VOYAGE TO SCOTLAND.
The _Arcturus_ is a small screw steamer owned by Messrs. Koch and
Henderson, and now some six years on the route between Copenhagen and
Reykjavik. The Danish government pays them an annual sum for carrying
the mails, and they control a considerable trade in fish and wool.
This vessel makes six trips every year, touching at a port in Scotland
both on the outer and return voyage. At first she made Leith her
stopping-place; but, owing to superior facilities for her business at
Grangemouth, she now stops at that port. The cost of passage is
extremely moderate--only 45 Danish dollars, about $28 American, living
on board 75 cents a day, and a small fee to the steward, making for
the voyage out or back, which usually occupies about eleven days,
inclusive of stoppages, something less than $40. I mention this for
the benefit of my friends at home, who may think proper to make a very
interesting trip at a very small expense; though, as will hereafter
appear, the most considerable part of the expenditure occurs in
Iceland. Captain Andersen (they are all Andersens, or Jonasens, or
Hansens, or Petersens in Denmark), a very active and obliging little
Dane, commands the _Arcturus_. He speaks English fluently, and is an
experienced seaman; and if the tourist is not unusually fastidious
about accommodations, there will be no difficulty in making an
agreeable voyage. I found every thing on board excellent; the fare
abundant and wholesome, and the sleeping-quarters not more like
coffins than they usually are on board small steamers. A few inches
cut off the passengers' legs or added to the length of the berths, and
a few extra handspikes in the lee scuppers to steady the vessel, would
be an improvement; but then one can't have every thing to suit him.
Some grumbling took place, to be sure, after our departure from
Scotland. A young Scotchman wanted a berth for a big dog in the same
cabin with the rest of his friends, which the captain would not
permit; an Englishman was disgusted with the "beastly fare;" and an
old Danish merchant would persist in shaving himself at the public
table every day--all of which caused an under-current of
dissatisfaction during the early part of the voyage. Sea-sickness,
however, put an end to it before long, and things went on all right
after that.
But I must not anticipate my narrative. The scene upon leaving the
wharf at Copenhagen was amusing and characteristic. For some hours
before our departure the decks were crowded with the friends of the
passengers. Every person had to kiss and hug every other person, and
shake hands, and laugh and cry a little, and then hug and kiss again,
without regard to age and not much distinction of sex. Some natural
tears, of course, must always be shed on occasions of this kind. It
was rather a melancholy reflection, as I stood aloof looking on at all
these demonstrations of affection, that there was nobody present to
grieve over my departure--not even a lapdog to bestow upon me a
parting kiss. Waving of handkerchiefs, messages to friends in Iceland,
and parting benedictions, took place long before we left the wharf. At
length the last bells were rung, the lingering loved ones were handed
ashore, and the inexorable voice of the captain was heard ordering the
sailors to cast loose the ropes. We were fairly off for Iceland!
In a few hours we passed, near Elsineur, the fine old Castle of
Kronberg, built in the time of Tycho Brahe, once the prison of the
unfortunate Caroline Matilda, queen of Christian VII., and in the
great vaults of which it is said the Danish Roland, Holger Dansk,
still lives, his long white beard grown fast to a stone table. We were
soon out of the Sound, plowing our way toward the famous Skager-Rack.
The weather had been showery and threatening for some time. It now
began to rain and blow in good earnest.
We had on board only thirteen passengers, chiefly Danes and
Icelanders. Among them was a newly-appointed amtman for the district
of Reykjaness, with a very accomplished young wife. He was going to
spend the honey-moon amid the glaciers and lava-fjelds of Iceland. It
seemed a dreary prospect for so young and tender a bride, but she was
cheerful and happy, except when the inevitable hour of sea-sickness
came. Love, I suppose, can make the wilderness blossom as the rose,
and shed a warmth over ice-covered mountains and a pleasant verdure
over deserts of lava. A very agreeable and intelligent young man, Mr.
Jonasen, son of the governor, was also on board. I saw but little of
him during the passage--only his head over the side of his berth; but
I heard from him frequently after the weather became rough. If there
was any inside left in that young man by the time we arrived at
Reykjavik, it must have been badly strained. As a son of Iona he
completely reversed the scriptural order of things; for, instead of
being swallowed by a great fish, and remaining in the belly thereof
three days and nights, he swallowed numerous sprats and sardines
himself, yet would never allow them internal accommodations for the
space of three minutes. My room-mate was a young Icelandic student,
who had been to the college at Copenhagen, and was now returning to
his native land to die. There was something very sad in his case. He
had left home a few years before with the brightest prospects of
success. Ambitious and talented, he had devoted himself with unwearied
assiduity to his studies, but the activity of his mind was too much
for a naturally feeble constitution. Consumption set its seal upon
him. Given up by the physicians in Copenhagen, he was returning to
breathe his last in the arms of a loving mother.
On the second morning after leaving the Sound we passed close along
the Downs of Jutland, a barren shore, singularly diversified by great
mounds of sand. The wind sweeping in from the ocean casts up the loose
sands that lie upon this low peninsula, and drifts them against some
bush or other obstacle sufficiently firm to form a nucleus. In the
course of a few years, by constant accumulations, this becomes a vast
mound, sometimes over a hundred feet high. Nearly the whole of
Northern Jutland is diversified with sand-plains, heaths, and
ever-changing mounds, among which wandering bands of gipsies still
roam. The shores along the Skagen are surrounded by dangerous reefs of
quicksand, stretching for many miles out into the ocean. Navigation at
this point is very difficult, especially in the winter, when terrific
gales prevail from the northwest. The numerous stakes, buoys, and
other water-marks by which the channel is designated, the frequency of
light-houses and signal telegraphs, and the wrecks that lie strewn
along the beach, over which the surging foam breaks like a perpetual
dirge, afford striking indication of the dangers to which mariners are
subject in this wild region. Hans Christian Andersen, in one of his
most delightful works, has thrown a romantic interest over the scenery
of Jutland, giving a charm to its very desolation, and investing with
all the beauty of a genial humanity the rude lives of the gipsies and
fishermen who inhabit this wild region of drifting sands and wintry
tempests. Steen Blicher has also cast over it the spell of his poetic
genius; and Von Buch, in his graphic narrative, has given a memorable
interest to its sea-girt shores, where "masts and skeletons of vessels
stand like a range of palisades."
During our passage through the Skager-Rack we passed innumerable
fleets of fishing-smacks, and often encountered the diminutive skiffs
of the fishermen, with two or three amphibious occupants, buffeting
about among the waves many miles from the shore. The weather had been
steadily growing worse ever since our departure from Copenhagen. As we
entered the North Sea it began to blow fiercer than ever, and for two
days we experienced all the discomforts of chopping seas that
drenched our decks fore and aft, and chilling gales mingled with fogs
and heavy rains. It was cold enough for midwinter, yet here we were on
the verge of midsummer. Our little craft was rendered somewhat
unmanageable by a deck-load of coal and a heavy cargo of freight, and
there were periods when I would have thought myself fortunate in being
once more off Cape Horn in the good ship _Pacific_. The amtman and his
young bride spent this portion of their honey-moon performing a kind
of duet that reminded me of my friend Ross Wallace's lines in
"Perdita:"
"Like two sweet tunes that wandering met,
And so harmoniously they run,
The hearer deems they are but one."
At least the harmony was perfect, whatever might be thought of the
music in other respects. Young Jonasen swallowed a few more sardines
about this period of the voyage, which he vainly attempted to secure
by sudden and violent contractions of the diaphragm. In short, there
were but two persons in the cabin besides Captain Andersen and myself
who had the temerity to appear at table--one an old Danish merchant,
who generally received advices, midway through the meal, requiring his
immediate presence on deck; and the other a gentleman from Holstein,
who always lost his appetite after the soup, and had to jump up and
run to his state-room for exercise.
In due time we sighted the shores of Scotland. A pilot came on board
inside the Frith of Forth, and, as we steamed rapidly on our course,
all the passengers forgot their afflictions, and gazed with delight on
the sloping sward and woodland, the picturesque villages, and romantic
old castles that decorate the shores of this magnificent sheet of
water.
Our destination was Grangemouth, where we arrived early on Sunday
morning. A few sailors belonging to some vessels in the docks, a
custom-house inspector, and three small boys, comprised the entire
visible population of the place. Judging by the manner in which the
Sabbath is kept in Scotland, the Scotch must be a profoundly moral
people. The towns are like grave-yards, and the inhabitants bear a
striking resemblance to sextons, or men who spend much of their lives
in burying the dead.
I was very anxious to get a newspaper containing the latest
intelligence from America, but was informed that none could be had on
Sunday. I wanted to go up to Edinburg: it was not possible on Sunday.
I asked a man where could I get some cigars? he didna ken; it was
Sunday. The depressed expression of the few people I met began to prey
like a nightmare on my spirits. Doubtless it is a very good thing to
pay a decent regard to the Sabbath, but can any body tell me where we
are commanded to look gloomy? The contrast was certainly very striking
between the Scotch and the Danes. Of course there is no such thing as
drunkenness in Scotland, no assaults and batteries, no robberies and
murders, no divorces, no cheating among the merchants of Glasgow or
the bankers of Edinburg, no sympathizing with rebellion and the
institution of slavery--for the Scotch are a sober and righteous
people, much given to sackcloth and ashes, manufactures of iron, and
societies for the insurance of property against fire.
The _Arcturus_ was detained several days discharging and taking in
freight. I availed myself of the first train to visit Edinburg. A day
there, and an excursion to Glasgow and Loch Lomond, agreeably occupied
the time. I must confess the scenery--beautiful as it is, and fraught
with all the interest that history and genius can throw over
it--disappointed me. It was not what I expected. It was a damp, moist,
uncomfortable reality, as Mantalini would say--not very grand or
striking in any respect. A subsequent excursion to the Trosachs, Loch
Katrine, Loch Long, and the Clyde, afforded me a better opportunity of
judging, yet it all seemed tame and commonplace compared with the
scenery of California and Norway. If I enjoyed a fair specimen of the
climate--rain, wind, and fog, varied by sickly gleams of sunshine--it
strikes me it would be a congenial country for snails and frogs to
reside in. The Highlands are like all other wild places within the
limits of Europe, very gentle in their wildness compared with the
rugged slopes of the Sierra Nevada. The Lady of the Lake must have
possessed an uncommonly strong constitution, if she made her nocturnal
excursions on Loch Katrine in a thin white robe without suffering any
bad consequences, for I found a stout overcoat insufficient to keep
the chilling mists of that region from seeking in my bones a suitable
location for rheumatism.