56 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 



waters after the sand eels. It was a typical Ice- 

 landic summer night, calm, warm and almost 

 Italian in its pellucid clearness, and one could hardly 

 imagine that only 250 miles to the west were the 

 icebound shores, the Esquimaux and the Polar 

 bears of East Greenland. 



We took many emigrants on board at Reykavick, 

 leaving their native land for Nebraska, where there 

 is now a large and flourishing Icelandic colony. I 

 noticed but little emotion amongst the people on 

 leaving the home of their childhood, and this was 

 probably accounted for by the fact that as a rule 

 every member of a family joins the party — even 

 very old men — and none are left to grieve about. 

 There is a settled melancholy amongst all these 

 northern races, due rather to their conditions of 

 life than to their temperament, and there is no 

 doubt that insufficient nourishment and bad air 

 are mainly responsible for their pale faces and sub- 

 dued ways. Here on board ship they all shut 

 themselves up in the forecabin between decks, from 

 which they carefully excluded the fresh air, to 

 which they seem to have the strongest objection. 

 A little boy chanced to sit on, and break, one of the 

 skylights of the cabin, and the Captain in high glee 

 said they would now be forced to get a little pure 

 ozone. Not a bit of it. In less than two minutes 

 the open space was completely stuffed up with 

 eiderdown quilts, and the inmates of the cabin 

 were happy once again. 



It must not be supposed that the Icelanders are 

 a particularly grave race. They are more cheerful, 

 on the whole, than either the Norwegians or the 

 Shetlanders, and considering the many weary 



