My sleep that night was none of the sweetest. A certain feeling of
discomfort always attaches to the fact of sleeping in a church
alone, in the midst of a grave-yard. Besides this, on the night in
question such a dreadful storm arose that the wooden walls creaked
and groaned as though their foundations were giving way. The cold
was also rather severe, my thermometer inside the church shewing
only two degrees above zero. I was truly thankful when approaching
day brought with it the welcome hour of departure.
June 5th.
The heavy sleepiness and extreme indolence of an Icelandic guide
render departure before seven o'clock in the morning a thing not to
be thought of. This is, however, of little consequence, as there is
no night in Iceland at this time of year.
Although the distance was materially increased by returning to
Reikjavik by way of Grundivik and Keblevik, I chose this route in
order to pass through the wildest of the inhabited tracts in
Iceland.
The first stage, from Krisuvik to Grundivik, a distance of twelve to
fourteen miles, lay through fields of lava, consisting mostly of
small blocks of stone and fragments, filling the valley so
completely that not a single green spot remained.
