes the old out before it, so that the old coat is easily pulled out.” The number of heads of cattle in the island is about 40,000, that of the sheep 500,000.

The horses, which number from 50,000 to 60,000, though small, are very robust and hardy. There being no wheel carriages on the island, they are merely used for riding and as beasts of burden. Their services are indispensable, as without them the Icelanders would not have the means of travelling and carrying their produce to the fishing villages or ports at which the annual supplies arrive from Copenhagen. In winter the poor animals must find their own food, and are consequently mere skeletons in spring; they, however, soon recover in summer, though even then they have nothing whatever but the grass and small plants which they can pick up on the hills.

The dogs are very similar to those of Lapland and Greenland. Like them, they have long hair, forming a kind of collar round the neck, a pointed nose, pointed ears, and an elevated curled tail, with a temper which may be characterized as restless and irritable. Their general color is white.

In the year 1770 thirteen reindeer were brought from Norway. Ten of them died during the passage, but the three that survived have multiplied so fast that large herds now roam over the uninhabited wastes. During the winter, when hunger drives them into the lower districts, they are frequently shot; but no attempts have been made to tame them: for, though indispensable to the Laplander, they are quite superfluous in Iceland, which is too rugged and too much intersected by streams to admit of sledging. They are, in fact, generally considered as a nuisance, as they eat away the Icelandic moss, which the islanders would willingly keep for their own use.

47. ICELANDIC HORSES.

The Polar bear is but a casual visitor in Iceland. About a dozen come drifting every year with the ice from Jan Mayen, or Spitzbergen, to the northern shores. Ravenous with hunger, they immediately attack the first herds they meet with; but their ravages do not last long, for the neighborhood, arising in arms, soon puts an end to their existence.

In Iceland the ornithologist finds a rich field for his favorite study, as there are no less than eighty-two different species of indigenous birds, besides twenty-one that are only casual visitors, and six that have been introduced by man.

The swampy grounds in the interior of the country are peopled with legions of golden and king plovers, of snipes and red-shanks; the lakes abound with swans, ducks, and geese of various kinds; the snow-bunting enlivens the solitude of the rocky wilderness with his lively note, and, wherever grass grows, the common pipit (Anthus pratensis) builds its neat little nest, well lined with horsehair. Like the lark, he rises singing from the ground, and frequently surprises the traveller with his melodious warbling, which sounds doubly sweet in the lifeless waste.

48. SHOOTING REINDEER.

The eider-duck holds the first rank among the useful birds of Iceland. Its chief breeding-places are small flat islands on various parts of the coast, where it is safe from the attacks of the Arctic fox, such as Akurey, Flatey, and Videy, which, from its vicinity to Reykjavik, is frequently visited by travellers. All these breeding-places are private property, and several have been for centuries in the possession of the same families, which, thanks to the birds, are among the wealthiest of the land. It may easily be imagined that the eider-ducks are guarded with the most sedulous care. Whoever kills one is obliged to pay a fine of thirty dollars; and the secreting of an egg, or the pocketing of a few downs, is punished with all the rigor of the law. The chief occupation of Mr. Stephenson, the aged proprietor of Videy, who dwells alone on the islet, is to examine through his telescope all the boats that approach, so as to be sure that there are no guns on board. During the breeding season no one is allowed to land without his special permission, and all noise, shouting, or loud speaking is strictly prohibited. But, in spite of these precautions, we are informed by recent travellers that latterly the greater part of the ducks of Videy have been tempted to leave their old quarters for the neighboring Engey, whose proprietor hit upon the plan of laying hay upon the strand, so as to afford them greater facilities for nest-building. The eider-down is easily collected, as the birds are quite tame. The female having laid five or six pale greenish-olive eggs, in a nest thickly lined with her beautiful down, the collectors, after carefully removing the bird, rob the nest of its contents, after which they replace her. She then begins to lay afresh, though this time only three or four eggs, and again has recourse to the down on her body. But her greedy persecutors once more rifle her nest, and oblige her to line it for the third time. Now, however, her own stock of down is exhausted, and with a plaintive voice she calls her mate to her assistance, who willingly plucks the soft feathers from his breast to supply the deficiency. If the cruel robbery be again repeated, which in former times was frequently the case, the poor eider-duck abandons the spot, never to return, and seeks for a new home where she may indulge her maternal instinct undisturbed.