At some points we were
even compelled to dismount from our horses, and scramble forward on
our hands and knees. In a word, these dangerous points, which
extended over a space of about seven miles, were certainly quite as
bad as any I had encountered in Syria; if any thing, they were even
more formidable.
I was, however, assured that I should have no more such places to
encounter during all my further journeys in Iceland, and this
information quite reconciled me to the roads in this country. For
the rest, the path was generally tolerably safe even during this
tour, which continually led me across fields of lava.
A journey of some eight-and-twenty miles brought us at length into a
friendly valley; clouds of smoke, both small and great, were soon
discovered rising from the surrounding heights, and also from the
valley itself; these were the sulphur-springs and sulphur-mountains.
I could hardly restrain my impatience while we traversed the couple
of miles which separated us from Krisuvik. A few small lakes were
still to be crossed; and at length, at six o'clock in the evening,
we reached our destination.
With the exception of a morsel of bread and cheese, I had eaten
nothing since the morning; still I could not spare time to make
coffee, but at once dismounted, summoned my guide, and commenced my
pilgrimage to the smoking mountains.
