ABSTRACT
To the Englishman at the close of the fourteenth century Iceland was a land of myth and fable, perilously poised on the outer edge of that ‘ ‘ sea of darkness” which encircled the whole known world. He might perhaps read in monkish books, mere echoes of ancient geographers, of how “ Iceland is an isle, having on the south Norway, on the north the sea congealed” ; of “ white bears breaking the frozen water to draw out fishes” ; and of its people “ short of language, covered with the skins of wild beasts, giving their labour to fishing” . He might learn also that it was reputed distant from Britain “ by the sailing of three days” . 2 But such reports were scarcely to be relied upon; of first-hand in formation he had none; for certain knowledge he must go to Norway. There in the harbour of Bergen he might see Norwegian or German traders unloading cargoes of stockfish from Iceland’s newly-exploited fisheries. There he might even see that excellent ship the “ Bishop’s Buss” , bearing Bishop William, its builder, “ of venerable memory” , to his
remote see of Skálholt. 1 Then he might realize that Skálholt was a yet longer journey from Norway than it was reputed to be from Britain, though no English sailors now put this matter to the proof.
