I failed to discover it. When he saw
that a stranger stood before him, he looked quite overwhelmed with
astonishment, and gasped out some inarticulate words, consisting
principally of Icelandic interjections.

"How do you do, sir?" said I, in the usual California style. "I'm glad
to meet an Englishman in this wild country!"

"Ye'ow-w-w!" (a prolonged exclamation.)

"Just arrived, sir?"

"Nay-y-y!" (a prolonged negative.)

"You speak English, I believe, sir?"

"Oh-h-h! Ya-a-a-s. Are--you--an--Englishman?"

"No, sir. An American, from California."

"De-e-e-a-r-r m-e-e!"

[Illustration: OH-O-O-AH!]

Here there was a pause, for I really did not know what to make of the
man. He looked at the ceiling, and at the floor, and out of the
window, and started a remark several times, but always stopped before
he got under way, or lost it in a prolonged "Oh-o-o-a!" Again and
again he attempted to speak, never getting beyond a word or two. It
seemed as if some new idea were continually crossing his mind and
depriving him of his breath: he labored under a chronic astonishment.
At first I supposed it might be the natural result of a year's absence
in the interior of Iceland, but subsequent acquaintance with him
satisfied me that it was constitutional. He was astonished all the
way from Reykjavik to Scotland. When it rained he opened his eyes as
if they would burst; looked up in the sky, and cried "Oh-h-h!" When it
blew he tumbled into his berth, covered himself up in the blankets,
peeped out in the most profound amazement, and ejaculated "Ah-h-h!
Oh-h-h! Hay-y-y! Ye'ow-w-w!" When the weather was fine he came up on
deck, peered over the bulwarks, up at the rigging, down into the
engine-room, and was perfectly astounded at each object, exclaiming
alternately "Oh-h-o-o-a-a-h!" "Ah-ha!" "H-a-y!" and "Ye'ow-w-w-w!" At
Thingvalla his main food was curds and black bread, yet he had an
abundance of the best provisions. He was a thorough Icelandic scholar,
and spoke the language with ease and grace, only when interrupted by
the novel ideas that so often struck him in the head. With all his
oddity, he was a gentleman by birth and education, and was very
amiable in his disposition. He had evidently spent much of his life
over books; his knowledge of the world scarcely equaled that of a
child. From all that I could gather of his winter's experiences in
North Iceland, the climate was not very severe, except at occasional
intervals wh