Chapter 9 Chapter 9 In Iceland
The day has come for us to leave.The day before, the kindly Mr. Thomsun had brought us warm letters of introduction to Count Trembe, ruler of Iceland, Mr. Pikettusun, assistant to the archbishop, and Mr. Finsun, mayor of Reykjavik.To express his gratitude, his uncle shook his hand sincerely.
At six o'clock in the morning on June 2, our precious luggage was loaded into the cabin of Volkali, and the captain took us to the slightly narrow stern.
"Is it a fair wind?" asked the uncle.
"The wind couldn't be better," replied Captain Bugarn, "from the southeast. We will leave the Baltic with full sail."
In a few minutes we did set sail, and within an hour we were through the port of Elsinore.I nervously expected to see the ghost of Hamlet (Shakespeare's play) on that famous platform.
"Noble madman!" I said, "you will undoubtedly agree with us! You may follow us and find the answer to your eternal problem in the center of the earth!"
But nothing appeared on the ancient walls; and the castle was much younger than the heroic Danish prince.It is now the luxurious residence of the steward of the strait, through which fifteen thousand ships of all nations pass every year.Klangerborg Castle quickly disappeared into the thick fog, as did the Hellneuberg tower standing on the Swedish shore.Under the gentle breeze blowing, our sailboat was slightly heeled.
The Volcali is a fine sailing boat, but one cannot be sure what to expect in one.The ship brought coal, daily necessities, pottery, woolen clothes, and wheat to Reykjavik; the entire crew was Danish, and there were only five people in total.
"How long will it take to get there?" the uncle asked the captain.
"Ten days, if there are not too many storms in passing," replied the captain.
"Even if we encounter it, it won't be delayed for many days, right?"
"No, Mr. Ledenbrook, don't worry, we will get there."
In the evening, the sailboat sailed around the Skagen Cape at the northern tip of Denmark, passed through Skagerrak at night, approached the cape called Nachi at the southern tip of Norway, and reached the North Sea.
Two days later we met Peterhead in Scotch Harbor, and we rode between Orkney and Shetland, and made our way to the Feroe Islands.After arriving at the Fero Islands, we drove straight to Podland Cape on the south coast of Iceland.
In a short while our ship was beaten by Atlantic swells; and against a northerly wind, she reached the Feroes with difficulty. On the 3rd, I saw the easternmost island of the archipelago-Migonnas Island.Since then, the ship has been galloping towards the Podland Strait on the south coast of Iceland.
The whole voyage was without accident; I was not sea-sick, but my uncle was completely afflicted by it, to his great annoyance and still greater shame.
He was therefore unable to ask the captain questions about Snaefer, the means of transport, and the conveniences of travel; all these had to be asked when he got ashore.He had been lying in the cabin, and the ship's pitching rattled the cabin walls.I think he deserves it.
On the 11th, we drove across the Cape of Bodland and met Meadows Yaoke who was above the Cape of Bodland.Here the strait is very dark, with steep banks jutting out alone from the beach.Then Vulkali sailed on westward from a considerable distance from the harbour, among masses of whales and sharks.Presently we came upon a great rock which seemed to have been hewn through, through which a raging wave passed.The small island of Ximeng seems to be floating on the clear sea.From here our sailboat sails around Cape Lake Yarns, which forms the southwest corner of the small island of Simeone.The waves were so strong that it prevented my uncle from going out on deck to admire the jagged coast, blown by the southwest wind.
Forty-eight hours later a storm forced us to take down all sails, and when the storm had subsided we encountered the buoys at dangerous Skagen.The cliffs of Skagen stretch long into the sea.An Icelandic pilot boarded our ship, and three hours later Vorkali dropped anchor in the port of Faksa, outside Reykjavik.
The professor finally walked out of the cabin, his face was a little pale and haggard, but he was still very excited, and his eyes showed a look of satisfaction.
The people of the town are all gathered on the pier, feeling great interest in a sailboat that has something for each of them.
My uncle hurried away from the floating prison, but before he could, he pointed north to me at a high mountain with two peaks, one overlapping peak covered with snow. "Snaifer!" he cried, "Snaifer!"
At this point my uncle made a sign to me to be absolutely silent, and he climbed into a small boat which took us to the coast of Iceland.Mr. Trump, the ruler, appeared at once; my uncle handed him a letter of introduction from Copenhagen, and they had a short conversation in Danish, which I had good reason for not taking part in.It turned out that the ruler did exactly what Professor Liedenbroek wanted.
Uncle was warmly received by the mayor, Mr. Fensun.The mayor not only wears military uniform like the ruler, but also has a very gentle temperament.The archbishop's assistant Mr. Pick Tusun is traveling on the grasslands of Iceland, and we can't see him for the time being.But we met a very likeable and most helpful Mr. Friedrichsen who teaches natural science in a school in Reykjavik.He could only speak Icelandic and Latin, and he and I got along well in Latin and became the only person I could talk to during my stay in Iceland.
This good man accommodated us in two of his three houses.We immediately moved our luggage in and settled there, somewhat surprising the local residents with the amount of luggage we had.My uncle said to me: "Now the most difficult thing has been solved!"
"The most difficult thing?" I said.
"Of course," he replied, "as soon as we get there, we must go down!"
"But how do you get up there?"
"Oh! Never mind that. Come on, don't waste time. I'm going to the library; there may be Saconusian manuscripts there, and if I can find some, I'll have to look them up."
"Ah! That doesn't interest me much. In this land, the interesting things are not under the ground, but above the ground."
I went out, walking aimlessly.
There are only two streets in Reykjavik, so I won't get lost, so I don't have to ask for directions and cause a lot of trouble.
The long town lay between two hills, rather low and damp.One side of the town is covered with a large expanse of volcanic rock, which slowly juts out into the sea.On the other side of the town is the wide Faksa Bay, and to the north is the huge Snaefer Iceberg. Now only Volkali is moored in the bay.British and French fishing patrol boats usually stop there, but now they are patrolling the eastern coast of the island.The longer one of the only two roads in Reykjavik is parallel to the coast, and the houses on both sides are full of merchants and clerks, houses made of mahogany pillars stacked with pots; the other road is relatively west, It leads to a small lake, with bishops and non-merchant families living on each side.
I walked on the desolate and silent road with big strides.Now and then I saw a lawn yellowed like an old carpet or an orchard.The few vegetables, potatoes and lettuce in the garden can only make some simple meals, and there are also a few thin lilacs growing in the garden.
Near the street with no shops, there is a cemetery surrounded by earthen walls, which is not small in size.After a few steps, you will arrive at the residence of the ruler. Compared with the municipal building in Hamburg, it is just a dilapidated house, but compared with the thatched huts of the Icelandic residents, it looks like a palace.
Between the lake and the town stands a chapel, in the form of a Christian church, built of limestone quarried during the eruption of the volcano.The roof is covered with red tiles. Once encountering a huge westerly wind, it will inevitably be blown to all directions, causing great losses to the believers.
On a raised ground next to the chapel, I saw the State School, which I later learned from our landlord, had classes in four languages: Hebrew, English, French, and Danish.To my shame, I don't even know a single letter of these languages.Compared with the forty students in this small school, I was the worst student.And I don't deserve to sleep with them in those double beds that look like wardrobes--the kind of bed where the delicate ones would be smothered to death after a night's sleep.
In less than three hours, I visited the whole town and its surroundings.The whole town looked uncharacteristically bleak.There are no trees, no flowers.Spiky volcanic rocks are everywhere.The thatched huts of the local residents are built with earth and grass, and the walls slope in the middle, as if they are roofs placed directly on the ground.But these roofs are like a field, because people live inside and it is warmer, so the grass grows more luxuriantly on the roof than on the cold land, and every time it comes to mowing, people carefully mow the grass. , otherwise livestock would have to use these green roofs as pasture.
When I came back, I saw most of them drying, salting and packing their main export - cod.These were solid but clumsy-looking people, with hair yellower than a German's and sullen expressions, as if they felt that they had little contact with human beings.They laughed occasionally, but I never saw any of them smile.
Their attire consisted of a sweater of the coarse black wool known to everyone as "Watmere," a sombrero, red-striped trousers, and a folded piece of leather covering the foot.
The women's faces were sad and depressed, but easygoing and expressionless, and they wore corsets and dark "Watmere" skirts; the girls had braids and brown hair Wool hats; married women wrap their heads in colorful turbans with a piece of linen over them.
Returning from my walk, I saw my uncle with our master.
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