DESCENDING THE RAPIDS
In our case it took twenty-nine hours without sleep to descend the
rapids, for we left _Kajana_ at seven A.M. on Thursday morning, and only
reached _Uleåborg_ at mid-day on Friday. The journey is perfectly
wonderful, but should only be undertaken by people blessed with strong
nerves and possessed of iron constitutions. From _Kajana_ to _Uleåborg_
one travels down the splendid _Oulu_ river and across the _Oulujärvi_
lake, joining the river again on the other side of _Waala_.
It was indeed an experience, in more ways than one. The first hours we
spent in a small steamer, too small to carry a restaurant, so, let it be
understood at once, provisions must be taken for the whole journey,
unless the traveller wishes starvation to be added to his other
hardships.
The _Oulujärvi_ lake is a terror to the tar-boats, for it is one of the
largest lakes in Finland, and when there is a storm the fragile tar-boat
is forced to hug the land for safety, or draw up altogether and lie-to
until the storm has spent itself. Many of these small craft have been
taken unawares when out in the middle of the lake, and come to signal
grief accordingly. Then again, in times of dead calm, the heavily-laden
boat does not even have the benefit of the quickly-running water to bear
her on her way, and the three occupants of the vessel have to row the
entire distance, for the steersman, no longer requiring to guide her
with his enormous pole, ships it and rows at the side with one
oar,--with which at the same time he guides. These steering poles are
really remarkable; they are about twelve or fifteen feet long, and are
simply a solid trunk of a pine tree as wide as a man's hand can grasp at
the thinnest end, broadening out, and trimmed in such a way that they
form a kind of flat solid paddle at the other end. The weight of these
poles is overpowering, even when slipped through the ring of plaited
tree branches which keeps them in place, and makes them easier to hold
securely. When the cataracts are reached, even these strong poles shiver
with the force of the water, and the steersman has all his work to do to
combat the rushing waters; his whole bodily weight must be brought to
bear in order to fight those waves and steer his craft safely through
them. Every muscle is strained to meet the power of those swirling
waters.
No praise we can give is too high for the skill of the pilot of the
rapids, no admiration too great, for it is to that and his physical
strength, to his power and calmness, to his dexterity and boundless
knowledge of hidden dangers and unexpected horrors, that the safety of
our lives is due, and, when we peeped occasionally at our steersman as
we flew over the great rapid, where for over an hour every nerve, every
fibre of his body was strung to agonising pitch, we looked and wondered.
His eyes were fixed steadfastly before him, and as he flung all the
weight of his body on to his pole, the whole boat trembled, but in a
second obeyed his bidding and twisted whither he wished. Second, did we
say? half-second, quarter-second, would be more accurate, for the bow of
the boat was guided at giddy speed to within a few feet of a rock, and
just as she was about to touch, twisted off again for us to ride over
some crested wave, or fly down some channel which just cleared the
death-trap.
By such means we zig-zagged from side to side of the river, which at the
cataracts is generally nearly a quarter of a mile broad, and in the
calmer stretches widens out to half a mile and more.
Speaking of pilots and their wondrous skill, in the autumn of 1912, by
Imperial decrees, the Finnish Pilot Department was transferred to the
Russian Ministry of Marine. So marvellous, so dexterous has been the
work of the Finnish pilots for generations of inherited knowledge, that
an Englishman can but quake at the advisability of such a change.
Finland was so indignant that half the pilots stationed on the coast and
the islands--about five hundred men--resigned _en bloc_. The famous
pilot school at _Helsingfors_ no longer exists.
These pilots used to mark out the ship routes every spring so cleverly
that shipwrecks were rare; but in the summer of 1912 the new Russian
staff made such endless mistakes and omitted so many risky channels
that a great many disasters followed on the coast, though not serious
ones. Luckily, the regular Finnish passenger steamers have not suffered,
as they all carry their own pilots.
Strategical considerations have been officially adduced for the
Russification of the Finnish pilot service; but the wisdom of this
strategy may be open to doubt. In time of war the passages nearer the
coast will naturally be of the greatest strategic importance, and it
would seem highly unsafe to confide the navigation of war-vessels to the
new Caspian pilots, who cannot possibly in a few years acquire an
intimate knowledge of these extremely difficult waters. The new measure
dispenses with the services of those men who, born and bred on the spot,
and having the advantage of generations of traditional knowledge, can
alone with safety do pilot service, especially in time of war, when
guiding beacons and rock-marking poles and buoys are removed, and there
is nothing to guide the navigator except that knowledge which has become
second nature to the pilot trained to do service in his own home waters.
But we are digressing.
We arrived at _Waala_--a cluster of small houses--about 11.30, and,
landing from our little steamer, found that although our tar-boat had
been ordered and everything was ready owing to the kindness of the
inspector of the district, who himself came to see us off, we could not
get really under way before one o'clock. All the luggage had to be
packed into the boat,--not much luggage, be it said, for, beyond the
reach of the railways, one bag or suit-case per person is all that is
possible (less is preferable), as that can go into one of the little
_kärra_ (carts), or can be carried by a peasant when necessary.
Travelling through the interior and northern parts of Finland is
roughing it indeed, and when it comes to being away from the
post-stations (where carriages and horses are procurable, and generally
fairly good), and sleeping in a real peasant's house, then one realises
what discomfort means, and for cleanliness prefers to sit on a hard
wooden chair all night for safety's sake.
At last we were, all six (for this number composed our party), seated,
some on Gladstones, some on an enormous rug case, some on nothing, or
something equally uncomfortable, but all of us as low down as possible,
such being the inspector's orders, as our weight steadied the boat, and,
being below the water's level, kept us from getting wet from the spray,
although we found, by experience, it did not prevent our shipping whole
seas, and getting thoroughly soaked.
"The wind is against you," remarked the inspector, "which is a pity, as
it will occupy much longer time, and you will get more wet, but by three
A.M. (fourteen hours) you ought to reach _Muhos_, where you can snatch a
few hours' sleep before going on in the little steamer that will take
you down the last stretch of the river to _Uleåborg_."
It was bad enough, in theory, to sit fourteen hours within the cramped
precincts of a tar-boat with one's knees up to one's chin, like an
Eastern mummy, but it was nothing to what in practice we really
endured. However, we luckily cannot foresee the future, and with light
hearts, under a blazing sun, we started, a man at the stern to steer, a
woman and a boy in the bow to row, and ourselves and our goods securely
stowed away--packed almost as closely as herrings in a barrel.
Directly after leaving _Waala_, within a few minutes in fact, we came to
the _Niska Koski_ rapid. Six miles at flying speed; six miles tearing
over huge waves at break-neck pace; six miles with a new experience
every second; six miles feeling that every turn, every moment must be
our last.
No one could dream of the excitements of speeding six miles in such a
long fragile craft, in which we crouched so low our faces were almost
level with the seething surface of the rapid. Turning here and twisting
there between rocks or piled-up walls of stone, absolutely seeing and
feeling the drop of the water, as one bounded over a fall--such an
experience cannot be described. As those massive waves struck the boat,
and threw volumes of water into our laps, we felt inclined to shriek at
the speed at which we were flying. Wildly we were tearing past the
banks, when, lo!--what was that? A broken tar-boat; a mere scattered
mass of wooden beams, which only a few hours before had been a boat like
our own.
In spite of the marvellous dexterity of the pilots, accidents happen
sometimes; and that very morning, the wind being strongly against the
boats descending, a steersman venturing a little too near a hidden
rock, his frail craft was instantly shattered to pieces. The
tar-barrels, bubbling over the water like Indian corn over a fire, were
picked up many miles below; but, as the accident happened near the
water's edge, the crew were luckily saved.
That journey was a marvellous experience; one of the most exciting and
interesting of the writer's life; not only did it represent a wonderful
force of nature, but an example of what skill and a cool head can do;
for what man without both could steer a boat through such rapids--such
cataracts? Those rapids at Montreal seemed far less imposing to me
afterwards.
At times the waves looked as if they were really returning upon us, yet
in reality we were going with the stream, but the rocks below made them
curl back again. Along the stream several crews were toiling and
straining at their towing ropes to get their empty boats to _Kajana_.
Oh, what work in that heat! No wonder they all dreaded that return
journey. Toiling along the bank were the wretched men and women making
their way back towards Russia. The strangely uneven stone wall along
which they pulled their tar-boat looked as if it would cut their poor
bare feet to pieces. Two generally tugged at the rope, a third keeping
the boat off the wall by means of a long pole; and for a fortnight or
three weeks they tugged and pulled their empty boat, or in calmer
stretches sailed or rowed back the route along which we were now flying
at such lightning speed.
Then came two hours of calm rowing along a beautiful stretch of river,
where rocks and pine-trees rose straight from the water's edge, and
queer little gray houses denoted peasants' homesteads, peeping out among
the almost yellow rye-fields, or the newly gathered hay crops. Small
black and white curly sheep gambolled in the meadows--those very sheep
whose coats are so famous as _Kajana Lambs_, rivalling even Russian
Astrakhan.
Imagine a fall of two hundred feet of water in a long, thin, fragile
boat; yet such is possible at _Pyhäkoski_, another of the rapids, during
a stretch of cataract about thirteen miles long--as an average, these
wondrous falls are about a quarter of a mile broad, sometimes more,
sometimes less. They are indeed most truly marvellous.
It was a perfect evening as we neared _Pyhäkoski_. The wind had fallen,
and when, after passing a rapid, we drew up by the bank to enjoy our
evening meal, the sun at 9.30 was just beginning its long set. We had
left _Waala_ at 1.30, and been travelling in the boat cramped by the
position all the time, so were beginning to feel the pleasant pangs of
hunger. With a pine wood behind us, where bilberries, just ripening
among the ferns, covered the ground, we six friends--four Finlanders and
two English--made a very happy party. Oh, the joy of stretching our
limbs and standing erect once more. We cooked our tea by the aid of a
spirit-lamp, ate hard-boiled eggs and some most delicious cold trout,
devoured whole loaves of white bread and butter, and were feeling as
happy as possible--when suddenly the glorious golden orb shining through
the skies of evening, was reflected in flaming colour nearer home, for,
lo! the lamp in the tea-basket exploded with a terrific bang and a
tongue of flame which brought us all to our feet in an instant. Here was
a calamity to occur on such a dry night, in a long rainless summer, and
in a pine forest, too, where if the trees once ignited, flames might
spread for miles and miles, causing incalculable damage. We all knew the
danger, and each prepared to assist in putting out the fire. Grandpapa,
with the agility of a cat, seized the burning basket and threw it and
its contents bodily into the river--great was the frizzle as it touched
the water, and greater the noise as plates and spoons clattered into the
stream. They were of little value in comparison to the prevention of a
forest fire.
Poor man, he was wet to his knees standing in the water, and he looked
almost as if he had been taking a mud bath by the time he succeeded in
rescuing what was possible of our crockery and plate. But, undoubtedly,
he prevented much serious damage of valuable property by his prompt
action. The remainder of our meal was lost, and our delightful basket,
that had travelled in many lands, destroyed. It had never failed
before--but we afterwards unravelled the mystery. The _Apothek_, whom we
asked to supply us with some methylated spirit, not understanding our
request, had substituted something which did not suit the lamp.
"All's well that ends well," however, so we will say no more about his
mistake, save that we lost our second cup of tea, and went hungry to
bed.
Never, never did any one behold more wonderful reflections than were to
be seen that night on the _Uleå_ river. As the empty boats passed up a
quiet reach sufficiently shallow to permit of punting, the reflections
of the coloured shirts and poles, of the old brown boats and the cheery
faces on board, were as distinct in the water as the things themselves.
Every blade of grass found its double in that mirror-like stream, every
rock appeared darker and larger below than it did above the water; but
our admiration was distracted by mosquitoes,--when we drew up at a small
_torp_ to take up a fresh pilot, who was to steer us safely over the
famous _Pyhäkoski_ rapids. By this time it was 10.30 on an August night,
and the sun just above the pine tops, which seemed striving to soar high
enough to warm themselves in its glorious rich colourings, and we feared
it might be too late, and the mist too dense, to attempt such a
dangerous passage. Half a dozen pilots assembled on the bank--their
day's work being over--declared it was perfectly safe, as safe at least
as it ever can be, therefore, after shipping our man, away we rowed--the
river having broadened again to three-quarters of a mile, so that it
looked like a lake.
A small child offered us a little wooden tub of luscious yellow berries,
_suomuurain_ (Finnish), _Hjortron_ (Swedish), for a mark--the same would
have cost about eight marks at _Helsingfors_--which we gladly bought and
ate as we drifted along. Those delicious northern delicacies, with a
taste of the pine-tree, greatly refreshed us. We had made up our minds
early in the day, that as we could not take more than four or five
hours' rest, to sleep on the bank, and make a large fire to keep away
the mosquitoes. The weather was all that could be wished; indeed, the
heat of the day had been so great we had all sat with white
pocket-handkerchiefs hanging from under our hats and down our necks to
keep off the blazing sun, no parasols being possible when correct
steering meant life or death. In fact, we had decided to manage the best
sort of "camp out" we could with a coat each and a couple of Scotch
plaid rugs among us all. The prospect seemed more pleasant than a one or
two-roomed _torp_ shared with the _torppari's_ family; for we had
suffered so much in strange beds already, and had woefully regretted
many times not having brought hammocks, which we might have slung out of
doors on those splendid June and July nights, and slept in peace under
the daylight canopy of heaven. Accordingly, a camp on the bank had been
voted and passed by unanimous acclamation.
No artist's brush could reproduce such a scene. In the foreground a
roaring seething mass of water denoted strength and power, beyond lay a
strange hazy mist, like a soft gauze film, rising in the sudden chill of
evening from the warmed water, and the whole landscape was rendered more
weird and unreal in places by the wild white spray which ascended, as
the waves lapped some hidden or visible rock lying right across our
course. Farther on, the river was bordered by pine and fir-trees,
through the stems of which the departing sun shone, glinting here and
there upon the bark; the warm shades of the sky dappled with red and
yellow, painted by a Mighty Hand, were well in keeping with the "Holy
Stream," as this rapid is called by the peasants living along its
shores.
A mystic scene of wondrous beauty; more and more the vapours rose, until
a great soft barrier seemed erected before us, almost as high as the
trees; dense at their roots, tapering away to indistinctness at their
tops, where the sunset glow lay warm and bright upon their prickly
branches.
It reminded one of glorious evenings in Switzerland, where snow-clad
peaks soar above the clouds, their majestic heads rising as it were from
nothingness. That night on the _Uleå_ river, this strong, strange, misty
fog was very remarkable--such a contrast to the intense heat of the day,
so great a contrast to the marvellous clearness which had preceded it,
so mystic after the photographic distinctness of a few hours before.
A shriek from our steersman, and we found we were flying madly towards a
sort of wooden pier; we held our breath, it seemed so close. In the mist
we were almost upon it before we saw our danger; but when the pilot
shouted, the oarsmen instantly shipped. Even when going through the
rapids it should be explained that two men in the bows keep rowing
continuously to help to steady the boat; but on the occasion in
question, just when the agony point was reached, they lifted their oars,
and we swung round a corner--not to sudden death as we fully expected,
but into a comparatively calm stretch of water; where, lo! we found
before us a white bank. It was vapour, mist, fog, what you will; but a
cold evening, after a day of intense heat, had clothed the river in
thick white clouds, impenetrable to the sight--cold, clammy, terrifying
to a stranger.
"It is impossible," exclaimed the oarsman to our Finnish-speaking
friends; "I thought I could get you to _Muhos_ to-night, but until that
fog lifts we can go no farther, it is not safe. I can do no more. It
would mean death."
Here was a prospect. We had been eleven hours in the boat, for it was
now midnight. We had been grilled all day and burnt with the heat, and
now we were perished with wet from the wash of the waves, and cold from
the damp chill air. We could not lie on the ground--no fire would ignite
amid such soaking grass; what was to become of us we did not know.
We wanted experiences, and we had got them, more than we bargained for.
Who could have imagined such a day would turn to such a night? Who
indeed!
We all looked at each other, we all sighed. One suggested sitting as we
were all bolt upright, with the boat moored to some bank--others thought
a walk might prove an agreeable change--the wisest held their tongues,
thought much, and said little.
We were in the middle of the stream, when, without a word of
explanation, our steersman suddenly turned the bow of our frail bark
right across the water, and with one rush her nose hit the bank; our
speed was so great that we were all shaken from our seats, as the boat
bounded off again, but the pilot was an old experienced hand, and, by
some wondrous gymnastic feat, he got her side sufficiently near the bank
for our boy, with a rope in his hand, to spring upon _terra firma_ and
hold us fast, without shattering our bark completely to pieces with the
force of our sudden arrival.
"Is this fog usual?" we asked the pilot.
"No, very unusual, only after such intense heat as we have had to-day.
If I had not landed you at this spot and now, another yard would have
made doing so impossible, for this is the top of the _Pyhäkoski_ rapid,
the most dangerous of all, and it is thirteen miles long."
What a plight! Hungry, tired, miserable, cold, to be suddenly turned,
whether we wished it or not, out of our only refuge and home.
"Close by here," he continued, "is a peasant's house--you must go there
for some hours."
We looked; but the fog was so thick we could see nothing, therefore,
without a word of remonstrance, we followed our pilot, plodding through
grass soaked in moisture which reached to our knees, feeling very
chilled, wet, and weary, but all trying to keep stout hearts and turn
cheery faces to misfortune.
Yes, there--as if sent as a blessing from heaven--we saw a little house
peeping through the fog.
We went to the door; we knocked, we knocked again. No answer. We shook
the door; it was locked. We called; no one replied. We walked round the
house and tried the windows--all closed, securely closed. We knocked and
called louder than before. Still no answer.
What disappointment! The house was deserted. On the very eve of shelter
we were baffled. Was it not enough to fill our hearts with despair? We
could not go back, for we had nowhere to go; we could not sit on the
bank, for that fog brooded evil. Some one suggested bursting open the
door, for shelter we must have, and began rattling away with that
purpose, when, lo! a voice, an awful voice called "_Hulloa!_"
"It is haunted," exclaimed some one; "it is a ghost, or a spirit or
something. Do let us go away--what a horrible place."
"It is a phantom house," cried another, "this is not real--come,
come--come away."
But the voice again called "_Hulloa!_"
The sound seemed nearer, and looking round we saw a white apparition
standing in a darkened doorway on the other side of the garden, a figure
clad in white approached through the mist; it was very ghostly. Was it
hallucination, the result of exhausted minds and bodies, weak from want
of food, and perished with wet and cold, or was it--yes, it _was_--a
man.
We could have hugged that delightful Finn, our joy was so great at his
appearance, key in hand ready to open the door. He did so; a delicious
hot air rushed upon us--it seemed like entering a Turkish bath; but when
a second door was opened the heat became even more intense, for the
kitchen fire was still alight, and, as if sent as an extra blessing
from above, the coffee-pot was actually on the hob, filled and ready for
the peasants' early morning meal. Could anything be more
providential--warmth and succour--food, beds, and comfort!
Like savages we rushed upon the coffee-pot, blew the dying embers into
flame, took off our soaking shoes and stockings and placed them beside
the oven, pattering barefoot over the boards; we boiled milk, which was
standing near, and drank the warming, soothing beverage.
All this took time, and, while the others worked, the writer made a
hurried sketch by the daylight of midnight at the "Haven of Refuge," as
we christened our new abode.
The kitchen, or general living-room, was, typically Finnish. The large
oven stood on one side furnished with the usual stone stairs, up which
the family clamber in the winter months, in order that they may sleep on
the top of the fireplace, and thus secure warmth during the night.
On the other side we noticed a hand-loom with linen in it, which the
good housewife was weaving for her family. Before it was a wooden tub,
wherein flour for making brown bread was standing ready to be mixed on
the morrow; in front of it was a large wooden mortar, cut out of a solid
tree trunk.
The light was dim, for it was midnight, and, although perfectly clear
outside, the windows of the little gray house were so few and so small
that but little light could gain admittance.
This but added to the weirdness of the scene. It all seemed unreal--the
dim glow from the spluttering wood, freshly put on, the beautiful
shining copper coffee-pot, the dark obscurity on the top of the oven.
The low ceiling with its massive wooden beams, the table spread for the
early breakfast--or maybe the remnants of the evening meal--with a
beer-hen full of _Kalja_, a pot, rudely carved, filled with _piimää_ or
soured milk, and the salted fish so loved by the peasantry--there all
the necessaries and luxuries of Finnish humble life were well in
evidence.
The atmosphere was somewhat oppressive, for in those homesteads the
windows are never opened from year's end to year's end--indeed, most of
them won't open at all.
In a corner hung a _kantele_, the instrument to which the Finns sing
their famous songs as described. This romantic chamber, with its
picturesque peasant occupants and its artistic effect, merely wanted the
addition of the music of Finland to complete its charm, and the farmer
most kindly offered to play it for us.
In his white corduroy trousers, his coarse white shirt--the buttons of
which were unfastened at the throat--and the collar loosely turned back,
showing a bronzed chest, he looked like an operatic hero, the while he
sat before his instrument and sang some of those wondrous songs dear to
the heart of every Finn. He could hardly have been worthy of his land
had he failed to be musical, born and bred in a veritable garden of song
and sentiment, and the romance of our midnight arrival seemed to kindle
all the imagination in this man's nature. While he played the _kantele_,
and the pilot made coffee, the old wife was busying herself in preparing
for our meal, and we were much amused at her producing a key and opening
the door of a dear old bureau, from which she unearthed some wonderful
china mugs, each of which was tied up in a separate pocket-handkerchief.
They had various strange pictures upon them, representing scenes in
America, and it turned out that they had been brought home as a gift to
his parents by a son who had settled in the Far West.
We were indeed amazed when we were each handed a real silver spoon--not
tin or electro--but real silver, and very quaint they were too, for the
bowls were much bigger than the short handles themselves. These luxuries
were in keeping with the beautiful linen on the beds, made by the old
woman, and the wonderful white curtains in front of the windows, also
woven by the housewife, who had likewise crocheted the lace that
bordered them.
They had not those things because they were rich; for, on the contrary,
they were poor. Such are the ordinary Finnish farmers' possessions;
however small the homestead, linen and window curtains are generally to
be found. So many comforts, coupled with the bare simplicity of the
boards, the long benches for seats, and hard wooden chairs, did not lead
us to expect the comic tragedy to follow.
It was one A.M., and we were all feeling quite merry again, after our
warm coffee and milk, as we spread one of the rugs on the floor of the
kitchen for the gentlemen--the boatmen lying on the boards--and carried
our larger rug into the second room for the ladies, rolling our cloaks
up into pillows, for the heat from the oven was so great that we did not
want them. We lay down in our steaming clothes, which we dare not take
off, to snatch a few hours' sleep, until the fog should kindly lift and
enable us to get a couple of hours farther on our way to _Muhos_, from
which place the little "cataract steamer" was to start at seven A.M. for
_Uleåborg_.
"Good-night--not a word," the last caution added because every one
wanted to say how merciful it was that we had found such delightful
shelter, warmth, and even food.
Obediently we settled down and prepared to enjoy our much-needed rest. A
quarter of an hour passed; first one turned uneasily, and then another;
the first one sighed, and then the second; first one spoke, and then
another; first one rose and went to the window, and then another. Could
it be? No--yes--no! Oh the horror of it! the place was alive!
Only a quarter of an hour, yet we were bitten nearly to death, for we
had made the personal acquaintance of a species of pest too horrible to
name. It really was too much, we felt almost inclined to cry, the
situation was so terrible. We could not go outside, for malaria and ague
seemed imminent; we could not go on in our boat, for the rapids were
dangerous in fog, death-traps in fact--what, oh, what were we to do?
We heard movements in the kitchen. We called. The answer said "Come in,
certainly," and we entered to find our men's hair literally standing on
end as they stood, rug in hand, scanning the floor, over which a perfect
zoological garden was promenading as coolly as flies on a hot summer's
day over a kitchen ceiling--and we had no shoes or stockings on.
There were small red animals creeping sideways, there were little brown
animals hopping, there were huge fat round beasts whose death left an
unpleasant odour, there were crawling gray creatures, and every one was
an enormous specimen of its kind, and--yes, 'tis true--they were there
in millions.
It seems loathsome to write, but it was worse to see and feel, and one
must write it, for the would-be traveller among the peasant homes of
Finland ought to know what he may expect. Enchanting as the country is,
interesting and hospitable as are its peasantry, the Finns must learn
how to deal with such a curse, or no one will dare to enter any
dwelling, until the tourist club opens shelters everywhere and supplies
iron beds and good mattresses, and a capable woman to look after them
all and keep them clean. Even the enthusiastic fisherman could not stand
such bedfellows.
Six wooden chairs were placed in two rows in the small porch, and there
in the cold wet early morning air we sat as quietly as circumstances
would permit, for leaving the heated rooms did not mean leaving our
tormentors.
We drew our coats round our shivering forms, we blew upon our chilled
fingers to get up the circulation, we stared out at blank gray fog
thick with malaria and ague.
Now came a revelation. The occupants of this house never slept in it
during the hot weather. Why? Simply because they could not. Even they
themselves could not stand the vermin, and therefore, like many other
peasants of Finland, they lie in the hayloft in the summer months for
preference, and that was where our friend had come from to give us help
and succour, as we fondly believed, when he appeared like a benevolent
apparition in that darkened door-way.
During all our horrors the farmer slept.
"We must not tell the people of the house what has happened," said our
good-hearted student; "they would be most awfully offended, and there is
no knowing what they might do with defenceless travellers in such an
out-of-the-way spot."
"But we must pay them," I observed.
"Of course," agreed Grandpapa, "but we need not tell them that we have
sat up on these chairs surrounded by a carpet of hay all night."
"But they will know," I ventured to remark. "We cannot clear away all
this hay even if we move the chairs."
"I have it," said the student, after a long pause, during which we had
all sought an excuse to enable us to depart without hurting the farmer's
feelings, "I will tell them that we sat up here because the ladies
wanted to see the sunrise."
"Just so," we all assented, gazing abstractedly towards the _west_ at
the black wall of the opposite barn, which totally obstructed all view
of any kind, even if the fog had not made a sunrise an absolutely
ridiculous suggestion. But we were all so weak and worn out that if any
one had suggested the _sunset_ at three in the morning, we would still
have said, "Just so."
Luckily, one forgets the disagreeables of life unless they have an
amusing side as this had.
Pleasant memories linger.
First one of us got up and went to see if there was the slightest chance
of the mist clearing--another peeped at a little baby calf standing
alone in a shed, where it nearly had a fit with fright at the unexpected
sight of visitors--another walked round the house to see if the mist was
clearing on the opposite side, and then all sat down dejectedly in a row
again on those hard wooden seats. At last, when it was really time to
leave, with an effort of will we made up our mind to go back to the
bedroom to fetch an umbrella and a hat which had been left behind. It
was lighter now, and as we stooped to pick up the umbrella, that had
fallen upon the ground, we started back in horror, for a perfect colony
of every conceivably sized and shaped crawling beast was walking over
the floor. Gathering up our skirts we flew with winged feet from that
haunted chamber, but not before we had seized upon the hat, which had
lain upon the table, and out of which hopped and crawled
enormous--well--we left that house as noiselessly as we had come, left
it surrounded in fog, without waking a soul, after putting the money
upon the table in payment for our night's lodging. We left, glad to
shake its dust and its _etceteras_ from our feet; but it will ever
remain in our minds as a bad dream, a dream of another world, the world
of insect land, into the mysteries of which we never wish to peep again.
The most wonderful bit of our journey was yet to come. The waves were
too short and jumpy for the waves of the sea, and the boat too fragile
for a sea boat, yet we did not even gasp now, we had got so accustomed
to drenchings, and our nerves were steadier, if over-wrought, as we
danced and plunged over these waters.
For some four or five miles the _Pyhäkoski_ rapid is narrower than those
higher up the river, and sheer rocks rise straight from the water's edge
and pine-trees skirt these on either side, literally growing out of the
boulders without any apparent roots. It is a grand and wonderful passage
waterway: and one the return boats cannot manage at all, there being no
towing path, so that the oarsmen have to put their boats on carts and
drive them across the land. This is not an easy job, because the length
and fragility of the boats mean risk of breaking their backs. Great care
is therefore required.
The mist disappeared as the sun rose, and the birds began to sing gaily
as we skipped and jumped over the seething waters, till at last we saw
before us a solid wall of high steep rock, rising perpendicularly
seventy or eighty feet from the water. Our steersman made straight for
its hard cold base, round which whirled a roaring cataract. Surely this
time death stared us in the face. Had he gone to sleep or lost his
senses, or was he paralysed with fatigue?
On, on, on we went; we glanced round anxiously to see what had happened
to the man. He sat motionless, his eyes staring wildly before him,
looking hardly human. Our hearts seemed positively to stand still as the
boat's bow got within eight or nine feet of that massive wall, going
straight for it, at a pace no one could believe who has not visited the
spot and felt the horror of it.
We seemed on the very brink of eternity, gazing into the unknown, and as
the drowning man reviews his whole life in a second, we in like manner
saw our past, and peered into the future.
Our paralysing fear was fleeting; another moment and our boat's head
flew to the left, our craft quivered all over, and then head first down
the rapid she plunged into the swirling pool, with a feeling as if she
were going up on the other side of the dancing waves.
The danger was past, and our steersman's recently grim face assumed a
look of happy content.
This rock, be it explained, is the most dangerous point between Russia
and the Gulf of Bothnia; many and many a tar-boat has been shattered and
lives lost at this spot, as it stands at a corner of a sharp turn of the
cataract, and a regular whirlpool is always seething at its base--the
water forming a fall of two or three feet--swirling round and going up
again like a sort of wave. There is only one possible way to pass in
safety, and that is to take the boat right up to the rock and turn, when
almost too late, with such dexterity that the boat descends on the
falling wave at so wild a pace that she crosses the whirlpool too
quickly to be sucked under, and then bounds away safely on the opposite
breaker.
It was horrible--but it was grand.
We sat still and silent.