SALMON--ULEÅBORG
To say we were tired hardly describes the situation. We were absolutely
exhausted. So exhausted, in fact, were we, after our late experiences,
that when--twenty-eight hours after leaving _Kajana_, twenty-eight hours
of constant strain--we got into the little steamer at _Muhos_ which was
to convey us the last part of our journey to _Uleåborg_, we were
literally worn out. This steamer plied to and fro on a wide stretch of
the famous _Uleå_ river, where the stream was quick and yet not a
cataract. It was only a little vessel, without a cabin of any kind, and
with hard uninviting wooden benches running along its stern end for the
accommodation of passengers. We went on board before she started, and,
feeling that we at last had a chance to rest, lay down all six
speechless on the floor or the benches of the little boat, our heads
supported merely by a rug or a travelling bag, and apparently fell
asleep at once, for when we woke it was to find that a dozen peasants
had assembled on board, all of whom were eagerly discussing us and
staring at the sight of six exhausted strangers, whom report told them
had descended the famous rapids the previous night with considerable
danger. Even that short sleep refreshed us somewhat, and, but for the
discomforts we had brought away with us from the hideous little gray
house, we might have dreamed on for hours.
Oh, how glad we felt as our little droschkies drew up in front of the
grand-looking stone hotel at _Uleåborg_, which proved as uncomfortable
inside as it was magnificent in appearance outside.
Having secured our rooms, out we all sailed with our little bundles of
clean clothes packed under our arms, and as quickly as possible made our
way to the public bath-houses, feeling that it would require all the
bath-women in Finland to make us clean again.
If ever self-control in this world had been required, it had been called
upon when we endeavoured, during the last hours of that horrible
journey, to sit still and smile, and try and look comfortable.
Lapland! When we had talked of Lapland, kind friends had looked
surprised, and in subdued tones and hushed whispers asked us if we knew
what Lapland in the summer meant?
"There are many inhabitants in a Lap's hut," they said, "and although in
the winter such things are kept in subjection by the cold, we should
never dream of crossing over the border into Lapland in the summer
time."
We had laughed their fears to scorn, and remained determined to pursue
our way towards the Tundras and the land of the Samoyads, but our
friends were right and we were wrong. Now, after our recent experiences,
we decided, with one accord, that wild horses and millions of golden
pounds could not drag us through Lapland in summer, knowing the sort of
horrors we should have to encounter, and which we had already endured to
such an extent that we felt degraded, mentally, morally, and physically.
A mosquito bite is perhaps the most hurtful of all. There is poison in
it, and that means pain; but these other things, although not so
harmful, are so loathsomely filthy that one feels ashamed to be one's
self, and to hate one's own very existence.
Surely there can be no inhabited house duty in Finland, or the State
would indeed be rich.
The _Uleåborg_ salmon is among the most famous in the world. Seeing the
fish caught is very interesting, especially when the _take_ happens to
be about two hundred. The _Uleå_ river is wide, and for a hundred or
more miles up its course are the famous rapids, which we had been
fortunate enough to descend alive, as described in the last chapter. How
the salmon manage to swim against such a force of water must ever remain
a marvel; but they do, and the fishing near _Waala_ and various other
stretches is excellent. In the winter months all but the waterfalls--and
even some of them--are frozen solid; it is during these spells of cold
that trees are thrown on to the ice to be conveyed, free of charge, to
_Uleåborg_ on the rushing waters of spring. Not dozens, but thousands
and tens of thousands of trees are carried by such means down to the
coast. This goes on until the 10th of June, and, therefore, it is not
until then that the salmon piers, with their nets, can be put up.
Accordingly, every year on that day in June sixty men start work
at _Uleåborg_, and in eight days erect two barriers, about three
hundred yards apart, each crossing the entire stream, except for one
spot left clear for the boats to pass through. These piers are very
simple, and one wonders that such fragile erections can withstand the
immense rush. Wooden staves are driven into the ground with great
difficulty, planks are laid upon them, and then large stones are piled
up which keep all steady, the whole thing being bound together by rope
made of birch-tree branches.
On either side of the barrier are the nets, perhaps a hundred
altogether, or twenty-five a side on each of the pier erections. They
resemble nets on the Thames or anywhere else, except that they are much
larger, being intended to catch big fish.
We were so fascinated the first time we went to see the salmon caught,
that we returned the second day to watch the performance again. We
little dreamed that our curiosity in their fishing was exciting equal
interest in the _Uleåborg_ folk. Such, however, was the case, as a
notice afterwards appeared in the paper to say that the English women
had been twice to look at the salmon-catching, had appeared much
interested in what they saw, and had asked many questions. It was a good
thing we were not up to any mischief, as the Finnish press was so fond
of chronicling all our doings.
At five o'clock every morning and evening, the nets are lifted, and, as
a rule, about a hundred fish are taken each time, although we were
fortunate enough to see a catch of nearly twice that number. Some of
them were little--weighing only two or three pounds--but the average
appeared to be about twenty pounds, while one or two of the salmon
turned the scale at forty.
About a dozen men assembled on the bank, all smoking their everlasting
pipes, some who had been lying asleep on the grass being roused from
their slumbers, for it was five in the afternoon and time for them to
start on their "catch." Each wooden pier was to be tackled by half a
dozen men in a tar-boat, and, as we were particularly anxious to see
this done, I persuaded one of the men to let me join his party, which he
only allowed me to do after I had faithfully promised to sit perfectly
still. I have described what cockly things these tar-boats are, even
filled with their barrels or luggage for ballast, but when perfectly
empty, as they always are when they go to fetch the salmon except for
the weight of half a dozen men, it is a perfect marvel they do not
upset. They are not so long, however, as those used for the rapids,
although they are pointed the same at both ends, and the planks are
equally wide and thin and as quaintly tied together. Off I went to the
farthest end of one of these long wooden vessels; the boat was punted to
the desired spot, the water apparently not being very deep at that
point, and, having brought their craft up sideways against the wooden
erection with its nets, the men who had run along the top of the pier--a
somewhat dangerous proceeding--drew the net sluices up one by one so
that the men in our boat might get at the salmon, while one of her crew,
with a long stick and a hook at the end, pulled the net from the bed of
the river. It was most awfully exciting; sometimes the meshes would come
up with half a dozen fish in them, sometimes disappointment awaited the
fishermen, for they got nothing. But what struck me as particularly
strange was the fact that half the salmon were dead and half were alive;
apparently the dead ones had been in the net some hours (more than
twelve was impossible as the nets had been taken up at five A.M.). Two
or three hours' captivity, however, with such a tremendous weight of
water passing over them was enough to knock the life out of any fish. It
was a trying moment when a monster salmon, struggling frantically, was
pulled half into our boat; but the men cleverly speared them or knocked
them on the head with a large mallet, which killed them instantly. Ere
half an hour elapsed we had emptied all the nets along our pier, and
with the boat well filled with beautiful shining fish, we returned to
the little landing-stage from which we originally started.
As those fish--nearly two hundred in number--lay on that small wooden
pier they made a mighty show, and it seemed wonderful to consider that
seventy or eighty salmon had been taken at the same spot only a few
hours previously, while one hundred and twenty-five miles farther up the
river something between fifty and a hundred are netted daily.
Everything was managed in the most business-like fashion, and with great
cleanliness. Two men, one on either side of the pier, sat on tubs turned
upside down and, each with a knife in his hand, proceeded to clean the
fish. They cut its throat, and, with the most marvellous rapidity,
cleansed it, the mysteries from the interior being put aside for sale to
the poor; then another man came forward and, picking up the fish thus
prepared, washed it most carefully in the stream. In a very short space
of time the whole catch of salmon were lying cleaned and washed upon the
dripping pier. They were then put on trucks or wheelbarrows and rolled
up to the ice-house. Here all the fish were accurately weighed, the
number of kilos. being entered in a ledger, and, after sorting out the
large from the small, they were packed into ice in enormous wooden tubs,
and within a couple of hours most of them were on their way to St.
Petersburg.
The net fishing ends during the last days of August, when the nets and
the piers have to be taken away and packed up carefully for the
following summer's use.
It was at this salmon ground that my sister and I were much amused at
two little incidents.
We were sitting on a wooden bench, waiting till all should be ready,
when one of the fishermen came and stood before us. He was smoking and
his hands were in his pockets as he paused within a few feet of us in a
most leisurely manner. He did not do so rudely, although perhaps
somewhat awkwardly. As he was evidently a Finlander we felt unable to
converse with the gentleman, and therefore merely smiled.
"You speak English?" he said in that language.
"Certainly," we replied, somewhat taken aback.
"So do I," he rejoined.
As he was a poor-looking person, with tattered clothing and a Finnish
countenance, we were somewhat amazed, and we asked if he were a
Scotchman, that type more closely resembling the Finn than the Saxon
race.
"No," he replied, "I am a Finn, but was a sailor for years, and I have
been over to America as an emigrant."
"You speak English wonderfully well," we answered, really surprised at
the purity of the man's accent.
"Yes," he said, "I was several years in America, where I lost all the
money I had made at sea. It took me a long time to collect enough to
come home again, but I have just come back, and if not richer, anyway I
hope I'm wiser." And he thereupon began to explain the advantages and
disadvantages of emigration.
Imagine in the far North, almost on the borders of Lapland, being
addressed in our own tongue by a man in rags. We were astonished; yet
all over Finland one meets with sailors who speak the King's English,
and in _Uleåborg_ we were struck with the fact on two other
occasions--the first being when the man at the helm of a small penny
steamer addressed us, and the second when a blue-coated policeman
entered into conversation.
This shows how universal our clumsy grammarless language is becoming.
But still, although English is the language of commerce, and with
English one can travel all over the world, better than with any other
tongue, the only way really to enjoy and appreciate voyaging in foreign
lands is either to speak the language of the people, or, if that cannot
be managed, to have some one always at hand capable and willing to
translate.
Knowledge of the language of a country is a golden key to enjoyment.
As we left the salmon ground a lady, who had apparently been watching
the proceedings from afar, desiring to know more of such strange beings
as the "two English ladies," advanced, and, on the trifling pretext of
asking if we had lost our way, addressed us in excellent French.
We thanked her, and replied we had been for several days in _Uleåborg_
and knew our way quite well; but she was not to be baffled--she came to
have a talk and she meant to have it--therefore she walked beside us the
whole way back to the hotel, giving us little bits of information,
though much more inclined to ask us questions than to answer those to
which we were really in need of replies.
Will any one deny that the Finlander is inquisitive? Perhaps the reader
will be inquisitive too when he learns that unintentionally we made a
match. Nevertheless, the statement is quite true. We, most innocent and
unoffending--we, who abhor interference in all matrimonial affairs--we,
without design or intent, made a match.
It came about in this way.
By mere chance I chaperoned a charming and delightful girl down the Gulf
of Bothnia. Her coming with us was only decided upon during the last
five minutes of our stay, and her clothes were positively repacked on
the platform of the station to enable her to do so at all.
We had been given introductions to a delightful Baron at one of the
towns _en route_ to _Hangö_, and having arrived at our destination, and
not being masters of the language, we asked our maiden fair to kindly
telephone in her own language and acquaint the Baron with the fact of
our arrival. She did so; they were strangers, and each heard the other's
dulcet tones for the first time through the mechanical mysteries of the
telephone. The Baron joined us an hour later, he invited us to dinner,
he escorted us about, he drove us to a park, he sat beside us in the
evening while we drank coffee and admired the view. He came to see us
off the following day, he gave us books and flowers as a parting gift,
and we left.
Pangs of remorse fill my soul as I write these lines. For the
twenty-four hours we remained in that town I monopolised this delightful
Baron. I plied him with questions, I insisted on his showing me
everything there was to be seen of interest, and telling me many things
I wished to know about his country, and, with regret, truth compels me
to repeat, that, so dense were my powers of perception, I monopolised
him almost entirely, while he must have been longing to be alone with
the girl he had fallen in love with at first sight--or at first hearing.
We left Finland shortly after this, but had hardly reached our native
shore before a letter from the charming girl arrived, in which she said,
"Fancy, the Baron turned up here the other day, and the day after his
arrival he proposed, I accepted him, and we shall be married by the end
of the month."
Comment is needless. Romance will have its sway in spite of dense
Englishwomen and stupid writers, who do not see what is going on under
their noses, in their search for less interesting information elsewhere.
From romance to reality is but a span, and fishermen, and their name is
legion, may be glad to learn a little about the fishing in Finland, and
that the best rivers lie in the governor's province of _Wiborg_. There
are lake salmon, trout, and grayling; minnows and sand-eels are
specially favoured as bait.
In the Government district of _St. Michael_ excellent sport is also to
be found, especially _Salmo eriox_ and trout. Dead bait is chiefly used.
But a large stretch of this water is rented by the _Kalkis fisk Klubb_.
In the district of _Kuopio_ permission to fish may be obtained from
Henriksson, the manager of a large ironwork at _Warkaus_ and _Konnus_.
Silk bait and Devon minnows prove most useful.
In the province of _Uleåborg_ salmon of every kind can be caught at
_Waala_, where there is a charge of ten marks (eight shillings) for the
season. There are also trout and grayling, and the ordinary English
flies and minnows are the best bait, Jock Scott, Dry Doctor, Zulu, and
shrimp being great favourites. Sportsmen can put up at _Lannimalio_, or
_Poukamo_, at the peasants' small farms; but information is readily
given by the English Consul at _Uleåborg_, who, although a Finlander,
knows English well.
At the town of _Kajana_ two marks a day is charged for trout and
grayling fishing, but in the adjacent rivers, _Hyrynsalmi_ and
_Kuusamo_, the fishing is free.
On the borders of Russia, at _Kem_, the best grayling fishing perhaps in
the world is to be found.
The sport generally begins on the 1st April, and ends at _Waala_ on 15th
September, and at _Kajana_ a few days later.
Practically all the fishing is free, and when not so, the charge is
merely nominal. Near _Waala_ salmon up to 50 lbs., grayling 5½ lbs.,
or trout 18 lbs. are not uncommon.
There is no netting except at two points on the _Uleå_ river, and there
is a great move nowadays to take the nets off from Saturday to Monday to
let the fish free.
_Herman Renfors_ was then the best fisherman in Finland. He told us that
during five days, in September 1885,--things are not nearly so good as
this nowadays--he caught the following:--
Sept. 9. 18 Grayling weighing 19 lbs.
8 Salmon, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 9, 24, 31 = 93 "
-------- 112 lbs.
" 10. 18 Grayling weighing 21 lbs.
7 Salmon, 4, 5, 6, 16, 27, 30, 40 = 128 "
-------- 149 lbs.
" 11. 18 Grayling weighing 16 lbs.
5 Salmon, 7, 18, 26, 36, 52 = 139 "
-------- 155 lbs.
" 12. 6 Grayling weighing 6 lbs.
8 Salmon, 5, 5, 6, 7, 14, 29, 30, 43 = 139 "
-------- 145 lbs.
" 13. 6 Grayling weighing 6 lbs.
6 Salmon, 4, 2, 5, 31, 32, 33 = 107 "
-------- 113 lbs.
Total in five days 674 lbs.
========
Verily a record. His sister made his flies; and the salmon which weighed
52 lbs. he got with a salmon-spoon of his own make. He uses a
spinning-rod 11 feet long, or a fly-rod 14 feet long. We saw him fishing
in the famous rapids, and never shall we forget the dexterity of his
throw, or the art of his "play." He once caught 1600 lbs. of fish in
three weeks. Masters of the piscatorial art, does not envy enter your
souls?
But this is digression, and our narrative demands that we proceed to
tell how a twopenny fare in a little steamboat from _Uleåborg_ brought
us to the tar stores. On a Finnish steamboat one often requires change,
so much paper money being in use, and the plan for procuring it is
somewhat original. In neat little paper bags change for half a mark or a
whole mark is securely fastened down, the colour of the bag indicating
the amount of money it contains, therefore there can be no cheating. If
one wants a mark changed the ticket-collector immediately produces a
little sealed envelope containing a mark in pence, and having opened it
one pays him whatever may be due.
From fifty thousand to seventy thousand barrels of tar are deposited
every summer by the boats which shoot the _Uleå_ rapids upon the quay
near the town. What a sight! There they were piled two and three high
like pipes of wine in the great London vaults, but in this case the
barrels were not under cover, but simply lay on a quay that was railed
in. Every barrel had to be tested before final shipment, and when we
arrived a man was going round for this purpose trying each cask after
the bung had been extracted. He wore high boots, and carried his
ink-bottle in his boot leg as the London brewer carries his ink in his
coat pocket. Then a helper, who followed behind, thumped in the bung
while the foreman made his notes in a book, and in a few minutes a man
or a woman came and rolled the barrel away. Those employed in the task
wore strong leather gloves with no fingers--only a thumb, and so tarred
they were absolutely hard, as also their boots from walking over the
tarry ground. And yet all the faces were beautifully clean, and the
clothes almost spotless.
The ground at these stores is literally sodden with tar, though here and
there little drains are cut in order to collect it; the air being
permeated by its wholesome smell.
Fancy if such a quay caught fire. Fancy those thousands of barrels in
flames--and yet a famous admiral once set fire to this very tar store in
the name of England; a little act of destruction that Finland has never
quite forgiven Great Britain.
After spending some days in _Uleåborg_, it became necessary to make a
forward movement--not towards Lapland, as originally intended, for that
had been vetoed as impossible in summer. We were still hundreds, we
might almost say thousands, of miles from home, when we arranged to
leave our pleasant quarters on the following afternoon for _Hangö_.
What a truly national experience! First of all, the Petersburg steamer,
by which we were to travel, though announced to start at three P.M.,
never left its moorings till 4.40. Only one hour and forty minutes late,
but that was a mere trifle to a Finn. The cargo was taken on board up to
the very last minute--eighteen enormous barrels of salmon (twice or
thrice the size of eighteen-gallon casks of beer), five hundred rolls of
leather, which, having come as raw skins from America, had been dressed
in _Uleåborg_, ready for _Riga_, whither the consignment was bound, also
a hundred big baskets, made of the plaited bark so common in Finland,
filled with glue, likewise the product of a leather factory.
One thing amazed us immensely; viz. that our steamer was allowed to lie
almost alongside of the tar stores we had so lately visited. With the
aid of only one single spark from her chimney all those barrels would
quickly be ablaze. However, the genial English-speaking captain, as well
as the British Consul who had come to see us off, set our minds at rest
by explaining that the steamer only burnt coal, no wood-burning boat
being allowed near the tar--the coal making few sparks and wood many.
Fancy, coal! we had not seen or heard of coal for weeks; all the trains,
the houses, and the steamboats, burn wood only, except the large ships
that go right out to sea, and they could not burn wood, because of its
bulk, unless they dragged a dozen barges behind them to give a
continuous supply on the voyage.
Another Finnish scene was being enacted around us. About a dozen
emigrants were leaving their native land by way of _Hangö_, where they
were to change steamers for England, and pass thence to America. They
had paid seven or eight pounds each for their passage money, and were
going off to seek their fortunes in a new world--going to a strange
country, speaking another tongue than their own, going away from all
they had on earth, from friends, relations, associations, going full of
hope, perchance to fail! Some years later, when I was in the States, I
learned what excellent emigrants these Finlanders make, and how
successful they generally become, but they looked so sad that day that
our hearts ached for them as they sat on their little boxes and bundles
on the quays, among the sixty or seventy friends who had come to see
them off. The bell rang; no one moved. It rang again, when each said to
the other _Hyvästi_ (good-bye), and with a jaunty shake of the hand all
round, the emigrants marched on board, and our ship steamed away,
without a wet eye or a smothered sob.
Will nothing move these people? Is it that they hide their feelings, or
is it that they have none to conceal?
The stoicism of the Finn is one of his strongest characteristics.
As we passed out of the harbour our thoughts recurred to heart-breaking
farewells on board P. and O. and Orient steamers, where the partings are
generally only for a few years, and the voyagers are going to lands
speaking their own language and to appointments ready waiting for them.
How strange is the emigrant, and how far more enigmatical the Finn.
Our steamer _Åbo_ was delightful, quite the most comfortable we chanced
on in Finland; the captain, a charming man, fortunately spoke excellent
English, although over the cabin door was written a grand specimen of a
Swedish word--_Aktersalongspassagerare_, meaning first-class passenger
saloon.
Although the _Åbo_ plied from _Uleåborg_ to Petersburg, and was a large
passenger steamer, she stopped at many places for two or three hours at
a time, in order to take in passengers and cargo, while we lay-to at
night because of the dangers of the coast, and waited half a day at
_Wasa_, one of the most important towns in Finland. The train journey
from _Uleåborg_ to _Åbo_ occupies thirty hours, while the steamer
dawdles placidly over the same distance for three days and a half.
Have you ever travelled with a melon? If not, you have lost a delightful
experience--please try. At one of the many halting-places on our way to
_Hangö_, we were wandering through the streets on a very hot day, when
in a shop window some beautiful melons attracted our attention.
"Oh!" exclaimed my sister, "we must have one, how cool and refreshing
they look."
"What shall we do with it?" I asked.
"Send it down to the steamer," was her reply, "it will be so nice on
board."
We accordingly went in, bought the melon with the help of our best
Swedish, for here, being opposite Sweden, that language was still in
vogue; we explained it was to go to the _ångbåtshytt_ (cabin) number
ten, and left cheerfully.
We returned to our steamer home; while leaving the harbour we remained
on deck, and it was not until late in the evening, when the ship began
to roll considerably, that we went below. At the head of the cabin
stairs a most extraordinary odour greeted our senses; as we neared our
cabin the smell increased; when we opened the door we were nearly
knocked down by the terrible scent of the melon which had looked so
charming in the shop window. Though very hot all day, as the weather had
been decidedly rough for some hours, the port-hole was closed, therefore
the melon had thoroughly scented the queer little cabin.
"This is impossible," I exclaimed. "I never smelt anything so
overpowering in my life, except a cod-liver oil factory in Iceland. We
cannot sleep in such an atmosphere."
My sister looked crestfallen.
"It is rather strong," said she pensively; "shall we put it outside?"
"No," I replied, "if we, who bought it, cannot endure the smell, how are
the wretched occupants on the other side to put up with such an
inconvenience?"
"Then we must eat it," she remarked with conviction, and, undoing the
paper and cutting a slice, she proceeded solemnly to devour that melon.
Strangely enough, in spite of its overpowering odour, the fruit tasted
delicious, for, be it owned, I ate some too, and when we had enjoyed our
feast we opened the port-hole and threw its rind into a watery grave. We
had not been long in bed before we heard a great commotion outside--an
appeal to the stewardess, then angry words, and at last a regular row.
Dare we own the cause? _It was our melon!_
No one knew it was our melon, but half awake, holding on to keep in our
bunks at all, we lay and listened to the angry discussion, feeling it
could serve no good purpose if we got up to confess a dead and buried
sin. Nevertheless, that melon lay long on our consciences. We will never
voluntarily travel with one again.
We did not fall asleep till we had pulled up for the night. As we lay we
reviewed our past experiences, and thought over the towns of _Suomi_.
_Uleåborg_, which we had just left, is perhaps the most northerly town
of any importance in Europe, and, after _Helsingfors_, it is the most
imposing in Finland. _Wiborg_, which from its position is on the high
road to Russia, ought to be handsome also and have good stone buildings,
but it is not handsome, and has few good buildings. _Willmanstrand_ is
merely a collection of small wooden houses, some barracks, and
numberless tents for camping out. _Nyslott_ is scattered, and of no
importance were it not for its Castle and its new bath-house. _Kuopio_
is perhaps the most picturesquely situated inland town in Finland, and
the view from _Puijo_, a hill of some height behind the township, is
really good on a fine night. It is extensive, and gives a wonderful idea
of the lakes and islands, rivers and forests of which Finland is
composed. _Iisalmi_ is nothing--hardly possesses an hotel, in fact--and
_Kajana_ not much better, although the rapids make it of great interest.
_Sordavala_, as a town, is simple, neither beautifully situated nor
interesting, except as a centre of learning, for it possesses wonderful
schools for men and women. _Tammerfors_ may be called the Manchester of
Finland; but the towns are really hardly worth mentioning as towns,
being all built of wood and utterly lacking historical interest. The
towns are the weak part of Finland.
The water-ways are the amazement of every traveller; the people most
interesting. That both have a charm, and a very distinct charm, cannot
be denied, and therefore Finland is a country well worth visiting. For
the fisherman there is splendid sport. For the gun there is much game,
and in some parts both are free. To the swimmer there are endless spots
to bathe; in a canoe the country can be traversed from end to end. For
the botanist there are many interesting and even arctic flowers. For the
artist there are almost unequalled sunsets and sky effects. For the
pedestrian there are fairly good roads,--but for the fashionable tourist
who likes Paris, London, or Rome, there is absolutely no attraction, and
a Saratoga trunk could not find lodging. There are a few trains and many
boats in parts, but, once away from these, the traveller must rough it
in every sense; leave all but absolutely necessary luggage behind, and
keep that well within bounds; and prepare to live on peasant's fare,
such as fish, milk, coffee, eggs, black bread and butter (all of which
are excellent). He must never be in a hurry, must go good-naturedly and
cheerfully to work, and, above all, possess a strong constitution that
can endure eight or ten hours' jolting a day in carts without springs.
Such travelling is the only way to see the country, and learn the habits
and customs of the people, the _Karelen_ and _Savolax_ districts being
especially worth visiting by any one who has such objects in view.
At length we dropped off to sleep, feeling our visit had been well worth
the little inconveniences we laughed away. Finland is much to be
preferred for a holiday than many better-known countries.
At different little towns along the Gulf of Bothnia the steamer stopped
in answer to a "call," and some passenger clambered on board from a
small boat, which mode of proceeding reminded us of the ships that go
round Oban and Mull and such Scotch ports, where the same sort of thing
goes on, the letters being dropped by the vessel as she passes.
At _Jacobstad_, our first real halting-place, we stayed six hours to
take on board many barrels of tar made in the neighbourhood, chicory,
etc. Beside our boat, two large steamers (German and English) were being
laden with wood. Britain was taking some thousands of solid staves,
about five feet long, for the coal-pits at home, where they are used as
supports. Germany's importation was planks, probably for building
purposes. Women were doing all the work; they were pushing truck-loads
along a railway line, lifting the staves one by one on to a primitive
sort of truck-like arrangement that could be dragged on board by the
crane, and heavy work it appeared, although they did not seem to mind
much. The English boat was already full, but the wood was being stacked
up on the deck as high as the bridge. As she was a steamer, it seemed
hardly profitable to burn coal to convey wood to Britain! All round the
harbour, if we can give it such a name, were rafts still in the water,
or stacks of wood in a more advanced condition ready for export. The
rafts were being taken to pieces now they had reached the coast; men
standing to their waists in water loosened the ties, while horses pulled
the pine-tree trunks on shore. Finns have no time to idle in the summer,
for it is during those four or five months that everything must be done,
and sufficient money earned to keep them for the rest of the year.
Luckily the days are long, and certainly the peasantry take advantage of
the light, for they seem to work hard for eighteen or twenty hours at a
stretch.
_Wasa_ is celebrated for its beautiful girls; and remembering that
during eight or nine weeks in Finland we had seen no pretty peasants,
and only about as many good-looking girls of the better class as could
be counted on the fingers of both hands, full of pleasant anticipation
we went on shore to see these beauteous maids--and--there were none. The
town was deserted, every one had gone away to their island or country
homes, and no doubt taken the pretty girls with them. At all events they
had left _Wasa_, which, to our surprise, was lined by boulevards of
trees, quite green and picturesque, stone houses here and there, and an
occasional villa; and if we did not find lovely females, we saw many
with tidy heads, an adjunct as important to a woman as a well-shaved
chin to a man. _Wasa_ was one of the nicest-looking towns of Finland.
Every one in it spoke Swedish. For weeks we had been travelling through
parts of the country where Finnish was the only tongue, but here we were
in another atmosphere. Soon after leaving _Uleåborg_ we found the
peasants speaking Swedish. In winter they can walk over the Gulf of
Bothnia to Sweden, so it is hardly to be wondered at that they preserve
their old language. It is the same all the way down the coast to
_Helsingfors_. Of course we went to the baths at _Wasa_; we always did
everywhere. There are no baths in hotels or on board ships, but each
town has its warm baths, and its swimming-baths railed off on the
water-side, and there are regular attendants everywhere.
Lo! in the swimming-bath two mermaids played and frolicked when we
entered, and, let us own at once, they were two very beautiful girls--so
beautiful, in fact, that we feel we ought to retract our remarks anent
the lack of loveliness in the female sex. Somewhat hungry after our dip
we went to the café--and to another surprise. The girl behind the
counter was lovely. Well--well--here was the third beauty in one day,
and all hidden from masculine gaze, for two had been at the ladies'
swimming-bath, and the third was in a café for ladies only. Poor men of
Finland, how much you have missed!
We asked for rolls and butter and jam, with a cup of coffee, as we were
not dining till 3.30. The lovely maid opened her eyes wide.
An endless source of amusement to the natives was the Englishwomen
eating jam. Although they have so many wonderful berries in Finland, and
make them into the most luscious preserves, they eat the sweetened ones
as pudding and the unsweetened with meat, but such a thing as eating
_Hjortron_ on bread and butter was considered too utterly funny an idea.
At the little café at _Wasa_ the brilliant notion seized us of having
white bread, butter, and _Hjortron_ preserve. Our kind Finnish friend
gave the order, and the pretty girl repeated--
"_Hjortron?_ But there is no meat."
"We don't want any meat; but the ladies would like some jam with their
coffee."
"Then shall I bring you cream to eat it as pudding?" she asked, still
more amazed.
"No," was the reply, "they will eat it spread on bread and butter."
"What! _Hjortron_ on bread and butter!" the waitress exclaimed.
"Impossible!"
And to her mind the combination was as incongruous as preserves eaten
with meat would be to the ordinary English peasant, or as our mint sauce
served with lamb seems to a foreigner, who also looks upon our rhubarb
tart as a dose of medicine.
Another thing that surprised the folk was that we always wanted salt. It
is really remarkable how seldom a Finlander touches it at all; indeed,
they will sit down and calmly eat an egg without even a grain of salt.
Perhaps there is something in the climate that makes it less necessary
for them than other folk, because we know that in the interior of some
parts of Africa, the craving for salt is so dreadful that a native will
willingly give the same weight in gold for its equivalent in salt.
We stopped at _Åbo_, the ancient capital of Finland, justly proud of its
stone cathedral. Two things struck us as extraordinary in this building.
The first were long words painted on several of the pews--"_För
Nattvardsgäster Rippiwäkä warten_," which, being translated into
English, notified "For those who were waiting for the communion."
The second thing was a mummy, almost as old as the cathedral itself,
which was begun in the year 1258 by Bishop Heinrich. Stay, yet a third
thing caught our attention--the Scotch names on the monuments, the
descendants of which people still live in Finland. Many Scotch settled
in _Suomi_ centuries ago, and England has the proud honour of having
sent over the first Protestant bishop to Finland.
We saw marvellous mummies--all once living members of some of the oldest
families in Finland; there they lie in wondrous caverns in the crypt,
but as formerly tourists were wicked enough to tear off fingers and so
forth in remembrance of these folks, they are now no longer shown.
However, that delightful gentleman, the Head of the Police, who escorted
us about _Åbo_, had the mysterious iron trapdoor in the floor uplifted,
and down some steep steps--almost ladder-like, with queer guttering
tallow dips in our hands--we stumbled into the mummies' vault. The
mummies themselves were not beautiful. The whole figure was there, it is
true, but shrivelled and blackened by age. The coffins or sarcophagi in
which they lay were in many cases of exquisite workmanship.
We cannot dwell on the history of the cathedral, which has played such
an important part in the religious controversies of the country, any
more than we may linger among the mummies and general sights of the
respective towns, because this in no way purposes to be a guide-book.
All information of that kind is excellently given in Dr. August Ramsay's
admirable little guide to his own land, which has been translated into
several languages. For the same reason we must pass over the interesting
castle--not nearly so delightful though as our dear old haunted pile at
_Nyslott_--with its valuable collection of national curiosities, among
which figures an old-fashioned flail, used until comparatively modern
times, to beat the devil out of the church.
It was at _Åbo_ we were introduced to one of the greatest delicacies of
Finland.
Crayfish, for which the Finnish word is _rapu_, appear to be found in
nearly all the lakes and rivers in the south and middle of Finland. Oh,
how we loved those crayfish. There is a close season for them which
lasts from the 1st of May until the 15th of July, but immediately after
the latter date they are caught by the tens of thousands and sent in
large consignments to St. Petersburg, Stockholm, and even Berlin.
Catching these little crayfish is not only a profession, but also a
great source of amusement to young and old among the better class.
At night, or the early morning, is the best time for the sport. A man
takes ten or more sticks, to the end of each of which he fastens a piece
of string about thirty to fifty centimetres long. To this string he
secures a piece of meat, which, be it owned, is considered by the little
fish a more dainty morsel when slightly tainted. These sticks he fixes
to the bank or holds in his hands, so that the piece of meat is below
the surface of the water. Having secured what may be called all his
fishing-rods safely at a certain distance, he wanders along the banks
observing carefully where a crayfish is hanging on to a piece of meat by
its claws. When such is the case he quickly gets hold of a landing-net,
and placing it under its little black shell lifts the animal out of the
water. Then he goes to the next stick, and generally the crayfish catch
on so quickly, he is busily employed the whole time going from one rod
to another. The more professional catchers have a net under the bait,
but that is not really necessary. Young men and women thoroughly enjoy
these crayfish parties, where it is said the maidens sometimes catch
other fish than the _rapu_.
It was really amazing, in the market-place at _Åbo_, to see the large
baskets filled with these little crayfish. Think of it, ye gourmands.
They were not sold singly or even by the score, but by the hundred; and
a hundred of them cost fourpence. When one remembers the enormous price
paid in Paris for _bisque_ soup, and the expense of _écrevisse_,
generally, one feels what a fortune ought to lie in those baskets. But
such is life. We either have too much or too little of everything.