"TIDVATTEN," said the guide.

"What is he saying?"

"He says tide," said my uncle, translating the Danish word.

"No doubt we must wait for the tide."

"FORBIDA," said my uncle.

"JA," replied Hans.

My uncle stamped with his foot, while the horses went on to the boat.

I perfectly understood the necessity of abiding a particular moment
of the tide to undertake the crossing of the fiord, when, the sea
having reached its greatest height, it should be slack water. Then
the ebb and flow have no sensible effect, and the boat does not risk
being carried either to the bottom or out to sea.

That favourable moment arrived only with six o'clock; when my uncle,
myself, the guide, two other passengers and the four horses, trusted
ourselves to a somewhat fragile raft. Accustomed as I was to the
swift and sure steamers on the Elbe, I found the oars of the rowers
rather a slow means of propulsion. It took us more than an hour to
cross the fiord; but the passage was effected without any mishap.

In another half hour we had reached the aolkirkja of Gardar