ASCENT OF MOUNT HEDGEHOG
After breakfast in the afternoon of August 17, as things looked a
little better, we loaded ourselves with provisions, instruments, &c.,
and decided to make an expedition at all events to the base of Mount
Hedgehog, and thence perhaps back to Horn Sound by way of Kittiwake
Glacier. It was 8.30 P.M. when we set forth, all three in far from
hopeful humour. We retraced the steps of the previous day, passing
the ruined cookery, and going over undulating ground and up the
right bank of Goose Glacier, then crossing the foot of a small side
glacier, which brings down a moraine of grey marble streaked with
pink, and so reaching the open ice where Garwood’s cairn came into
view. Last year hidden crevasses were troublesome hereabouts, but
there was no such danger now. Crevasses were either open or covered
with firm roofs of frozen snow. We roped, of course, but the rope was
not required--fortunately not, for Nielsen disliked and distrusted
it, and would not keep it tight, ultimately refusing to wear it any
longer and preferring to go detached. Give him rocks or the sea, he
said; as for ice and snow he knew nothing about them, and did not feel
safe on them, roped or unroped. Overhead was the usual roof of cloud.
Gradually, as we advanced and left the coast behind, we perceived the
roof was becoming thinner. Small holes began to appear, with faint
suggestions of rock behind them. Our excitement increased, for Garwood
knew that they were the rocks of Mount Hedgehog’s great precipice.
Thinner and thinner became the veil of mist as we walked expectant over
the hard-frozen _névé_, the mountain behind becoming every moment more
clearly disclosed, till at last it was fully revealed to us, a glorious
wall of silver-dusted rock with the crimson fires of heaven falling
like a mantle upon it. It was about midnight, two days before the sun’s
first setting. The radiant orb was upon the north horizon, half-buried
in the fog above which we were rising. A flood of crimson light flowed
from it over all mountains that rose above the clouds, so that every
rock was like a glowing coal, whilst the snow-domes resembled silken
cushions.
Now at length I realized the position and nature of that Horn Sunds
Tind of which I had heard and read so much. It is not a peak, nor a
mountain, but a range of peaks running, not parallel to Horn Sound,
as marked on the chart, but at right-angles to it and almost north
and south. At the north end of the range is the highest point, a
needle of rock very similar to the Aiguille du Dru in form. This is
separated by a deep depression from the larger, but, as we afterwards
learnt, lower, mountain-mass to which we have attached the old name,
Mount Hedgehog, originally given to the whole range by its English
discoverers. Of this mass the culminating point is at its south end.
From it there descends to the west a steep rock rib, ending below in
a shattered little peak, beyond which comes a snow-saddle. The west
ridge rises slightly again to a rock mound (Bastion Point), falls to
another and wider snow-saddle, and is thence continued as a splintered
rocky range, forming the left bank of the branch of Goose Glacier up
which we had come. It was upon an outlier of Bastion Point that Garwood
and his party encamped last year. We found their tent-platform as
fresh as if it had only just been abandoned. Garwood affectionately
identified the various empty tins lying about and was lucky enough to
find his own pocket-compass uninjured where it had been forgotten. In
the neighbouring cairn were the records of their climb, a separate one
written by each member of the party.
[Illustration: HORN SUNDS TINDER.]
There was no doubt in our minds what next thing demanded doing. We
must climb the peak above, while the chance offered, for the sky
overhead was brilliantly clear; there was no wind and no apparent
change of weather impending. Sea, shore, lowlands, and glaciers were
unfortunately buried beneath the floor of clouds, but all hills over
1000 feet high were likely to be disclosed, so that the view would be
of great geographical interest. Nielsen preferred not to accompany our
ascent, so we gave him the plane-table and whatever else could not
be carried further. At 12.30 A.M. (August 18) we parted in opposite
directions, Nielsen going back to camp, we two upward to the broad snow
col between Bastion Point and the foot of the great west ridge.
Before describing the ascent it is advisable to show the rather special
importance attaching to it. In the year 1823 Sir Edward (then Captain)
Sabine was sent to Spitsbergen and East Greenland to make pendulum
observations for determining the figure of the earth. From what he
observed on that brief visit he was led to conclude that Spitsbergen
is a land-area excellently adapted to the purpose of measuring an arc
of the meridian in a high latitude, a measurement which would be of
the utmost value for well-known scientific reasons not in this place
needing discussion. It is enough here to say that Sabine set forth
his ideas in a letter (February 8, 1826) addressed to Davies Gilbert,
M.P., Vice-President of the Royal Society. From that day to this the
proposal has not been lost sight of, but before an elaborately accurate
measurement of a line some 240 miles in length could be undertaken
it was necessary to decide upon the various points to be used for
the angles of the trigonometrical net. This could only be done after
Spitsbergen itself had been roughly surveyed. The first definite
step toward carrying out Sabine’s project was made by Professor Otto
Torell,[12] who included in the plans of the Swedish Spitsbergen
expedition of 1861 a reconnaissance of the meridian-arc. The work was
to be divided between two ships, the _Æolus_ and the _Magdalena_.
Chydenius on the _Æolus_ was to lay out the northern part of the line
and select the points of observation from the Seven Islands down to
the south end of Hinloopen Strait, whilst Dunér on the _Magdalena_ was
to complete the preparations down Wybe Jans Water to the South Cape.
Owing to unfavourable ice conditions the work could not be wholly
accomplished in that year. Another Swedish expedition was accordingly
sent out in 1864, under Nordenskiöld’s leadership, with Dunér to pay
special attention to the geognostic observations. The result of these
efforts was the suggestion of three different meridian-arcs: (1) along
the west coast from South Cape to Vogelsang Island; (2) down the
middle of the island by way of Wijde Bay, Ice Fjord, Bell Sound, and
Horn Sound; (3) from Ross Island (north of the Seven Islands) to the
South Cape by way of the east coast, Hinloopen Strait, and North-East
Land. The third of these was the line recommended. It has, however,
never been run, because the sea east of Spitsbergen is seldom easily
navigable and the number of fine days are few. Moreover, in order to
link together the triangles set out in Wybe Jans Water with those of
Hinloopen Strait, observations must be made from a high hill in the
midst of Garwood Land close to the furthest point reached by us this
year from Klaas Billen Bay. Professor Nordenskiöld himself informed me
that the existence of a hill commanding the necessary distant views had
been to him doubtful, though he believed that they had identified as
one and the same the apparently highest point of a range of mountains
seen from three different points near the east coast (Svanberg, the
White Mountain, and Mount Lovén). That such a mountain does in fact
exist (and even more than one) was discovered and proved by us this
year. The surpassing eminence of Horn Sunds Tind, dominating as it does
the whole southern region of Spitsbergen, visible from the west coasts
of Edges Land and Barents Land, and easily recognisable when and whence
soever seen, indicated its summit as the best point for observations
but the mountain was believed to be inaccessible. It was also believed
that other useful mountain peaks might exist in the interior of the
south part of the island between Horn Sound and Ice Fjord, by use of
which as trigonometrical stations the necessity of visiting ice-blocked
Wybe Jans Water might be avoided. One of the minor purposes of Herr
Gustaf Nordenskiöld’s expedition of 1890 was to pay attention to
these matters. He accordingly landed in Horn Sound and made a rapid
journey across the glaciers and mountains between that point and the
so-called Recherche Bay in Bell Sound.[13] He concluded that Horn
Sunds Tind and the mountains of similar structure north of Horn Sound
were inaccessible, and therefore could not be used as trigonometrical
stations. Our discovery that Horn Sunds Tind is probably visible
from the Three Crowns added greatly to its importance as a possible
trigonometrical station. Thus it was now become a matter of unusual
interest to discover a way to its summit.
An easy ascent up a snow incline brought us to the rocks of the
little peak in which the west _arête_ of Mount Hedgehog has its lower
termination. They are broken rocks, lying at a steep angle. Deep,
new, hard-frozen snow filled up their interstices and made the ascent
very laborious, though quite easy. From the top of the little peak we
looked abroad over the sea of cloud, beneath which we knew the ocean
must lie, though no trace of it was visible to the remotest horizon.
The surface of cloud was generally level but undulating, the crests of
its motionless waves dyed pink by the midnight sun, the troughs filled
with blue shadows. Straight ahead rose the steep splintered rock-ridge
to the desired summit. On our right of it stretched up a broad
ice-couloir, narrowing above to a snow-saddle close below the peak, and
broadening below to Hedgehog Glacier, which flows almost due south to
the sea, and along whose left bank lie the row of lesser peaks forming
the continuation of Horn Sunds Tind. Last year Garwood led his party up
this couloir, keeping close to the rocks of the _arête_ by its right
(north) side. There was no better way, so we went down to the col east
of our little peak, and attacked the snow-slope beyond, Garwood leading
now and throughout the ascent.
I was astonished, on approaching the couloir, to hear the mountain, as
it were, singing over all its precipitous face. The cause of the sound
was not apparent; it resembled the noise of waterfalls. The bonds of
frost were, however, strong upon the mountain and must have held it
for many days in a thawless grip, so that I could not believe there
was any water to fall. Once in the couloir the mystery was explained.
The sound arose from a cascade of fragments of ice, varying in size
from a nut to a hen’s egg. We soon found out their cause and whence
they came. Fine snow crystals formed in upper regions of the air, so
different from the large flakes of lower levels, had been flung by
the gale upon the crags. Hour after hour and doubtless day after day
the bombardment continued. The flying icy dust clung to the rocks,
and, being constantly added to, built itself up into feathery icicles
pointing towards the wind. Where there had been a constant eddy it was
shown by the changed direction of the icicles. They were only an inch
or two long low down, but the higher we climbed the larger we found
them to be, till near the top they became splendid plumes eighteen
inches long or more and of the loveliest forms, like ostrich-feathers
glittering with diamond dust. It was these icicles, detached from above
by the leverage of their overgrown length, and smashed into smaller
fragments as they fell, that filled the air with the sibilant, rushing
sound which seemed like the noise of many waters. Throughout the ascent
we had to run the gauntlet of these missiles, and were often hit, and
hit hard, but never so severely that it mattered. They were not big
enough to knock us out of our steps, whilst, once they had taken their
first bound from the rocks, they kept close to the slope, so that they
seldom flew by at a level higher than our waists.
Last year Garwood had escaped this particular annoyance, but instead
had found the couloir in a rotten condition with soft snow lying upon
ice, so that he had to cut steps through the snow into the ice from the
very start. This year, the snow being hard-frozen, step-cutting did not
commence till some way further up. Garwood started with hopes that much
of it might be avoided by scrambling up the rocks of the _arête_, but
the ice-covering on them rendered that impracticable, or, at the least,
highly dangerous. Across the foot of the couloir stretched two of the
inevitable deep crevasses or _bergschrunds_ which every couloir boasts.
Under the conditions they were, of course, well bridged, and presented
no difficulty. Bonds of frost likewise held the rocks together, so that
not a stone fell across the route of our ascent. In warm weather, and
especially after midday, falling stones must be very common here, nor
do I see how they can be avoided, for they rake every possible line of
ascent.
Once really in the couloir, step-cutting became necessary, at first
mere slicing of the frozen snow, but all too soon laborious hacking
into hard blue ice. We kept close to the rocks and could sometimes
advance a step or two by jamming the foot into the crack between rocks
and ice. Such relief was rare. I calculated that Garwood cut altogether
five hundred ice-steps in the couloir. This does not include snow-steps
below it or on the final ridge. Garwood made them small and far apart,
whilst I enlarged them into regular shelves to last against our return.
The view, when we turned round to look at it in breathing intervals,
was restricted, for the walls of the couloir shut out everything except
the prospect over the cloud-covered ocean, which remained from hour
to hour bathed in the pink light of sunset or sunrise. The sun flung
the blue shadow of our peak far out upon the cloud-floor. When we
were fairly high up, the shadow of the summit became tipped with red,
which, as we mounted higher, developed into a series of four concentric
rainbows, apparently lying on the clouds in the remote distance and
haloing the shadow of the peak. This effect, as may well be believed,
was remarkable enough; but even more unusual, to my eyes, was the
appearance of what I can only describe as two radiantly white roads
of brightness, stretching directly away from us straight out to the
horizon, one on either side of the mountain’s shadow, and each making
an angle of about 37°, with a line from the eye to the centre of the
rainbows, or 143° round from the sun. All the rest of the cloud-floor
was still mottled in blue and pink, though the pink was now growing
faint, and the general tone was becoming blue-grey; the two “roads”
alone were snow-white by contrast.
The higher we rose the steeper was the couloir, the harder the ice,
and the greater the cold. The distance from the glacier below steadily
increased; to look down upon it was like looking down a wall. The
distance to the skyline above did not seem to diminish correspondingly.
We came to the point where Garwood had led his companions on to the
rocks last year. We, however, kept on up the ice. Then we were level
with last year’s highest. It had been estimated at about eighty feet
below the summit, as far as the fog enabled a guess to be made; now
in perfectly clear air we saw that very much more than eighty feet
remained to be climbed. A strip of rocks, above on our right, descended
into the couloir from the final snow _arête_ at its top. We cut a long
staircase diagonally across to them up a yet steeper ice-slope than
any before. They proved to be nothing worse than rather steep screes
encumbered with ice. We scrambled up them to the final ridge, a real
knife-edge of snow of the giddiest description, for on the other side
the mountain wall plunged vertically, as it seemed, 3000 feet down into
the floor of cloud below. Here we entered the sunshine, and the view
toward Edges Land burst upon us, but we scarcely looked at it. There
was not a cloud in the sky; we should see it better from the top, and
to that our attention was anxiously turned. It was still 100 feet above
our heads. A thread-like snow-ridge of astonishing delicacy led steeply
up to the final tooth of rock. Carefully we advanced, planting our feet
on the very crest of the ridge, which had to be trodden down before it
was broad enough to stand upon. Here and there overhanging cornices
had to be avoided; but only care was required, there was no real
difficulty. In a few minutes we touched the foot of the summit rock.
It was a plumb vertical wall, perhaps fifteen feet high. I suppose
we might have climbed straight up it, but an easier way was found.
The rock was cloven in half from top to bottom by a crack just wide
enough to squeeze through sideways if we expelled our breath and made
ourselves thin. On the other side of it was a ledge giving easy access
to the highest point, on which we laid our hands with a great feeling
of joy. The ascent had taken five hours from the foot of the couloir.
To express the beauty of the view that now surrounded us surpasses
my powers. A bare statement of its character and extent is all that
I shall attempt to set down. The lowlands, bays, and wide glaciers
were alike buried beneath the floor of cloud, so that much of the
geographical information which else might have been obtained was
withheld. Only in the south-east was there any sea or coast-line
visible, an appearance of low-lying flat land, which may indeed have
been merely a shadow upon water. The whole of Edges Land was in cloud,
but Barents Land was sharp and clear, with all its peaks quite distinct
and easy of identification, had one but known what to identify. Here,
too, the waters of Wybe Jans Water were disclosed with the sunshine
lying brightly upon them, and the long east coast of Spitsbergen
leading in that direction. Everywhere else were only peaks rising
like golden islands out of a silver sea. A row of such, the tops of a
range of hills, ran close by us down the middle of the land towards
the South Cape. In the north was a chaos of peaks, those near at hand
lying in north and south rows, but the remoter ones dotted about on
no discoverable plan. We identified the peaks about Bell Sound, and
Mount Starashchin at the mouth of Ice Fjord, but of hills more remote
we could be sure of none. So much for the distance and background of
the view; its great glory, however, was in the craggy ridge of Horn
Sunds Tind itself, along which we looked both to north and south.
Southward it sank rapidly, but in the opposite direction it reared
itself into successive jagged peaks rising out of a narrow zigzag ridge
of precipitous rock. Alas! we were not on the highest point; that was
now seen to be the splendid needle further north, divided from Mount
Hedgehog by a deep gap, and perhaps surpassing it in height by as much
as forty feet. All the rocks of this glorious ridge were covered with
ice-feathers, whereon the sun shone with great brilliancy, whilst a
bold shadow clothed the whole west face of the mountain. The zigzagging
of the ridge brought the bright and shadowed sides into alternate
prominence, and led the eye agreeably along to the sudden jut of the
culminating needle. How beautifully this wonderful group of bold,
snow-decked crags was enframed by the bright effulgence of the cloudy
sea and its emergent islands any one can imagine better than I can say.
The effect on the spectator was heightened by the sense of standing
high and alone, for, save along the knife-edged ridge, the mountain
fell from our feet with such utter abruptness as to seem everywhere
vertical, so that we had the sensation of looking from a balloon rather
than of standing upon the solid earth.
We now observed that a very fine range of peaks, striking inland
northward from the west side of Horn Sound’s north bay, is the
orographical continuation of Horn Sunds Tind, the sound itself having
been cut right through this ridge. No visitor to Horn Sound can fail to
notice the remarkable end peak of this ridge, which rises from the sea,
a rock-blade of the narrowest description, one side very steep, the
other plumb-vertical. Numberless birds nest in the lower part of its
cliffs, inaccessible alike to men and foxes.
Tearing ourselves away from the summit and its entrancing view, when
at last we were almost frozen stiff, we retreated a few yards down
the east face into a little hollow, sheltered from the wind and open
to the tepid sun. There a frugal luncheon was eaten and pipes duly
smoked, and there we left our cards in a crack, for there were no loose
stones out of the snow wherewith to build a cairn, nor, if there had
been any, was there room enough on the summit for a cairn to stand. In
such raw atmosphere, however, motion is needful for enjoyment, so that
neither of us was unwilling to commence the descent. Garwood’s notion
of traversing the whole length of Mount Hedgehog’s summit-ridge to its
north end and descending by another west _arête_ from that point was
silently abandoned. With the mountain in good condition it might be
accomplished and enjoyed, but the iced rocks made the attempt not worth
consideration. By the way that we came up by the same must we return.
Trotting down the _arête_ to the top of the ice-covered screes was
easy enough, but from that point the greatest care was required. Both
of us afterwards confessed that we looked forward with trepidation to
the descent of these screes, for they were very steep, very loose,
and slippery with powdered uncompacting ice. Descents, however,
are generally worse in prospect than in actuality, and this was no
exception. We hardly realised where the bad place was till it had been
passed; but at the foot of the rocks there lurked a quite unforeseen
perplexity. Our beautiful ice-staircase had so completely disappeared
that for some time we could not discover its position. The steep
snow-covered ice-slope was absolutely smooth. No visible inequality
broke the evenness of its white surface. With some difficulty I found
our old footsteps on the rocks. Standing in them and leaning downward,
whilst Garwood held the rope, I probed in all directions for the
topmost ice-step. It seemed as though an entirely new staircase would
have to be cut. But at last luck revealed the missing hole, which, like
all the rest below, was filled up and smoothed over by snow-dust and
ice-fragments that had fallen into it. I cleared it out and began the
descent. The next step was similarly masked and had to be sought and
cleared, though, of course, its position was more easily found. The
steps, having been cut as far apart as we could stride, were difficult
to reach down to, nor did we venture to tread down a pace till the
exact position of the foothold had been discovered. Sometimes new steps
had to be cut because the old ones were beyond reach of the axe. It was
interesting work which prevented the return from being monotonous, but
rendered progress rather slow. When the _bergschrund_ was approached
difficulties were at an end. We looked back and found the summit again
enveloped in cloud, whilst the sea-fog below was steadily rising.
Before we had quitted the rocks of the peaklet at the foot of the ridge
we were well into the dense mist, where, in a few yards, we promptly
lost our way and had to appeal to the compass for direction. Garwood’s
cairn was reached a few minutes later, and our remaining provisions
were consumed under its shelter. The descent to camp was without
incident. Tired and hungry, we reached it after an absence of fourteen
hours, and were delighted to find that the violence of the waves had
abated.
It may be of interest to Alpine climbers to compare this ascent with
that of some known peak in the Alps. The height of the mountain from
the foot of the glacier is about 4500 feet. From the _bergschrund_ at
the foot of the couloir to the top is about 3000 feet. The ascent,
therefore, from the point where the climb commences is somewhat longer
than, and happens to be very similar in character to, the corresponding
part of the ascent of the Aiguille Verte[14] in the Mont Blanc range,
made by way of the south-east couloir. Horn Sunds Tind, indeed, may
be compared in other respects with the Verte group. Mount Hedgehog
represents the Verte itself, the west _arête_ corresponds to the Moine
ridge, whilst the highest northern needle resembles the Dru, both in
position and in form. Some day, no doubt, it will be climbed, though
I scarcely think Garwood and I shall return to climb it. Horn Sound
appears to be a bad weather region, and we have had enough of its
inhospitable shores.
About 7.30 P.M., after a good sleep, we awoke to find the most glorious
drama of colour playing for us upon the sound. Already, through ten
hours of every night, when thin clouds covered the sky, marvellous
long-drawn-out sunset effects brooded over the southern extremity of
Spitsbergen. Day by day they were creeping further north, heralds of
the long winter night. What we saw that evening was no ordinary sunset
of the temperate regions merely extended in duration, but such a sombre
splendour as might fitly usher in the fiery consummation of the world.
The hidden sun, level with a low, thin roof of cloud, shone both upon
its upper and lower surfaces, painting the underside a ruddy brown.
Peculiar and unexpected reflections made lights in strange places.
The mountains were dark chocolate or rich purple in colour. Lighter
chocolate were the glaciers. The fjord was dark-green, shot with pink
reflections from above. Away beyond the sea was a belt of clear sky
beneath the cloud-roof. Overhead, pink clouds, rent and twisted by some
high gale, writhed in an island of blue in the upper regions of the
air. New snow whitened the lower hill-slopes. Chilly blasts came and
passed, telling of the winter that was at hand.
Late in the evening we breakfasted and packed up camp. Soon after
midnight the boat was easily launched in the calm bay. It was our
intention to row to the far side of the head of the sound, where there
were rocks that Garwood thought might prove worth examination. No
sooner, however, was the point of Goose Bay rounded than a strong wind
from the north-east met us, against which we could not make headway.
Close at hand was a little cove, well protected by rocks, and there we
were compelled to land, just forty-eight hours before the steamer was
to call and fetch us away.
The doings of these two days are not worth record. They were a time
of low clouds and frequent heavy rains. No exploration could be done,
because nothing could be seen. We made useless expeditions to Kittiwake
Glacier; we scrambled among the Stonehenge Rocks, and otherwise killed
time. Thick clouds and the dipping sun made the nights so dark that
candles had to be burnt in the tent during several hours. The sea
became quite calm; birds seemed to increase in numbers upon the water,
as though they were gathering in Horn Sound for their southern flight,
just as the whaling fleet in old days used to gather either here or in
Bell Sound.
Early on the morning of the 21st, Nielsen called us with news that
the _Lofoten_ was in sight. To pack our baggage and launch the boat
was the work of a few minutes. We rowed out to the steamer, which
took us and our goods on board and promptly headed away for the open
sea and the south. As Horn Sound was quitted, the weather temporarily
improved. For a moment the clouds broke or lifted, and showed us, for
the first time, all the height and width of Horn Sunds Tind--a sight
to us most interesting, but not specially impressive in the dull
illumination that prevailed. We passed the South Cape at sunset and
enjoyed one memorable last look along the west coast, whose peaks and
promontories were visible as far away as the Dead Man at the mouth of
Ice Fjord. The northern horizon behind them was striped with ruddy
and golden radiance. The under side of the everlasting cloud-roof was
strangely illuminated with delicate pink light, reflected up to it
from the white surface of the interior of Spitsbergen, upon which the
low sun contrived to cast its rays just below the northern edge of the
cloud-cap--an effect I have never before observed. I have several times
seen the underside of Spitsbergen’s cloud-roof shining pink, and always
supposed that it reflected direct sunshine; but probably in such cases
a preliminary upward reflection of the light from a snowfield may be
assumed.
Our voyage was delightfully calm. We saw many whales and hundreds of
seals in schools, especially near Bear Island, north-west of whose
south point we cast anchor for a few hours in the afternoon of the
22nd. The top of Mount Misery was buried in a soft grey cloud, but the
splendid cliffs below were close at hand, with pillared rocks jutting
out of the sea at their feet. A heavy swell broke upon the barren
island, casting towers of spray aloft. Off shore blew a stiff local
breeze that made landing a wet and laborious process, for it was only
just possible to row against it. Every one who landed returned to the
ship drenched to the skin.
A few miles away from Bear Island the wind dropped and the sea was
calm. From hour to hour the temperature rose, so that those of us who
had spent any length of time in Spitsbergen felt that we were coming
into luxurious and almost tropical latitudes. About sixty miles north
of the North Cape two ships under full sail came in sight far away
over the calm sea. They were bound from Arkangel, laden with timber
for English ports. When they had been left behind, the hills of Norway
appeared along the southern horizon. Their low line gradually rose
from the bosom of the waters as we approached. The sun foundered into
the sea about nine o’clock, just when our ship passed under the North
Cape’s beetling cliff and rounded into the sheltered eastern bay,
where is a little landing-stage at the foot of a zigzag path leading
up a gully to the plateau above. Bay and gully were shrouded in the
gloom of evening, but the air was warm and rich with the smell of
the land. We rowed ashore, a motley international company. Something
like a race was started for the summit of the Cape, which is about
1000 feet above sea-level and a long distance from the landing-place.
I see that Bädeker gives seventy minutes for a rational ascent; we
most irrationally did it in twenty-eight. It was a merry party that
gathered on the top--Belgians, Poles, Hungarians, Swedes, English,
Norwegians, men of science, seamen, travellers. Nansen’s _Fram_ crew
were represented by three of its members, including the laughter-loving
giant, Peter Hendriksen, every one’s butt and playfellow. Bottles were
uncorked, and their contents shared round. Rocks were prized down the
cliffs. It was a gay hour. Though heated by the uphill race, we could
sit without chill on the exposed promontory; for the air to us was full
of southern warmth, and felt like the air of hot Italian valleys to a
man descending into them from the Alps.
The party soon dispersed, and I found a secluded corner, under the very
point, with the northern ocean below. “In such moments Solitude is
invaluable; for who would speak, or be looked on, when behind him lies
all Europe and Africa, fast asleep, except the watchmen; and before
him the silent Immensity, and Palace of the Eternal”--thus thought
Teufelsdrökh, as he stood on this particular spot one June midnight,
clothed in his “light-blue Spanish cloak” and looking “like a little
blue Belfry.” “Silent Immensity and Palace of the Eternal!”--the words
are not too strong for the wonder of that view. There was no midnight
sun to look upon; a spot of brightness in the midst of the orange and
crimson north showed where, far beneath the horizon, it was looking
abroad over the cloud-covered arctic world. The delicate crescent
of the new moon beamed not far away, with a single planet near it.
Straight from my feet plunged the splendid cliff to the measureless
stretch of the Arctic Sea. In the east, air, ocean, and clouds merged
together in a harmony of tender violet, so soft, so rare of tint, that
the eye, once turned thither, was loath to wander again. A faint low
promontory of land, dividing sky from sea, lured the fancy onward to
the regions of romance--Novaja-Zemlja, the Kara Sea, and the way of the
North-East Passage. Not thitherward was our way, but home. By noon we
were again in Hammerfest.