LAST DAYS IN THE NORTH.
Mora Scenery--"The Parsonage of Mora"--The Magister--Peasants
from Upper Elfdal--Scenery of the Siljan--Hymns on Board--Opinions
of the Läsare--Their Increase--Conversation with the Peasants--
Leksand--The Domprost Hvasser--Walk in the Garden--Dalecarlian
Songs--Rainy Travel--Fahlun--Journey to Upsala--The Cholera--The
Mound of Odin--_Skål_ to the Gods--The End of Summer in Stockholm
--Farewell to the North. 425
NORTHERN TRAVEL, ETC.
CHAPTER I.
A WINTER VOYAGE ON THE BALTIC.
We went on board the little iron Swedish propeller, _Carl Johan_, at
Lübeck, on the morning of December 1, A.D. 1856, having previously taken
our passage for Stockholm. What was our dismay, after climbing over
hills of freight on deck, and creeping down a narrow companion-way, to
find the cabin stowed full of bales of wool and barrels of butter. There
was a little pantry adjoining it, with a friendly stewardess therein,
who, in answer to my inquiries, assured us that we would probably be
placed in a _hut_. After further search, I found the captain, who was
superintending the loading of more freight, and who also stated that he
would put us into a hut. "Let me see the hut, then," I demanded, and we
were a little relieved when we found it to be a state-room, containing
two of the narrowest of bunks. There was another hut opposite, occupied
by two more passengers, all that the steamer could carry and all we
had, except a short deck-passenger, who disappeared at the commencement
of the voyage, and was not seen again until its close.
The day was clear and cold, the low hills around Lübeck were covered
with snow, and the Trave was already frozen over. We left at noon,
slowly breaking our way down the narrow and winding river, which
gradually widened and became clearer of ice as we approached the Baltic.
When we reached Travemünde it was snowing fast, and a murky chaos beyond
the sandy bar concealed the Baltic. The town is a long row of houses
fronting the water. There were few inhabitants to be seen, for the
bathing guests had long since flown, and all watering places have a
funereal air after the season is over. Our fellow-passenger, a jovial
Pole, insisted on going ashore to drink a last glass of Bavarian beer
before leaving Germany; but the beverage had been so rarely called for
that it had grown sharp and sour, and we hurried back unsatisfied.
A space about six feet square had been cleared out among the butter-kegs
in the cabin, and we sat down to dinner by candle-light, at three
o'clock. Swedish customs already appeared, in a preliminary decanter of
lemon-colored brandy, a thimbleful of which was taken with a piece of
bread and sausage, before the soup appeared. The taste of the liquor was
sweet, unctuous and not agreeable. Our party consisted of the captain,
the chief officer, who was his brother-in-law, the Pole, who was a
second-cousin of Kosciusko, and had a name consisting of eight consonants
and two vowels, a grave young Swede with a fresh Norse complexion, and
our two selves. The steward, Hildebrand, and the silent stewardess, Marie,
were our attendants and purveyors. The ship's officers were rather slow
and opaque, and the Swede sublimely self-possessed and indifferent; but
the Pole, who had been condemned to death at Cracow, and afterwards
invented cheap gas, was one of the jolliest fellows alive. His German was
full of funny mistakes, but he rattled away with as much assurance as if
it had been his native tongue. Before dinner was over, we were all
perfectly well acquainted with each other.
Night had already set in on the Baltic; nothing was to be seen but snow;
the deck was heaped with freight; the storm blew in our teeth; and the
steamer, deeply laden, moved slowly and labouriously; so we stretched
ourselves on the narrow bunks in our hut, and preserved a delicate
regard for our equilibrium, even in sleep. In the morning the steep
cliffs of Möen, a Danish island, were visible on our left. We looked for
Rügen, the last stronghold of the worship of Odin in the Middle Ages,
but a raw mist rolled down upon the sea, and left us advancing blindly
as before. The wind was strong and cold, blowing the vapory water-smoke
in long trails across the surface of the waves. It was not long, however,
before some dim white gleams through the mist were pointed out as the
shores of Sweden, and the _Carl Johan_ slackened her speed to a snail's
pace, snuffing at headland after headland, like a dog off the scent, in
order to find her way into Ystad.
A lift of the fog favored us at last, and we ran into the little harbor.
I walked the contracted hurricane deck at three o'clock, with the sunset
already flushing the west, looked on the town and land, and thought of
my friend Dr. Kane. The mercury had fallen to 16°, a foot of snow
covered the house-roofs, the low, undulating hills all wore the same
monotonous no-color, and the yellow-haired people on the pier were
buttoned up close, mittened and fur-capped. The captain telegraphed to
Calmar, our next port, and received an answer that the sound was full of
ice and the harbor frozen up. A custom-house officer, who took supper
with us on board, informed us of the loss of the steam-ship Umeå, which
was cut through by the ice near Sundsvall, and sunk, drowning fifteen
persons--a pleasant prospect for our further voyage--and the Pole would
have willingly landed at Ystad if he could have found a conveyance to
get beyond it. We had twelve tons of coal to take on board, and the work
proceeded so slowly that we caught another snow-storm so thick and
blinding that we dared not venture out of the harbor.
On the third morning, nevertheless, we were again at sea, having passed
Bornholm, and were heading for the southern end of the Island of Oland.
About noon, as we were sitting huddled around the cabin stove, the
steamer suddenly stopped. There was a hurried movement of feet overhead--a
cry--and we rushed on deck. One of the sailors was in the act of throwing
overboard a life buoy. "It is the Pole!" was our first exclamation. "No,
no," said Hildebrand, with a distressed face, "it is the cabin-boy"--a
sprightly, handsome fellow of fourteen. There he was struggling in the
icy water, looking toward the steamer, which was every moment more
distant. Two men were in the little boat, which had just been run down
from the davits, but it seemed an eternity until their oars were shipped,
and they pulled away on their errand of life or death. We urged the mate
to put the steamer about, but he passively refused. The boy still swam,
but the boat was not yet half-way, and headed too much to the left. There
was no tiller, and the men could only guess at their course. We guided
them by signs, watching the boy's head, now a mere speck, seen at
intervals under the lowering sky. He struggled gallantly; the boat drew
nearer, and one of the men stood up and looked around. We watched with
breathless suspense for the reappearance of the brave young swimmer, but
we watched in vain. Poor boy! who can know what was the agony of those
ten minutes, while the icy waves gradually benumbed and dragged down the
young life that struggled with such desperate energy to keep its place in
the world! The men sat down and rowed back, bringing only his cap, which
they had found floating on the sea. "Ah!" said Hildebrand, with tears in
his eyes, "I did not want to take him this voyage, but his mother begged
me so hard that I could not refuse, and this is the end!"
We had a melancholy party in the cabin that afternoon. The painful
impression made by this catastrophe was heightened by the knowledge that
it might have been prevented. The steamer amidships was filled up to her
rail with coal, and the boy was thrown overboard by a sudden lurch while
walking upon it. Immediately afterwards, lines were rove along the
stanchions, to prevent the same thing happening again. The few feet of
deck upon which we could walk were slippery with ice, and we kept below,
smoking gloomily and saying little. Another violent snow-storm came on
from the north, but in the afternoon we caught sight of some rocks off
Carlscrona, and made the light on Oland in the evening. The wind had
been blowing so freshly that our captain suspected Calmar Sound might be
clear, and determined to try the passage. We felt our way slowly through
the intricate sandbanks, in the midst of fog and snow, until after
midnight, when only six miles from Calmar, we were stopped by fields of
drift ice, and had to put back again.
The fourth morning dawned cold and splendidly clear. When I went on deck
we were rounding the southern point of Oland, through long belts of
floating ice. The low chalk cliffs were covered with snow, and looked
bleak and desolate enough. The wind now came out of the west, enabling
us to carry the foresail, so that we made eight or nine knots, in spite
of our overloaded condition. Braisted and I walked the deck all day,
enjoying the keen wind and clear, faint sunshine of the North. In the
afternoon, however, it blew half a gale, with flurries of mingled rain
and snow. The sea rose, and the steamer, lumbered as she was, could not
be steered on her course, but had to be "conned," to keep off the strain.
The hatches were closed, and an occasional sea broke over the bows. We
sat below in the dark huts; the Pole, leaning against the bulkhead,
silently awaiting his fate, as he afterwards confessed. I had faith
enough in the timidity of our captain, not to feel the least alarm--and,
true enough, two hours had not elapsed before we lay-to under the lee of
the northern end of Oland. The Pole then sat down, bathed from head to
foot in a cold sweat, and would have landed immediately, had it been
possible. The Swede was as inexpressive as ever, with the same half-smile
on his fair, serious face.
I was glad to find that our captain did not intend to lose the wind, but
would start again in an hour or two. We had a quieter night than could
have been anticipated, followed by a brilliant morning. Such good
progress had been made that at sunrise the lighthouse on the rocks of
Landsort was visible, and the jagged masses of that archipelago of
cloven isles which extends all the way to Torneå, began to stud the sea.
The water became smoother as we ran into the sound between Landsort and
the outer isles. A long line of bleak, black rocks, crusted with snow,
stretched before us. Beside the lighthouse, at their southern extremity,
there were two red frame-houses, and a telegraph station. A boat, manned
by eight hardy sailors, came off with a pilot, who informed us that
Stockholm was closed with ice, and that the other steamers had been
obliged to stop at the little port of Dalarö, thirty miles distant. So
for Dalarö we headed, threading the channels of the scattering islands,
which gradually became higher and more picturesque, with clumps of dark
fir crowning their snowy slopes. The midday sun hung low on the horizon,
throwing a pale yellow light over the wild northern scenery; but there
was life in the cold air, and I did not ask for summer.
We passed the deserted fortress of Dalarö, a square stone structure,
which has long since outlived its purpose, on the summit of a rock in
the sound. Behind it, opened a quiet bay, held in a projecting arm of
the mainland, near the extremity of which appeared our port--a village
of about fifty houses, scattered along the abrupt shore. The dark-red
buildings stood out distinctly against the white background; two steamers
and half a dozen sailing crafts were moored below them; about as many
individuals were moving quietly about, and for all the life and animation
we could see, we might have been in Kamtchatka.
As our voyage terminated here, our first business was to find means of
getting to Stockholm by land. Our fellow-passengers proposed that we
should join company, and engage five horses and three sleds for ourselves
and luggage. The Swede willingly undertook to negotiate for us, and set
about the work with his usual impassive semi-cheerfulness. The landlord
of the only inn in the place promised to have everything ready by six
o'clock the next morning, and our captain, who was to go on the same
evening, took notices of our wants, to be served at the two intervening
post-stations on the road. We then visited the custom-house, a cabin
about ten feet square, and asked to have our luggage examined. "No,"
answered the official, "we have no authority to examine anything; you
must wait until we send to Stockholm." This was at least a new experience.
We were greatly vexed and annoyed, but at length, by dint of explanations
and entreaties, prevailed upon the man to attempt an examination. Our
trunks were brought ashore, and if ever a man did his duty conscientiously,
it was this same Swedish official. Every article was taken out and
separately inspected, with an honest patience which I could not but
admire. Nothing was found contraband, however; we had the pleasure of
repacking, and were then pulled back to the _Carl Johan_ in a profuse
sweat, despite the intense cold.
CHAPTER II.
STOCKHOLM.--PREPARATIONS FOR THE NORTH.
On the following morning we arose at five, went ashore in the darkness,
and after waiting an hour, succeeded in getting our teams together. The
horses were small, but spirited, the sleds rudely put together, but
strong, and not uncomfortable, and the drivers, peasants of the
neighborhood, patient, and good-humoured. Climbing the steep bank, we
were out of the village in two minutes, crossed an open common, and
entered the forests of fir and pine. The sleighing was superb, and our
little nags carried us merrily along, at the usual travelling rate of
one Swedish mile (nearly seven English) per hour. Enveloped from head to
foot in our fur robes, we did not feel the sharp air, and in comparing
our sensations, decided that the temperature was about 20°. What was our
surprise, on reaching the post-station, at learning that it was actually
2° below zero!
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the darkness decreased, but the morning
was cloudy, and there was little appearance of daybreak before nine
o'clock. In the early twilight we were startled by the appearance of a
ball of meteoric fire, nearly as large as the moon, and of a soft white
lustre, which moved in a horizontal line from east to west, and
disappeared without a sound. I was charmed by the forest scenery through
which we passed. The pine, spruce, and fir trees, of the greatest
variety of form, were completely coated with frozen snow, and stood as
immovable as forests of bronze incrusted with silver. The delicate twigs
of the weeping birch resembled sprays of crystal, of a thousand airy and
exquisite patterns. There was no wind, except in the open glades between
the woods, where the frozen lakes spread out like meadow intervals. As
we approached the first station there were signs of cultivation--fields
inclosed with stake fences, low red houses, low barns, and scanty
patches of garden land. We occasionally met peasants with their
sleds--hardy, red-faced fellows, and women solid enough to outweigh
their bulk in pig-iron.
The post-station was a cottage in the little hamlet of Berga. We drove
into the yard, and while sleds and horses were being changed, partook of
some boiled milk and tough rye-bread, the only things to be had, but
both good of their kind. The travellers' room was carpeted and
comfortable, and the people seemed poor only because of their few wants.
Our new sleds were worse than the former, and so were our horses, but we
came to the second station in time, and found we must make still another
arrangement. The luggage was sent ahead on a large sled, while each pair
of us, seated in a one horse cutter, followed after it, driving
ourselves. Swedish horses are stopped by a whistle, and encouraged by a
smacking of the lips, which I found impossible to learn at once, and
they considerately gave us no whips. We had now a broad, beaten road,
and the many teams we met and passed gave evidence of our approach to
Stockholm. The country, too, gently undulating all the way, was more
thickly settled, and appeared to be under tolerable cultivation.
About one in the afternoon, we climbed a rising slope, and from its brow
looked down upon Stockholm. The sky was dark-gray and lowering; the
hills were covered with snow, and the roofs of the city resembled a
multitude of tents, out of which rose half a dozen dark spires. On
either side were arms of the Mälar Lake--white, frozen plains. Snow was
already in the air, and presently we looked through a screen of heavy
flakes on the dark, weird, wintry picture. The impression was perfect of
its kind, and I shall not soon forget it.
We had passed through the southern suburb, and were descending to the
lake, when one of our shafts snapped off. Resigning the cutter to the
charge of a stout maiden, who acted as postillion, Braisted and I
climbed upon the luggage, and in this wise, shaggy with snowy fur,
passed through the city, before the House of Nobles and the King's
Palace, and over the Northern Bridge, and around the northern suburb,
and I know not where else, to the great astonishment of everybody we
met, until our stupid driver found out where he was to go. Then we took
leave of the Pole, who had engaged horses to Norrköping, and looked
utterly disconsolate at parting; but the grave Swede showed his kind
heart at last, for--neglecting his home, from which he had been absent
seven years--he accompanied us to an hotel, engaged rooms, and saw us
safely housed.
We remained in Stockholm a week, engaged in making preparations for our
journey to the North. During this time we were very comfortably
quartered in Kahn's Hotel, the only one in the capital where one can get
both rooms and meals. The weather changed so entirely, as completely to
destroy our first impressions, and make the North, which we were
seeking, once more as distant as when we left Germany. The day after our
arrival a thaw set in, which cleared away every particle of snow and
ice, opened the harbor, freed the Mälar Lake, and gave the white hills
around the city their autumnal colors of brown and dark-green. A dense
fog obscured the brief daylight, the air was close, damp, and oppressive,
everybody coughed and snuffled, and the air-tight rooms, so comfortable
in cold weather, became insufferable. My blood stagnated, my spirits
descended as the mercury rose, and I grew all impatience to have zero and
a beaten snow-track again.
We had more difficulty in preparing for this journey than I
anticipated--not so much in the way of procuring the necessary articles,
as the necessary information on the subject. I was not able to find a
man who had made the journey in winter, or who could tell me what to
expect, and what to do. The mention of my plan excited very general
surprise, but the people were too polished and courteous to say outright
that I was a fool, though I don't doubt that many of them thought so.
Even the maps are only minute enough for the traveller as far as Torneå,
and the only special maps of Lapland I could get dated from 1803. The
Government, it is true, has commenced the publication of a very
admirable map of the kingdom, in provinces, but these do not as yet
extend beyond Jemteland, about Lat. 63° north. Neither is there any
work to be had, except some botanical and geological publications, which
of course contain but little practical information. The English and
German Handbooks for Sweden are next to useless, north of Stockholm. The
principal assurances were, that we should suffer greatly from cold, that
we should take along a supply of provisions, for nothing was to be had,
and that we must expect to endure hardships and privations of all kinds.
This prospect was not at all alarming, for I remembered that I had heard
much worse accounts of Ethiopia while making similar preparations in
Cairo, and have learned that all such bugbears cease to exist when they
are boldly faced.
Our outfit, therefore, was restricted to some coffee, sugar, salt,
gunpowder, lucifer-matches, lead, shot and slugs, four bottles of cognac
for cases of extremity, a sword, a butcher-knife, hammer, screw-driver,
nails, rope and twine, all contained in a box about eighteen inches
square. A single valise held our stock of clothing, books, writing and
drawing materials, and each of us carried, in addition, a double-barrelled
musket. We made negotiations for the purchase of a handsome Norrland
sleigh (numbers of which come to Stockholm, at this season, laden with
wild-fowl), but the thaw prevented our making a bargain. The preparation
of the requisite funds, however, was a work of some time. In this I was
assisted by Mr. Moström, an excellent valet-de-place, whom I hereby
recommend to all travellers. When, after three or four days' labour and
diplomacy, he brought me the money, I thought I had suddenly come in
possession of an immense fortune. There were hundreds of bank-notes, and
thousands of silver pieces of all sizes--Swedish paper, silver and copper,
Norwegian notes and dollars, Danish marks, and Russian gold, roubles and
copecks. The value belied the quantity, and the vast pile melted away so
fast that I was soon relieved of my pleasant delusion.
Our equipment should have been made in Germany, for, singularly enough,
Stockholm is not half so well provided with furs and articles of winter
clothing as Hamburg or Leipsic. Besides, everything is about fifty per
cent dearer here. We were already provided with ample fur robes, I with
one of gray bear-skin, and Braisted with yellow fox. To these we added
caps of sea-otter, mittens of dog-skin, lined with the fur of the Arctic
hare, knitted devil's caps, woollen sashes of great length for winding
around the body, and, after long search, leather Russian boots lined
with sheepskin and reaching half-way up the thigh. When rigged out in
this costume, my diameter was about equal to half my height, and I found
locomotion rather cumbrous; while Braisted, whose stature is some seven
inches shorter, waddled along like an animated cotton-bale.
Everything being at last arranged, so far as our limited information
made it possible, for a two months' journey, we engaged places in a
diligence which runs as far as Gefle, 120 miles north of Stockholm.
There we hoped to find snow and a colder climate. One of my first steps
had been to engage a Swedish teacher, and by dint of taking double
lessons every day, I flattered myself that I had made sufficient progress
in the language to travel without an interpreter--the most inconvenient
and expensive of persons. To be sure, a week is very little for a new
language, but to one who speaks English and German, Swedish is already
half acquired.
CHAPTER III.
FIRST EXPERIENCES OF NORTHERN TRAVEL.
The diligence was a compact little vehicle, carrying four persons, but
we two were so burdened with our guns, sword, money-bag, field-glass,
over-boots and two-fathom-long sashes, that we found the space allotted
to us small enough. We started at eight o'clock, and had not gone a
hundred yards before we discovered that the most important part of our
outfit--the maps--had been left behind. It was too late to return, and
we were obliged to content ourselves with the hope of supplying them at
Upsala or Gefle.
We rolled by twilight through the Northern suburb. The morning was sharp
and cold, and the roads, which had been muddy and cut up the day before,
were frozen terribly hard and rough. Our fellow-passengers were two
Swedes, an unprepossessing young fellow who spoke a few words of
English, and a silent old gentleman; we did not derive much advantage
from their society, and I busied myself with observing the country
through which we passed. A mile or two, past handsome country-seats and
some cemeteries, brought us into the region of forests. The pines were
tall and picturesque in their forms, and the grassy meadows between
them, entirely clear of snow, were wonderfully green for the season.
During the first stage we passed some inlets of the Baltic, highly
picturesque with their irregular wooded shores. They had all been frozen
over during the night. We were surprised to see, on a southern hill-side,
four peasants at work ploughing. How they got their shares through the
frozen sod, unless the soil was remarkably dry and sandy, was more than I
could imagine. We noticed occasionally a large manor-house, with its
dependent out-buildings, and its avenue of clipped beeches or lindens,
looking grand and luxurious in the midst of the cold dark fields. Here
and there were patches of wheat, which the early snow had kept green, and
the grass in the damp hollows was still bright, yet it was the 15th of
December, and we were almost in lat. 60° N.
The houses were mostly one-story wooden cottages, of a dull red color,
with red roofs. In connection with the black-green of the pine and fir
woods they gave the country a singularly sombre aspect. There was little
variation in the scenery all the way to Upsala. In some places, the soil
appeared to be rich and under good cultivation; here the red villages
were more frequent, and squat church-towers showed themselves in the
distance. In other places, we had but the rough hills, or rather knobs
of gray gneiss, whose masses were covered with yellow moss, and the
straggling fir forests. We met but few country teams on the road; nobody
was to be seen about the houses, and the land seemed to be asleep or
desolated. Even at noon, when the sun came out fairly, he was low on the
horizon, and gave but an eclipsed light, which was more cheerless than
complete darkness.
The sun set about three o'clock, but we had a long, splendid twilight, a
flush of orange, rose and amber-green, worthy of a Mediterranean heaven.
Two hours afterwards, the lights of Upsala appeared, and we drove under
the imposing front of the old palace, through clean streets, over the
Upsala River, and finally stopped at the door of a courtyard. Here we
were instantly hailed by some young fellows, who inquired if we did not
want rooms. The place did not appear to be an inn, but as the silent old
gentleman got out and went in, I judged it best to follow his example,
and the diligence drove off with our baggage. We were right, after all:
a rosy, handsome, good-humored landlady appeared, promised to furnish us
with beds and a supper, to wake us betimes, and give us coffee before
leaving.
The old gentleman kindly put on his coat and accompanied us to a
bookstore on the public square, where I found Akrell's map of Northern
Sweden, and thus partially replaced our loss. He sat awhile in our room
trying to converse, but I made little headway. On learning that we were
bound for Torneå, he asked: "Are you going to buy lumber?" "No," I
answered; "we are merely going to see the country." He laughed long and
heartily at such an absurd idea, got up in a hurry, and went to bed
without saying another word. We had a supper of various kinds of
sausage, tough rye bread, and a bowl of milk, followed by excellent
beds--a thing which you are sure to find everywhere in Sweden.
We drove off again at half-past six in the morning moon light, with a
temperature of zero. Two or three miles from the town we passed the
mounds of old Upsala, the graves of Odin, Thor and Freja, rising boldly
against the first glimmerings of daylight. The landscape was broad, dark
and silent, the woods and fields confusedly blended together, and only
the sepulchres of the ancient gods broke the level line of the horizon.
I could readily have believed in them at that hour.
Passing over the broad rich plain of Upsala, we entered a gently
undulating country, richer and better cultivated than the district we
had traversed the previous day. It was splendidly wooded with thick fir
forests, floored with bright green moss. Some of the views toward the
north and west were really fine from their extent, though seen in the
faded light and long shadows of the low northern sun. In the afternoon,
we passed a large white church, with four little towers at the corners,
standing in the midst of a village of low red stables, in which the
country people shelter their horses while attending service. There must
have been fifty or sixty of these buildings, arranged in regular
streets. In most of the Swedish country churches, the belfry stands
apart, a squat, square tower, painted red, with a black upper story, and
is sometimes larger than the church itself. The houses of the peasants
are veritable western shanties, except in color and compactness. No wind
finds a cranny to enter, and the roofs of thick thatch, kept down by
long, horizontal poles, have an air of warmth and comfort. The stables
are banked with earth up to the hay-loft, and the cattle enter their
subterranean stalls through sloping doorways like those of the Egyptian
tombs.
Notwithstanding we made good progress through the day, it was dark long
before we reached the bridge over the Dal Elv, and of the famous
cascades we saw only a sloping white glimmer, between dark masses of
forest, and heard the noise of the broken waters. At Elfkarleby we were
allowed twenty minutes for dinner--boiled salmon and beefsteak, both
bad. I slept after this, until aroused by the old Swede, as we entered
Gefle. We drove across a broad bridge, looked over vessels frozen into
the inlet of the Gulf, passed a large public square, and entered the
yard of the diligence office. A boy in waiting conducted us to a private
house, where furnished rooms were to be had, and here we obtained tea,
comfortable beds, and the attendance of a rosy servant-girl, who spoke
intelligible Swedish.
My first care the next morning, was to engage horses and send off my
_förbud_ papers. We were now to travel by "_skjuts_" (pronounced shoos),
or post, taking new horses at each station on the road. The _förbud_
tickets are simply orders for horses to be ready at an appointed time,
and are sent in advance to all the stations on the road, either by mail
or by a special messenger. Without this precaution, I was told, we might
be subjected to considerable delay. This mode of travelling is peculiar
to Sweden and Norway. It has been in existence for three or four
centuries, and though gradually improved and systematized with the lapse
of time, it is still sufficiently complex and inconvenient to a
traveller coming from the railroad world.
Professor Retzius had referred me to the botanist Hartman, in case of
need, but I determined to commence by helping myself. I had a little
difficulty at first: the people are unused to speaking with foreigners,
and if you ask them to talk slowly, they invariably rattle away twice as
fast as before. I went into a variety shop on the public square, and
asked where I could engage horses for Sundsvall. After making myself
understood, as I supposed, the clerk handed me some new bridles. By dint
of blundering, I gradually circumscribed the range of my inquiries, and
finally came to a focus at the right place. Having ordered horses at six
the next morning, and despatched the _förbud_ tickets by the afternoon's
mail, I felt that I had made a good beginning, and we set out to make
the tour of Gefle.
This is a town of eight or ten thousand inhabitants, with a considerable
shipping interest, and a naval school. It is a pretty place, well built,
and with a neat, substantial air. The houses are mostly two stories
high, white, and with spacious courts in the rear. The country around is
low but rolling, and finely clothed with dark forests of fir and pine.
It was a superb day--gloriously clear, with a south wind, bracing, and
not too cold, and a soft, pale lustre from the cloudless sun. But such a
day! Sunrise melting into sunset without a noon--a long morning twilight,
a low, slant sun, shining on the housetops for an hour or so, and the
evening twilight at three in the afternoon. Nothing seemed real in this
strange, dying light--nothing but my ignorance of Swedish, whenever I
tried to talk.
In the afternoon, we called on the Magister Hartman, whom we found
poring over his plants. He spoke English tolerably, and having made a
journey through Lapland from Torneå to the Lyngen Fjord, was able to
give us some information about the country. He encouraged us in the
belief that we should find the journey more rapid and easy in winter
than in summer. He said the Swedes feared the North and few of them
ever made a winter journey thither, but nothing could stop the Americans
and the English from going anywhere. He also comforted us with the
assurance that we should find snow only six Swedish (forty English)
miles further north. Lat. 60° 35' N., the 17th of December, and no snow
yet! In the streets, we met an organ-grinder playing the Marseillaise.
There was no mistaking the jet-black hair, the golden complexion and the
brilliant eyes of the player, "_Siete Italiano?_" I asked. "_Sicuro!_"
he answered, joyously: "_e lei anche?_" "Ah," he said, in answer to my
questions, "_io non amo questo paese_; _è freddo ed oscuro_; _non si
gagna niente_--_ma in Italia si vive_." My friend Ziegler had already
assured me: "One should see the North, but not _after_ the South." Well,
we shall see; but I confess that twenty degrees below zero would have
chilled me less than the sight of that Italian.
We were at the inn punctually at six in the morning, but our horses were
not ready. The _hållkarl_, or ostler, after hearing my remonstrances,
went on splitting wood, and, as I did not know enough of Swedish to
scold with any profit, I was obliged to remain wrathful and silent. He
insisted on my writing something (I could not understand what) in the
post-book, so I copied the affidavit of a preceding traveller and signed
my name to it, which seemed to answer the purpose. After more than half
an hour, two rough two-wheeled carts were gotten ready, and the farmers
to whom they belonged, packed themselves and our luggage into one,
leaving us to drive the other. We mounted, rolled ourselves in our furs,
thrust our feet into the hay, and rattled out of Gefle in the frosty
moonlight. Such was our first experience of travelling by _skjuts_.
The road went northward, into dark forests, over the same undulating,
yet monotonous country as before. The ground was rough and hard, and our
progress slow, so that we did not reach the end of the first station (10
miles) until nine o'clock. As we drove into the post-house, three other
travellers, who had the start of us, and consequently the first right to
horses, drove away. I was dismayed to find that my _förbud_ had not been
received, but the ostler informed me that by paying twelve skillings
extra I could have horses at once. While the new carts were getting
ready, the postman, wrapped in wolf-skin, and with a face reddened by
the wind, came up, and handed out my _förbud_ ticket. Such was our first
experience of _förbud_.
On the next station, the peasant who was ahead with our luggage left the
main road and took a rough track through the woods. Presently we came to
a large inlet of the Bothnian gulf, frozen solid from shore to shore,
and upon this we boldly struck out. The ice was nearly a foot thick, and
as solid as marble. So we drove for at least four miles, and finally
came to land on the opposite side, near a sawmill. At the next
post-house we found our predecessors just setting off again in sleds;
the landlord informed us that he had only received my _förbud_ an hour
previous, and, according to law was allowed three hours to get ready his
second instalment of horses, the first being exhausted. There was no
help for it: we therefore comforted ourselves with breakfast. At one
o'clock we set out again in low Norrland sleds, but there was little
snow at first, and we were obliged to walk the first few miles. The
station was a long one (twenty English miles), and our horses not the
most promising. Coming upon solid snow at last, we travelled rather
more swiftly, but with more risk. The sleds, although so low, rest upon
narrow runners, and the shafts are attached by a hook, upon which they
turn in all directions, so that the sled sways from side to side,
entirely independent of them. In going off the main road to get a little
more snow on a side track, I discovered this fact by overturning the
sled, and pitching Braisted and myself out on our heads. There were
lakes on either side, and we made many miles on the hard ice, which
split with a dull sound under us. Long after dark, we reached the next
station, Stråtjära, and found our horses in readiness. We started again,
by the gleam of a flashing aurora, going through forests and fields in
the uncertain light, blindly following our leader, Braisted and I
driving by turns, and already much fatigued. After a long time, we
descended a steep hill, to the Ljusne River. The water foamed and
thundered under the bridge, and I could barely see that it fell in a
series of rapids over the rocks.
At Mo Myskie, which we reached at eight o'clock, our horses had been
ready four hours, which gave us a dollar banco _väntapenningar_ (waiting
money) to pay. The landlord, a sturdy, jolly fellow, with grizzly hair
and a prosperous abdomen, asked if we were French, and I addressed him
in that language. He answered in English on finding that we were
Americans. On his saying that he had learned English in Tripoli, I
addressed him in Arabic. His eyes flashed, he burst into a roaring laugh
of the profoundest delight, and at once answered in the majestic
gutturals of the Orient. "_Allah akhbar!_" he cried; "I have been
waiting twenty years for some one to speak to me in Arabic, and you are
the first!" He afterwards changed to Italian, which he spoke perfectly
well, and preferred to any foreign language. We were detained half an
hour by his delight, and went off forgetting to pay for a bottle of
beer, the price of which I sent back by the _skjutsbonde_, or
postillion.
This _skjutsbonde_ was a stupid fellow, who took us a long, circuitous
road, in order to save time. We hurried along in the darkness,
constantly crying out "_Kör på!_" (Drive on!) and narrowly missing a
hundred overturns. It was eleven at night before we reached the inn at
Kungsgården, where, fortunately, the people were awake, and the pleasant
old landlady soon had our horses ready. We had yet sixteen English miles
to Bro, our lodging-place, where we should have arrived by eight
o'clock. I hardly know how to describe the journey. We were half asleep,
tired out, nearly frozen, (mercury below zero) and dashed along at
haphazard, through vast dark forests, up hill and down, following the
sleepy boy who drove ahead with our baggage. A dozen times the sled,
swaying from side to side like a pendulum, tilted, hung in suspense a
second, and then righted itself again. The boy fell back on the hay and
slept, until Braisted, creeping up behind, startled him with terrific
yells in his ears. Away then dashed the horse, down steep declivities,
across open, cultivated valleys, and into the woods again. After
midnight the moon rose, and the cold was intenser than ever. The boy
having fallen asleep again, the horse took advantage of it to run off at
full speed, we following at the same rate, sometimes losing sight of him
and uncertain of our way, until, after a chase of a few miles, we found
the boy getting his reins out from under the runners. Finally, after two
in the morning, we reached Bro.
Here we had ordered a warm room, beds and supper, by _förbud_, but found
neither. A sleepy, stupid girl, who had just got up to wait on a captain
who had arrived before us and was going on, told us there was nothing to
be had. "We _must_ eat, if we have to eat _you_," I said, savagely, for
we were chilled through and fierce with hunger; but I might as well have
tried to hurry the Venus de Medici. At last we got some cold sausage, a
fire, and two couches, on which we lay down without undressing, and
slept. I had scarcely closed my eyes, it seemed, when the girl, who was
to call us at half-past five o'clock, came into the room. "Is it
half-past five?" I asked. "Oh, yes," she coolly answered, "it's much
more." We were obliged to hurry off at once to avoid paying so much
waiting money.
At sunrise we passed Hudiksvall, a pretty town at the head of a deep
bay, in which several vessels were frozen up for the winter. There were
some handsome country houses in the vicinity, better cultivation, more
taste in building, and a few apple and cherry orchards. The mercury was
still at zero, but we suffered less from the cold than the day previous,
and began to enjoy our mode of travel. The horses were ready at all the
stations on our arrival, and we were not delayed in changing. There was
now plenty of snow, and the roads were splendid--the country undulating,
with beautiful, deep valleys, separated by high, wooded hills, and rising
to bold ridges in the interior. The houses were larger and better than we
had yet seen--so were the people--and there was a general air of progress
and well-doing. In fact, both country and population improved in
appearance as we went northward.
The night set in very dark and cold, threatening snow. We had an
elephant of a horse, which kicked up his heels and frisked like an
awkward bull-pup, dashed down the hills like an avalanche, and carried
us forward at a rapid rate. We coiled ourselves up in the hay, kept
warm, and trusted our safety to Providence, for it was impossible to see
the road, and we could barely distinguish the other sled, a dark speck
before us. The old horse soon exhausted his enthusiasm. Braisted lost
the whip, and the zealous boy ahead stopped every now and then to hurry
us on. The aurora gleamed but faintly through the clouds; we were nearly
overcome with sleep and fatigue, but took turns in arousing and amusing
each other. The sled vibrated continually from side to side, and finally
went over, spilling ourselves and our guns into a snow-bank. The horse
stopped and waited for us, and then went on until the shafts came off.
Toward ten o'clock, the lights of Sundsvall appeared, and we soon
afterwards drove into the yard of the inn, having made one hundred and
fifty-five miles in two days. We were wretchedly tired, and hungry as
bears, but found room in an adjoining house, and succeeded in getting a
supper of reindeer steak. I fell asleep in my chair, before my pipe was
half-finished, and awoke the next morning to a sense of real fatigue. I
had had enough of travelling by _förbud_.
CHAPTER IV.
A SLEIGH RIDE THROUGH NORRLAND.
Sundsvall is a pretty little town of two or three thousand inhabitants,
situated at the head of a broad and magnificent bay. It is the eastern
terminus of the only post-road across the mountains to Trondhjem
(Drontheim) in Norway, which passes through the extensive province of
Jemteland. It is, consequently, a lively and bustling place, and has a
considerable coasting trade. The day after our arrival was market-day,
and hundreds of the Norrlanders thronged the streets and public square.
They were all fresh, strong, coarse, honest, healthy people--the men
with long yellow hair, large noses and blue eyes, the women with the
rosiest of checks and the fullest development of body and limb. Many of
the latter wore basques or jackets of sheepskin with the wool inside,
striped petticoats and bright red stockings. The men were dressed in
shaggy sheepskin coats, or garments of reindeer skin, with the hair
outward. There was a vast collection of low Norrland sleds, laden with
butter, cheese, hay, and wild game, and drawn by the rough and tough
little horses of the country. Here was still plenty of life and
animation, although we were already so far north that the sun did not
shine upon Sundsvall the whole day, being hidden by a low hill to the
south. The snowy ridges on the north, however, wore a bright roseate
blush from his rays, from ten until two.
We called upon a merchant of the place, to whom I had a letter of
introduction. He was almost the only man I met before undertaking the
journey, who encouraged me to push on. "The people in Stockholm," said
he, "know nothing about Northern Sweden." He advised me to give up
travelling by _förbud_, to purchase a couple of sleds, and take our
chance of finding horses: we would have no trouble in making from forty
to fifty English miles per day. On returning to the inn, I made the
landlord understand what we wanted, but could not understand him in
return. At this juncture came in a handsome fellow; with a cosmopolitan
air, whom Braisted recognised, by certain invisible signs, as the mate
of a ship, and who explained the matter in very good English. I
purchased two plain but light and strongly made sleds for 50 _rigs_
(about $14), which seemed very cheap, but I afterwards learned that I
paid much more than the current price.
On repacking our effects, we found that everything liquid was
frozen--even a camphorated mixture, which had been carefully wrapped in
flannel. The cold, therefore, must have been much more severe than we
supposed. Our supplies, also, were considerably damaged--the lantern
broken, a powder-flask cracked, and the salt, shot, nails, wadding, &c.,
mixed together in beautiful confusion. Everything was stowed in one of
the sleds, which was driven by the postilion; the other contained only
our two selves. We were off the next morning, as the first streaks of
dawn appeared in the sky. The roads about Sundsvall were very much cut
up, and even before getting out of the town we were pitched over head
and ears into a snow-bank.
We climbed slowly up and darted headlong down the ridges which descend
from the west toward the Bothnian Gulf, dividing its tributary rivers;
and toward sunrise, came to a broad bay, completely frozen over and
turned into a snowy plain. With some difficulty the _skjutsbonde_ made
me understand that a shorter road led across the ice to the second
post-station, Fjäl, avoiding one change of horses. The way was rough
enough at first, over heaped blocks of ice, but became smoother where
the wind had full sweep, and had cleared the water before it froze. Our
road was marked out by a double row of young fir-trees, planted in the
ice. The bay was completely land-locked, embraced by a bold sweep of
wooded hills, with rich, populous valleys between. Before us, three or
four miles across, lay the little port of Wifsta-warf, where several
vessels--among them a ship of three or four hundred tuns--were frozen in
for the winter. We crossed, ascended a long hill, and drove on through
fir woods to Fjäl, a little hamlet with a large inn. Here we got
breakfast; and though it may be in bad taste to speak of what one eats,
the breakfast was in such good taste that I cannot pass over it without
lingering to enjoy, in memory, its wonderful aroma. Besides, if it be
true, as some shockingly gross persons assert, that the belly is a more
important district of the human economy than the brain, a good meal
deserves chronicling no less than an exalted impression. Certain it is,
that strong digestive are to be preferred to strong thinking
powers--better live unknown than die of dyspepsia. This was our first
country meal in Norrland, of whose fare the Stockholmers have a horror,
yet that stately capital never furnished a better. We had beefsteak and
onions, delicious blood-puddings, the tenderest of pancakes (no
_omelette soufflée_ could be more fragile), with ruby raspberry jam, and
a bottle of genuine English porter. If you think the bill of fare too
heavy and solid, take a drive of fifteen miles in the regions of Zero,
and then let your delicate stomach decide.
In a picturesque dell near Fjäl we crossed the rapid Indal River, which
comes down from the mountains of Norway. The country was wild and
broken, with occasional superb views over frozen arms of the Gulf, and
the deep rich valleys stretching inland. Leaving Hernösand, the capital
of the province, a few miles to our right, we kept the main northern
road, slowly advancing from station to station with old and tired
horses. There was a snow-storm in the afternoon, after which the sky
came out splendidly clear, and gorgeous with the long northern twilight.
In the silence of the hour and the deepening shadows of the forest
through which we drove, it was startling to hear, all at once the sound
of voices singing a solemn hymn. My first idea was, that some of those
fanatical Dissenters of Norrland who meet, as once the Scotch Covenanters,
among the hills, were having a refreshing winter meeting in the woods;
but on proceeding further we found that the choristers were a company of
peasants returning from market with their empty sleds.
It was already dark at four o'clock, and our last horses were so slow
that the postilion, a handsome, lively boy, whose pride was a little
touched by my remonstrances, failed, in spite of all his efforts, to
bring us to the station before seven. We stopped at Weda, on the
Angermann River, the largest stream in Northern Sweden. Angermannland,
the country which it drains, is said to be a very wild and beautiful
region, where some traces of the old, original Asiatic type which
peopled Scandinavia are yet to be traced in the features of its secluded
population. At Weda, we found excellent quarters. A neat, quiet,
old-fashioned little servant-girl, of twelve or fourteen, took charge of
us, and attended to all our wants with the greatest assiduity. We had a
good supper, a small but neat room, clean beds, and coffee in the
morning, beside a plentiful provision for breakfast on the way, for a
sum equal to seventy-five cents.
We left at half-past seven, the waning moon hanging on the horizon, and
the first almost imperceptible signs of the morning twilight in the
east. The Angermann River which is here a mile broad, was frozen, and
our road led directly across its surface. The wind blew down it, across
the snow-covered ice, making our faces tingle with premonitory signs of
freezing, as the mercury was a little below zero. My hands were chilled
inside the fur mittens, and I was obliged to rub my nose frequently, to
prevent it from being nipped. The day was raw and chilly, and the
temperature rose very little, although the hills occasionally sheltered
us from the wind. The scenery, also, grew darker and wilder as we
advanced. The fir-trees were shorter and stunted, and of a dark
greenish-brown, which at a little distance appeared completely black.
Nothing could exceed the bleak, inhospitable character of these
landscapes. The inlets of the Bothnian Gulf were hard, snow-covered
plains, inclosed by bold, rugged headlands, covered with ink-black
forests. The more distant ridges faded into a dull indigo hue, flecked
with patches of ghastly white, under the lowering, sullen, short-lived
daylight.
Our road was much rougher than hitherto. We climbed long ridges, only to
descend by as steep declivities on the northern side, to cross the bed
of an inland stream, and then ascend again. The valleys, however, were
inhabited and apparently well cultivated, for the houses were large and
comfortable, and the people had a thrifty, prosperous and satisfied air.
Beside the farmhouses were immense racks, twenty feet high, for the
purpose of drying flax and grain, and at the stations the people offered
for sale very fine and beautiful linen of their own manufacture. This is
the staple production of Norrland, where the short summers are
frequently insufficient to mature the grain crops. The inns were all
comfortable buildings, with very fair accommodations for travellers. We
had bad luck with horses this day, however, two or three travellers
having been in advance and had the pick. On one stage our baggage-sled
was driven by a _poike_ of not more than ten years old--a darling
fellow, with a face as round, fresh and sweet as a damask rose, the
bluest of eyes, and a cloud of silky golden hair. His successor was a
tall, lazy lout, who stopped so frequently to talk with the drivers of
sleds behind us, that we lost all patience, drove past and pushed ahead
in the darkness, trusting our horse to find the way. His horse followed,
leaving him in the lurch, and we gave him a long-winded chase astern
before we allowed him to overtake us. This so exasperated him that we
had no trouble the rest of the way. _Mem._--If you wish to travel with
speed, make your postilion angry.
At Hörnäs they gave us a supper of ale and cold pig's feet, admirable
beds, and were only deficient in the matter of water for washing. We
awoke with headaches, on account of gas from the tight Russian stove.
The temperature, at starting, was 22° below zero--colder than either of
us had ever before known. We were a little curious, at first, to know
how we should endure it, but, to our delight, found ourselves quite warm
and comfortable. The air was still, dry, and delicious to inhale. My
nose occasionally required friction, and my beard and moustache became a
solid mass of ice, frozen together so that I could scarcely open my
mouth, and firmly fastened to my fur collar. We travelled forty-nine
miles, and were twelve hours on the way, yet felt no inconvenience from
the temperature.
By this time it was almost wholly a journey by night, dawn and twilight,
for full day there was none. The sun rose at ten and set at two. We
skimmed along, over the black, fir-clothed hills, and across the
pleasant little valleys, in the long, gray, slowly-gathering daybreak:
then, heavy snow-clouds hid half the brief day, and the long, long,
dusky evening glow settled into night. The sleighing was superb, the
snow pure as ivory, hard as marble, and beautifully crisp and smooth.
Our sleds glided over it without effort, the runners making music as
they flew. With every day the country grew wilder, blacker and more
rugged, with no change in the general character of the scenery. In the
afternoon we passed the frontier of Norrland, and entered the province
of West Bothnia. There are fewer horses at the stations, as we go north,
but also fewer travellers, and we were not often detained. Thus far, we
had no difficulty: my scanty stock of Swedish went a great way, and I
began to understand with more facility, even the broad Norrland dialect.
The people of this region are noble specimens of the physical man--tall,
broad-shouldered, large-limbed, ruddy and powerful; and they are mated
with women who, I venture to say, do not even suspect the existence of a
nervous system. The natural consequences of such health are: morality
and honesty--to say nothing of the quantities of rosy and robust
children which bless every household. If health and virtue cannot secure
happiness, nothing can, and these Norrlanders appear to be a thoroughly
happy and contented race. We had occasional reason to complain of their
slowness; but, then, why should they be fast? It is rather we who should
moderate our speed. Braisted, however, did not accept such a philosophy.
"Charles XII. was the boy to manage the Swedes," said he to me one day;
"he always kept them in a hurry."
We reached Lefwar, our resting-place for the night, in good condition,
notwithstanding the 22° below, and felt much colder in the house, after
stripping off our furs, than out of doors with them on. They gave us a
supper consisting of _smörgås_ ("butter-goose"--the Swedish prelude to a
meal, consisting usually of bread, butter, pickled anchovies, and caviar
flavored with garlic), sausages, potatoes, and milk, and made for us
sumptuous beds of the snowiest and sweetest linen. When we rose next
morning it was snowing. About an inch had fallen during the night, and
the mercury had risen to 6° below zero. We drove along in the dusky
half-twilight toward Angesjö, over low, broad hills, covered with
forests of stunted birch and fir. The scenery continued the same, and
there is no use in repeating the description, except to say that the
land became more cold and barren, and there seemed to be few things
cultivated except flax, barley and potatoes. Still the same ridges
sweeping down to the Gulf, on one hand, the same frozen bays and inlets
on the other, and villages at intervals of eight or ten miles, each with
its great solid church, low red belfry and deserted encampment of red
frame stables. Before reaching the second station, we looked from a
wooded height over the open expanse of the Gulf,--a plain of
snow-covered ice, stretching eastward as far as the eye could reach.
The day gradually became still and cold, until the temperature reached
-22° again, and we became comfortable in the same proportion. The
afternoon twilight, splendid with its hues of amber, rose and saffron,
died away so gradually, that it seemed scarcely to fade at all, lighting
our path for at least three hours after sunset. Our postilions were all
boys--ruddy, hardy young fellows of fourteen or fifteen, who drove well
and sang incessantly, in spite of the cold. They talked much with us,
but to little purpose, as I found it very difficult to understand the
humming dialect they spoke. Each, as he received his _drickpenningar_
(drink-money, or gratuity), at the end of the station, expressed his
thanks by shaking hands with us. This is a universal custom throughout
the north of Sweden: it is a part of the simple, natural habits of the
people; and though it seemed rather odd at first to be shaking hands
with everybody, from the landlord down to the cook and the ostler, we
soon came to take it as a matter of course. The frank, unaffected way in
which the hand was offered, oftener made the custom a pleasant one.
At Stocksjö we decided to push on to a station beyond Umeå, called
Innertafle, and took our horses accordingly. The direct road, however,
was unused on account of the drifts, so we went around through Umeå,
after all. We had nearly a Swedish mile, and it was just dark when we
descended to the Umeå River, across whose solid surface we drove, and up
a steep bank into the town. We stopped a few moments in the little
public square, which was crowded with people, many of whom had already
commenced their Christmas sprees. The shops were lighted, and the little
town looked very gay and lively. Passing through, we kept down the left
bank of the river for a little distance, and then struck into the woods.
It was night by this time; all at once the boy stopped, mounted a
snow-bank, whirled around three or four times, and said something to me
which I could not understand. "What's the matter?" I asked; "is not this
the road to Innertafle?" "I don't know--I think not," he said. "Don't
you know the way, then?" I asked again. "No!" he yelled in reply,
whirled around several times more, and then drove on. Presently we
overtook a pedestrian, to whom he turned for advice, and who willingly
acted as guide for the sake of a ride. Away we went again, but the snow
was so spotless that it was impossible to see the track. Braisted and I
ran upon a snow-bank, were overturned and dragged some little distance,
but we righted ourselves again, and soon afterwards reached our
destination.
In the little inn the guests' room lay behind the large family kitchen,
through which we were obliged to pass. We were seized with a shivering
fit on stripping off our furs, and it seemed scarcely possible to get
warm again. This was followed by such intense drowsiness that we were
obliged to lie down and sleep an hour before supper. After the cold
weather set in, we were attacked with this drowsy fit every day, toward
evening, and were obliged to take turns in arousing and stimulating each
other. This we generally accomplished by singing "From Greenland's icy
mountains," and other appropriate melodies. At Innertafle we were
attended by a tall landlady, a staid, quiet, almost grim person, who
paid most deliberate heed to our wants. After a delay of more than two
hours, she furnished us with a supper consisting of some kind of fresh
fish, with a sauce composed of milk, sugar and onions, followed by
_gryngröt_, a warm mush of mixed rice and barley, eaten with milk. Such
was our fare on Christmas eve; but hunger is the best sauce, and our
dishes were plentifully seasoned with it.
CHAPTER V.
PROGRESS NORTHWARDS.--A STORM.
We arose betimes on Christmas morn, but the grim and deliberate landlady
detained us an hour in preparing our coffee. I was in the yard about
five minutes, wearing only my cloth overcoat and no gloves, and found
the air truly sharp and nipping, but not painfully severe. Presently,
Braisted came running in with the thermometer, exclaiming, with a yell
of triumph, "_Thirty_, by Jupiter!" (30° of Reaumur, equal to 35-1/2°
below zero of Fahrenheit.) We were delighted with this sign of our
approach to the Arctic circle.
The horses were at last ready; we muffled up carefully, and set out. The
dawn was just streaking the East, the sky was crystal-clear, and not a
breath of air stirring. My beard was soon a solid mass of ice, from the
moisture of my breath, and my nose required constant friction. The day
previous, the ice which had gathered on my fur collar lay against my
face so long that the flesh began to freeze over my cheek-bones, and
thereafter I was obliged to be particularly cautious. As it grew
lighter, we were surprised to find that our postilion was a girl. She
had a heavy sheepskin over her knees, a muff for her hands, and a shawl
around her head, leaving only the eyes visible. Thus accoutred, she
drove on merrily, and, except that the red of her cheeks became scarlet
and purple, showed no signs of the weather. As we approached Sörmjöle,
the first station, we again had a broad view of the frozen Bothnian
Gulf, over which hovered a low cloud of white ice-smoke. Looking down
into the snowy valley of Sörmjöle, we saw the straight pillars of smoke
rising from the houses high into the air, not spreading, but gradually
breaking off into solid masses which sank again and filled the hollow,
almost concealing the houses. Only the white, handsome church, with its
tall spire, seated on a mound, rose above this pale blue film and shone
softly in the growing flush of day.
We ordered horses at once, after drinking a bowl of hot milk, flavored
with cinnamon. This is the favourite winter drink of the people,
sometimes with the addition of brandy. But the _finkel_, or common
brandy of Sweden, is a detestable beverage, resembling a mixture of
turpentine, train oil, and bad molasses, and we took the milk unmixed,
which admirably assisted in keeping up the animal heat. The mercury by
this time had fallen to 38° below zero. We were surprised and delighted
to find that we stood the cold so easily, and prided ourselves not a
little on our powers of endurance. Our feet gradually became benumbed,
but, by walking up the hills, we prevented the circulation from coming
to a stand-still.
The cold, however, played some grotesque pranks with us. My beard,
moustache, cap, and fur collar were soon one undivided lump of ice. Our
eyelashes became snow-white and heavy with frost, and it required
constant motion to keep them from freezing together. We saw everything
through visors barred with ivory. Our eyebrows and hair were as hoary as
those of an octogenarian, and our cheeks a mixture of crimson and
orange, so that we were scarcely recognizable by each other. Every one
we met had snow-white locks, no matter how youthful the face, and,
whatever was the colour of our horses at starting, we always drove
milk-white steeds at the close of the post. The irritation of our
nostrils occasioned the greatest inconvenience, and as the handkerchiefs
froze instantly, it soon became a matter of pain and difficulty to use
them. You might as well attempt to blow your nose with a poplar chip. We
could not bare our hands a minute, without feeling an iron grasp of cold
which seemed to squeeze the flesh like a vice, and turn the very blood
to ice. In other respects we were warm and jolly, and I have rarely been
in higher spirits. The air was exquisitely sweet and pure, and I could
open my mouth (as far as its icy grating permitted) and inhale full
draughts into the lungs with a delicious sensation of refreshment and
exhilaration. I had not expected to find such freedom of respiration in
so low a temperature. Some descriptions of severe cold in Canada and
Siberia, which I have read, state that at such times the air occasions a
tingling, smarting sensation in the throat and lungs, but I experienced
nothing of the kind.
This was arctic travel at last. By Odin, it was glorious! The smooth,
firm road, crisp and pure as alabaster, over which our sleigh-runners
talked with the rippling, musical murmur of summer brooks; the
sparkling, breathless firmament; the gorgeous rosy flush of morning,
slowly deepening until the orange disc of the sun cut the horizon; the
golden blaze of the tops of the bronze firs; the glittering of the
glassy birches; the long, dreary sweep of the landscape; the icy nectar
of the perfect air; the tingling of the roused blood in every vein, all
alert to guard the outposts of life against the besieging cold--it was
superb! The natives themselves spoke of the cold as being unusually
severe, and we congratulated ourselves all the more on our easy
endurance of it. Had we judged only by our own sensations we should not
have believed the temperature to be nearly so low.
The sun rose a little after ten, and I have never seen anything finer
than the spectacle which we then saw for the first time, but which was
afterwards almost daily repeated--the illumination of the forests and
snow-fields in his level orange beams, for even at midday he was not
more than eight degrees above the horizon. The tops of the trees, only,
were touched: still and solid as iron, and covered with sparkling
frost-crystals, their trunks were changed to blazing gold, and their
foliage to a fiery orange-brown. The delicate purple sprays of the
birch, coated with ice, glittered like wands of topaz and amethyst, and
the slopes of virgin snow, stretching towards the sun, shone with the
fairest saffron gleams. There is nothing equal to this in the
South--nothing so transcendently rich, dazzling, and glorious. Italian
dawns and twilights cannot surpass those we saw every day, not, like the
former, fading rapidly into the ashen hues of dusk, but lingering for
hour after hour with scarce a decrease of splendour. Strange that Nature
should repeat these lovely aerial effects in such widely different
zones and seasons. I thought to find in the winter landscapes of the far
North a sublimity of death and desolation--a wild, dark, dreary,
monotony of expression--but I had, in reality, the constant enjoyment of
the rarest, the tenderest, the most enchanting beauty.
The people one meets along the road harmonise with these unexpected
impressions. They are clear eyed and rosy as the morning, straight and
strong as the fir saplings in their forests, and simple, honest, and
unsophisticated beyond any class of men I have ever seen. They are no
milksops either. Under the serenity of those blue eyes and smooth, fair
faces, burns the old Berserker rage, not easily kindled, but terrible as
the lightning when once loosed. "I would like to take all the young men
north of Sundsvall," says Braisted, "put them into Kansas, tell them her
history, and then let them act for themselves." "The cold in clime are
cold in blood," sings Byron, but they are only cold through superior
self-control and freedom from perverted passions. Better is the
assertion of Tennyson:
"That bright, and fierce, and fickle is the South,
And dark, and true, and tender is the North."
There are tender hearts in the breasts of these northern men and women,
albeit they are as undemonstrative as the English--or we Americans, for
that matter. It is exhilarating to see such people--whose digestion is
sound, whose nerves are tough as whipcord, whose blood runs in a strong
full stream, whose impulses are perfectly natural, who are good without
knowing it, and who are happy without trying to be so. Where shall we
find such among our restless communities at home?
We made two Swedish miles by noon, and then took a breakfast of fried
reindeer meat and pancakes, of which we ate enormously, to keep up a
good supply of fuel. Braisted and I consumed about a pound of butter
between us. Shriek not, young ladies, at our vulgar appetites--you who
sip a spoonful of ice-cream, or trifle with a diminutive _meringue_, in
company, but make amends on cold ham and pickles in the pantry, after
you go home--I shall tell the truth, though it disgust you. This intense
cold begets a necessity for fat, and with the necessity comes the
taste--a wise provision of Nature! The consciousness now dawned upon me
that I might be able to relish train-oil and tallow-candles before we
had done with Lapland.
I had tough work at each station to get my head out of my wrappings,
which were united with my beard and hair in one solid lump. The cold
increased instead of diminishing, and by the time we reached Gumboda, at
dusk, it was 40° below zero. Here we found a company of Finns travelling
southward, who had engaged five horses, obliging us to wait a couple of
hours. We had already made forty miles, and were satisfied with our
performance, so we stopped for the night. When the thermometer was
brought in, the mercury was frozen, and on unmuffling I found the end of
my nose seared as if with a hot iron. The inn was capital; we had a warm
carpeted room, beds of clean, lavendered linen, and all civilised
appliances. In the evening we sat down to a Christmas dinner of
sausages, potatoes, pancakes, raspberry jam, and a bottle of Barclay
and Perkin's best porter, in which we drank the health of all dear
relatives and friends in the two hemispheres. And this was in West
Bothnia, where we had been told in Stockholm that we should starve! At
bedtime, Braisted took out the thermometer again, and soon brought it in
with the mercury frozen below all the numbers on the scale.
In the morning, the landlord came in and questioned us, in order to
satisfy his curiosity. He took us for Norwegians, and was quite
surprised to find out our real character. We had also been taken for
Finns, Russians and Danes, since leaving Stockholm. "I suppose you
intend to buy lumber?" said the landlord. "No," said I, "we travel
merely for the pleasure of it." "_Ja so-o-o!_" he exclaimed, in a tone
of the greatest surprise and incredulity. He asked if it was necessary
that we should travel in such cold weather, and seemed reluctant to let
us go. The mercury showed 25° below zero when we started, but the sky
was cloudy, with a raw wind from the north-west. We did not feel the
same hard, griping cold as the day previous, but a more penetrating
chill. The same character of scenery continued, but with a more bleak
and barren aspect, and the population became more scanty. The cloudy sky
took away what little green there was in the fir-trees, and they gloomed
as black as Styx on either side of our road. The air was terribly raw
and biting as it blew across the hollows and open plains. I did not
cover my face, but kept up such a lively friction on my nose, to prevent
it from freezing, that in the evening I found the skin quite worn away.
At Daglösten, the third station, we stopped an hour for breakfast. It
was a poverty-stricken place, and we could only get some fish-roes and
salt meat. The people were all half-idiots, even to the postilion who
drove us. We had some daylight for the fourth station, did the fifth by
twilight, and the sixth in darkness. The cold (-30°) was so keen that
our postilions made good time, and we reached Sunnanå on the Skellefteå
River, 52 miles, soon after six o'clock. Here we were lodged in a large,
barn-like room, so cold that we were obliged to put on our overcoats and
sit against the stove. I began to be troubled with a pain in my jaw,
from an unsound tooth--the commencement of a martyrdom from which I
suffered for many days afterwards. The existence of nerves in one's
teeth has always seemed to me a superfluous provision of Nature, and I
should have been well satisfied if she had omitted them in my case.
The handmaiden called us soon after five o'clock, and brought us coffee
while we were still in bed. This is the general custom here in the
North, and is another point of contact with the South. The sky was
overcast, with raw violent wind--mercury 18° below zero. We felt the
cold very keenly; much more so than on Christmas day. The wind blew full
in our teeth, and penetrated even beneath our furs. On setting out, we
crossed the Skellefteå River by a wooden bridge, beyond which we saw,
rising duskily in the uncertain twilight, a beautiful dome and lantern,
crowning a white temple, built in the form of a Greek cross. It was the
parish church of Skellefteå. Who could have expected to find such an
edifice, here, on the borders of Lapland? The village about it contains
many large and handsome houses. This is one of the principal points of
trade and intercourse between the coast and the interior.
The weather became worse as we advanced, traversing the low, broad
hills, through wastes of dark pine forests. The wind cut like a sharp
sword in passing the hollows, and the drifting snow began to fill the
tracks. We were full two hours in making the ten miles to Frostkage, and
the day seemed scarcely nearer at hand. The leaden, lowering sky gave
out no light, the forests were black and cold, the snow a dusky
grey--such horribly dismal scenery I have rarely beheld. We warmed
ourselves as well as we could, and started anew, having for postilions
two rosy boys, who sang the whole way and played all sorts of mad antics
with each other to keep from freezing. At the next station we drank
large quantities of hot milk, flavored with butter, sugar and cinnamon,
and then pushed on, with another chubby hop-o'-my-thumb as guide and
driver. The storm grew worse and worse: the wind blew fiercely over the
low hills, loaded with particles of snow, as fine as the point of a
needle and as hard as crystal, which struck full on our eyeballs and
stung them so that we could scarcely see. I had great difficulty in
keeping my face from freezing, and my companion found his cheek touched.
By the time we reached Abyn, it blew a hurricane, and we were compelled
to stop. It was already dusk, and our cosy little room was doubly
pleasant by contrast with the wild weather outside. Our cheerful
landlady, with her fresh complexion and splendid teeth, was very kind
and attentive, and I got on very well in conversation, notwithstanding
her broad dialect. She was much astonished at my asking for a bucket of
cold water, for bathing. "Why," said she, "I always thought that if a
person put his feet into cold water, in winter, he would die
immediately." However, she supplied it, and was a little surprised to
find me none the worse in the morning. I passed a terrible night from
the pain in my face, and was little comforted, on rising, by the
assurance that much snow had fallen. The mercury had risen to zero, and
the wind still blew, although not so furiously as on the previous day.
We therefore determined to set out, and try to reach Piteå. The
landlady's son, a tall young Viking, with yellow locks hanging on his
shoulders, acted as postilion, and took the lead. We started at nine,
and found it heavy enough at first. It was barely light enough to see
our way, and we floundered slowly along through deep drifts for a mile,
when we met the snow-plows, after which our road became easier. These
plows are wooden frames, shaped somewhat like the bow of a ship--in
fact, I have seen very fair clipper models among them--about fifteen
feet long by ten feet wide at the base, and so light that, if the snow
is not too deep, one horse can manage them. The farmers along the road
are obliged to turn out at six o'clock in the morning whenever the snow
falls or drifts, and open a passage for travellers. Thus, in spite of
the rigorous winter, communication is never interrupted, and the
snow-road, at last, from frequent plowing, becomes the finest sleighing
track in the world.
The wind blew so violently, however, that the furrows were soon filled
up, and even the track of the baggage-sled, fifty yards in advance, was
covered. There was one hollow where the drifts of loose snow were five
or six feet deep, and here we were obliged to get out and struggle
across, sinking to our loins at every step. It is astonishing how soon
one becomes hardened to the cold. Although the mercury stood at zero,
with a violent storm, we rode with our faces fully exposed, frost-bites
and all, and even drove with bare hands, without the least discomfort.
But of the scenery we saw this day, I can give no description. There was
nothing but long drifts and waves of spotless snow, some dim, dark,
spectral fir-trees on either hand, and beyond that a wild chaos of
storm. The snow came fast and blinding, beating full in our teeth. It
was impossible to see; the fine particles so stung our eyeballs, that we
could not look ahead. My eyelashes were loaded with snow, which
immediately turned to ice and froze the lids together, unless I kept
them in constant motion. The storm hummed and buzzed through the black
forests; we were all alone on the road, or even the pious Swedes would
not turn out to church on such a day. It was terribly sublime and
desolate, and I enjoyed it amazingly. We kept warm, although there was a
crust of ice a quarter of an inch thick on our cheeks, and the ice in
our beards prevented us from opening our mouths. At one o'clock, we
reached the second station, Gefre, unrecognisable by our nearest
friends. Our eyelashes were weighed down with heavy fringes of frozen
snow, there were icicles an inch long hanging to the eaves of our
moustaches, and the handkerchiefs which wrapped our faces were frozen
fast to the flesh. The skin was rather improved by this treatment, but
it took us a great while to thaw out.
At Gefre, we got some salt meat and hot milk, and then started on our
long stage of fifteen miles to Piteå. The wind had moderated somewhat,
but the snow still fell fast and thick. We were again blinded and
frozen up more firmly than ever, cheeks and all, so that our eyes and
lips were the only features to be seen. After plunging along for more
than two hours through dreary woods, we came upon the estuary of the
Piteå River, where our course was marked out by young fir-trees, planted
in the ice. The world became a blank; there was snow around, above and
below, and but for these marks a man might have driven at random until
he froze. For three miles or more, we rode over the solid gulf, and then
took the woods on the opposite shore. The way seemed almost endless. Our
feet grew painfully cold, our eyes smarted from the beating of the fine
snow, and my swollen jaw tortured me incessantly. Finally lights
appeared ahead through the darkness, but another half hour elapsed
before we saw houses on both sides of us. There was a street, at last,
then a large mansion, and to our great joy the _skjutsbonde_ turned into
the courtyard of an inn.
CHAPTER VI.
JOURNEY FROM PITEÅ TO HAPARANDA.
My jaw was so painful on reaching Piteå, that I tossed about in torment
the whole night, utterly unable to sleep. The long northern night seemed
as if it would never come to an end, and I arose in the morning much
more fatigued and exhausted than when I lay down. It was 6° below zero,
and the storm still blowing, but the cold seemed to relieve my face a
little, and so we set out. The roads were heavy, but a little broken,
and still led over hills and through interminable forests of mingled fir
and pine, in the dark, imperfect day. I took but little note of the
scenery, but was so drowsy and overcome, that Braisted at last filled
the long baggage-sled with hay, and sat at the rear, so that I could lie
stretched out, with my head upon his lap. Here, in spite of the cold and
wind, I lay in a warm, stupid half-sleep.
It was dark when we reached Ersnäs, whence we had twelve miles to Old
Luleå, with tired horses, heavy roads, and a lazy driver. I lay down
again, dozed as usual, and tried to forget my torments. So passed three
hours; the night had long set in, with a clear sky, 13° below zero, and
a sharp wind blowing. All at once an exclamation from Braisted aroused
me. I opened my eyes, as I lay in his lap, looked upward, and saw a
narrow belt or scarf of silver fire stretching directly across the
zenith, with its loose, frayed ends slowly swaying to and fro down the
slopes of the sky. Presently it began to waver, bending back and forth,
sometimes slowly, sometimes with a quick, springing motion, as if
testing its elasticity. Now it took the shape of a bow, now undulated
into Hogarth's line of beauty, brightening and fading in its sinuous
motion, and finally formed a shepherd's crook, the end of which suddenly
began to separate and fall off, as if driven by a strong wind, until the
whole belt shot away in long, drifting lines of fiery snow. It then
gathered again into a dozen dancing fragments, which alternately
advanced and retreated, shot hither and thither, against and across each
other, blazed out in yellow and rosy gleams or paled again, playing a
thousand fantastic pranks, as if guided by some wild whim.
We lay silent, with upturned faces, watching this wonderful spectacle.
Suddenly, the scattered lights ran together, as by a common impulse,
joined their bright ends, twisted them through each other, and fell in a
broad, luminous curtain straight downward through the air until its
fringed hem swung apparently but a few yards over our heads. This
phenomenon was so unexpected and startling, that for a moment I thought
our faces would be touched by the skirts of the glorious auroral
drapery. It did not follow the spheric curve of the firmament, but hung
plumb from the zenith, falling, apparently, millions of leagues through
the air, its folds gathered together among the stars and its embroidery
of flame sweeping the earth and shedding a pale, unearthly radiance over
the wastes of snow. A moment afterwards and it was again drawn up,
parted, waved its flambeaux and shot its lances hither and thither,
advancing and retreating as before. Anything so strange, so capricious,
so wonderful, so gloriously beautiful, I scarcely hope to see again.
By this time we came upon the broad Luleå River, and were half an hour
traversing its frozen surface, still watching the snow above us, which
gradually became fainter and less active. Finally we reached the
opposite shore, drove up a long slope, through a large village of
stables, and past the imposing church of Old Luleå to the inn. It was
now nearly eight o'clock, very cold, and I was thoroughly exhausted. But
the inn was already full of travellers, and there was no place to lay
our heads. The landlord, a sublimely indifferent Swede, coolly advised
us to go on to Persö, ten miles distant. I told him I had not slept for
two nights, but he merely shrugged his shoulders, repeated his advice,
and offered to furnish horses at once, to get us off. It was a long,
cold, dreary ride, and I was in a state of semi-consciousness the whole
time. We reached Persö about eleven, found the house full of travellers,
but procured two small beds in a small room with another man in it, and
went to sleep without supper. I was so thoroughly worn out that I got
about three hours' rest, in spite of my pain.
We took coffee in bed at seven, and started for Rånbyn, on the Råneå
River. The day was lowering, temperature 8-1/2° below zero. The country
was low, slightly undulating with occasional wide views to the north,
over the inlets of the gulf, and vast wide tracts of forest. The
settlements were still as frequent as ever, but there was little
apparent cultivation, except flax. Rånbyn is a large village, with a
stately church. The people were putting up booths for a fair (a fair in
the open air, in lat. 65° N., with the mercury freezing!), which
explained the increased travel on the road. We kept on to Hvitå for
breakfast, thus getting north of the latitude of Torneå; thence our road
turned eastward at right angles around the head of the Bothnian Gulf.
Much snow had fallen, but the road had been ploughed, and we had a
tolerable track, except when passing sleds, which sometimes gave us an
overturn.
We now had uninterrupted forest scenery between the stations--and such
scenery! It is almost impossible to paint the glory of those winter
forests. Every tree, laden with the purest snow, resembles a Gothic
fountain of bronze, covered with frozen spray, through which only
suggestive glimpses of its delicate tracery can be obtained. From every
rise we looked over thousands of such mimic fountains, shooting, low or
high, from their pavements of ivory and alabaster. It was an enchanted
wilderness--white, silent, gleaming, and filled with inexhaustible forms
of beauty. To what shall I liken those glimpses under the boughs, into
the depths of the forest, where the snow destroyed all perspective, and
brought the remotest fairy nooks and coverts, too lovely and fragile to
seem cold, into the glittering foreground? "Wonderful! Glorious!" I
could only exclaim, in breathless admiration. Once, by the roadside, we
saw an Arctic ptarmigan, as white as the snow, with ruby eyes that
sparkled like jewels as he moved slowly and silently along, not
frightened in the least.
The sun set a little after one o'clock, and we pushed on to reach the
Kalix River the same evening. At the last station we got a boy postilion
and two lazy horses, and were three hours and a half on the road, with a
temperature of 20° below zero. My feet became like ice, which increased
the pain in my face, and I began to feel faint and sick with so much
suffering and loss of rest. The boy aggravated us so much by his
laziness, that Braisted ran ahead and cuffed his ears, after which he
made better speed. After a drive through interminable woods, we came
upon the banks of the Kalix, which were steep and fringed with splendid
firs. Then came the village of Månsbyn, where, thank Heaven, we got
something to eat, a warm room, and a bed.
While we were at supper, two travellers arrived, one of whom, a
well-made, richly-dressed young fellow, was ushered into our room. He
was a _bruk-patron_ (iron-master), so the servant informed us, and from
his superfine broad-cloth, rings, and the immense anchor-chain which
attached him to his watch, appeared to be doing a thriving business. He
had the Norse bloom on his face, a dignified nose, and English whiskers
flanking his smoothly-shaven chin. His air was flushed and happy; he was
not exactly drunk, but comfortably within that gay and cheerful
vestibule beyond which lies the chamber of horrors. He listened to our
conversation for some time, and finally addressed me in imperfect
English. This led to mutual communications, and a declaration of our
character, and object in travel--nothing of which would he believe.
"Nobody can possibly come here for pleasure," said he; "I know better;
you have a secret political mission." Our amusement at this only
strengthened him in his suspicions. Nevertheless he called for a bottle
of port wine, which, when it came, turned out to be bad Malaga, and
insisted on drinking a welcome. "You are in latitude 66° north," said
he; "on the Kalix, where no American has ever been before, and I shall
call my friend to give a _skål_ to your country. We have been to the
church, where my friend is stationed."
With that he went out, and soon returned with a short, stout, broad
faced, large-headed man of forty or thereabouts. His manner was
perfectly well-bred and self-possessed, and I took him to be a
clergyman, especially as the iron-master addressed him as "Brother
Horton." "Now," said he, "welcome to 66° north, and prosperity to free
America! Are you for Buchanan or Fremont?" Brother Horton kept a
watchful eye upon his young friend, but cheerfully joined in the
sentiment. I gave in return: "_Skål_ to Sweden and the Swedish people,"
and hoped to get rid of our jolly acquaintance; but he was not to be
shaken off. "You don't know me," he said; "and I don't know you--but you
are something more than you seem to be: you are a political character."
Just then Braisted came in with the thermometer, and announced 24° of
cold (Reaumur). "Thousand devils!" exclaimed Brother Horton (and now I
was convinced that he was not a clergyman), "what a thermometer! How
cold it makes the weather! Would you part with it if I were to give you
money in return?" I declined, stating that it was impossible for us to
procure so cold a thermometer in the north, and we wanted to have as low
a temperature as could be obtained.
This seemed to puzzle the iron-master, who studied awhile upon it, and
then returned to the subject of my political mission. "I suppose you
speak French," said he; "it is necessary in diplomacy. I can speak it
also"--which he began to do, in a bungling way. I answered in the same
language, but he soon gave up the attempt and tried German. I changed
also, and, finding that he had exhausted his philology, of which he was
rather proud, especially as Brother Horton knew nothing but Swedish,
determined to have a little fun. "Of course you know Italian," said I;
"it is more musical than German," and forthwith addressed him in that
language. He reluctantly confessed his ignorance. "Oh, well," I
continued, "Spanish is equally agreeable to me;" and took up that tongue
before he could reply. His face grew more and more blank and bewildered.
"The Oriental languages are doubtless familiar to you;" I persisted, "I
have had no practice in Arabic for some time," and overwhelmed him with
Egyptian salutations. I then tried him with Hindustanee, which exhausted
my stock, but concluded by giving him the choice of Malay, Tartar, or
Thibetan. "Come, come," said Brother Horton, taking his arm as he stood
staring and perplexed--"the horses are ready." With some difficulty he
was persuaded to leave, after shaking hands with us, and exclaiming,
many times, "You are a very seldom man!"
When we awoke, the temperature had risen to 2° above zero, with a
tremendous snow-storm blowing. As we were preparing to set out, a
covered sled drove in from the north, with two Swedish naval officers,
whose vessel had been frozen in at Cronstadt, and who had been obliged
to return home through Finland, up the eastern coast of the Bothnian
Gulf. The captain, who spoke excellent English, informed me that they
were in about the same latitude as we, on Christmas day, on the opposite
side of the gulf, and had experienced the same degree of cold. Both of
them had their noses severely frozen. We were two hours and a half in
travelling to the first station, seven miles, as the snow was falling in
blinding quantities, and the road was not yet ploughed out. All the
pedestrians we met were on runners, but even with their snow skates,
five feet long, they sank deep enough to make their progress very slow
and toilsome.
By the time we reached Näsby my face was very much swollen and inflamed,
and as it was impossible to make the next stage by daylight, we wisely
determined to stop there. The wind blew a hurricane, the hard
snow-crystals lashed the windows and made a gray chaos of all
out-of-doors, but we had a warm, cosy, carpeted room within, a capital
dinner in the afternoon, and a bottle of genuine London porter with our
evening pipe. So we passed the last day of A. D. 1856, grateful to God
for all the blessings which the year had brought us, and for the comfort
and shelter we enjoyed, in that Polar wilderness of storm and snow.
On New Year's morning it blew less, and the temperature was
comparatively mild, so, although the road was very heavy, we started
again. Näsby is the last Swedish station, the Finnish frontier, which is
an abrupt separation of races and tongues, being at the north-western
corner of the Bothnian Gulf. In spite of the constant intercourse which
now exists between Norrland and the narrow strip of Finnish soil which
remains to Sweden, there has been no perceptible assimilation of the two
races. At Näsby, all is pure Swedish; at Sängis, twelve miles distant,
everything is Finnish. The blue eyes and fair hair, the lengthened oval
of the face, and slim, straight form disappear. You see, instead, square
faces, dark eyes, low foreheads, and something of an Oriental fire and
warmth in the movements. The language is totally dissimilar, and even
the costume, though of the same general fashion, presents many
noticeable points of difference. The women wear handkerchiefs of some
bright color bound over the forehead and under the chin, very similar to
those worn by the Armenian women in Asia Minor. On first coming among
them, the Finns impressed me as a less frank and open hearted, but more
original and picturesque, race than the Swedes. It is exceedingly
curious and interesting to find such a flavour of the Orient on the
borders of the Frigid Zone.
The roads were very bad, and our drivers and horses provokingly slow,
but we determined to push on to Haparanda the same night. I needed rest
and medical aid, my jaw by this time being so swollen that I had great
difficulty in eating--a state of things which threatened to diminish my
supply of fuel, and render me sensitive to the cold. We reached Nickala,
the last station, at seven o'clock. Beyond this, the road was
frightfully deep in places. We could scarcely make any headway, and were
frequently overturned headlong into the drifts. The driver was a Finn,
who did not understand a word of Swedish, and all our urging was of no
avail. We went on and on, in the moonlight, over arms of the gulf,
through forests, and then over ice again--a flat, monotonous country,
with the same dull features repeated again and again. At half-past nine,
a large white church announced our approach to Haparanda, and soon
afterwards we drove up to the inn, which was full of New-Year carousers.
The landlord gave us quarters in the same room with an old Norrlander,
who was very drunk, and annoyed us not a little until we got into bed
and pretended to sleep. It was pretence nearly the whole night, on my
part, for my torture was still kept up. The next morning I called upon
Dr. Wretholm, the physician of the place,--not without some
misgivings,--but his prescription of a poultice of mallow leaves, a
sudorific and an opiate, restored my confidence, and I cheerfully
resigned myself to a rest of two or three days, before proceeding
further northward.
CHAPTER VII.
CROSSING THE ARCTIC CIRCLE.
I was obliged to remain three days in Haparanda, applying poultices,
gargles, and liniments, according to the doctor's instructions. As my
Swedish was scarcely sufficient for the comprehension of prescriptions,
or medical technicalities in general, a written programme of my
treatment was furnished to Fredrika, the servant-maid, who was properly
impressed with the responsibility thereby devolving upon her. Fredrika,
no doubt, thought that my life was in her hands, and nothing could
exceed the energy with which she undertook its preservation. Punctually
to the minute appeared the prescribed application, and, if she perceived
or suspected any dereliction on my part, it was sure to be reported to
the doctor at his next visit. I had the taste of camomile and mallows in
my mouth from morning till night; the skin of my jaw blistered under the
scorching of ammonia; but the final result was, that I was cured, as the
doctor and Fredrika had determined.
This good-hearted girl was a genuine specimen of the Northern Swedish
female. Of medium height, plump, but not stout, with a rather slender
waist and expansive hips, and a foot which stepped firmly and nimbly at
the same time, she was as cheerful a body as one could wish to see. Her
hair was of that silky blonde so common in Sweden; her eyes a clear,
pale blue, her nose straight and well formed, her cheeks of the delicate
pink of a wild-rose leaf, and her teeth so white, regular and perfect
that I am sure they would make her fortune in America. Always cheerful,
kind and active, she had, nevertheless, a hard life of it: she was alike
cook, chambermaid, and hostler, and had a cross mistress to boot. She
made our fires in the morning darkness, and brought us our early coffee
while we yet lay in bed, in accordance with the luxurious habits of the
Arctic zone. Then, until the last drunken guest was silent, towards
midnight, there was no respite from labour. Although suffering from a
distressing cough, she had the out-door as well as the in-door duties to
discharge, and we saw her in a sheepskin jacket harnessing horses, in a
temperature 30° below zero. The reward of such a service was possibly
about _eight_ American dollars a year. When, on leaving, I gave her
about as much as one of our hotel servants would expect for answering a
question, the poor girl was overwhelmed with gratitude, and even the
stern landlady was so impressed by my generosity that she insisted on
lending us a sheepskin for our feet, saying we were "good men."
There is something exceedingly primitive and unsophisticated in the
manners of these Northern people--a straight-forward honesty, which
takes the honesty of others for granted--a latent kindness and good-will
which may at first be overlooked, because it is not demonstrative, and a
total unconsciousness of what is called, in highly civilised circles,
"propriety." The very freedom of manners which, in some countries, might
denote laxity of morals, is here the evident stamp of their purity. The
thought has often recurred to me--which is the most truly pure and
virginal nature, the fastidious American girl, who blushes at the sight
of a pair of boots outside a gentleman's bedroom door, and who requires
that certain unoffending parts of the body and articles of clothing
should be designated by delicately circumlocutious terms, or the
simple-minded Swedish women, who come into our bedrooms with coffee, and
make our fires while we get up and dress, coming and going during all
the various stages of the toilet, with the frankest unconsciousness of
impropriety? This is modesty in its healthy and natural development, not
in those morbid forms which suggest an imagination ever on the alert for
prurient images. Nothing has confirmed my impression of the virtue of
the Northern Swedes more than this fact, and I have rarely felt more
respect for woman or more faith in the inherent purity of her nature.
We had snug quarters in Haparanda, and our detention was therefore by no
means irksome. A large room, carpeted, protected from the outer cold by
double windows, and heated by an immense Russian stove, was allotted to
us. We had two beds, one of which became a broad sofa during the day, a
backgammon table, the ordinary appliances for washing, and, besides a
number of engravings on the walls, our window commanded a full view of
Torneå, and the ice-track across the river, where hundreds of persons
daily passed to and fro. The eastern window showed us the Arctic dawn,
growing and brightening through its wonderful gradations of color, for
four hours, when the pale orange sun appeared above the distant houses,
to slide along their roofs for two hours, and then dip again. We had
plentiful meals, consisting mostly of reindeer meat, with a sauce of
Swedish cranberries, potatoes, which had been frozen, but were still
palatable, salmon roes, soft bread in addition to the black shingles of
_fladbröd_, English porter, and excellent Umeå beer. In fact, in no
country inn of the United States could we have been more comfortable.
For the best which the place afforded, during four days, with a small
provision for the journey, we paid about seven dollars.
The day before our departure, I endeavored to obtain some information
concerning the road to Lapland, but was disappointed. The landlord
ascertained that there were _skjuts_, or relays of post-horses, as far
as Muonioniska, 210 English miles, but beyond this I could only learn
that the people were all Finnish, spoke no Swedish, were miserably poor,
and could give us nothing to eat. I was told that a certain official
personage at the apothecary's shop spoke German, and hastened thither;
but the official, a dark-eyed, olive-faced Finn, could not understand my
first question. The people even seemed entirely ignorant of the
geography of the country beyond Upper Torneå, or Matarengi, forty miles
off. The doctor's wife, a buxom, motherly lady, who seemed to feel quite
an interest in our undertaking, and was as kind and obliging as such
women always are, procured for us a supply of _fladbröd_ made of rye,
and delightfully crisp and hard--and this was the substance of our
preparations. Reindeer mittens were not to be found, nor a reindeer
skin to cover our feet, so we relied, as before, on plenty of hay and my
Scotch plaid. We might, perhaps, have had better success in Torneå, but
I knew no one there who would be likely to assist us, and we did not
even visit the old place. We had taken the precaution of getting the
Russian _visé_, together with a small stock of roubles, at Stockholm,
but found that it was quite unnecessary. No passport is required for
entering Torneå, or travelling on the Russian side of the frontier.
Trusting to luck, which is about the best plan after all, we started
from Haparanda at noon, on the 5th of January. The day was magnificent,
the sky cloudless, and resplendent as polished steel, and the mercury
31° below zero. The sun, scarcely more than the breadth of his disc
above the horizon, shed a faint orange light over the broad, level
snow-plains, and the bluish-white hemisphere of the Bothnian Gulf,
visible beyond Torneå. The air was perfectly still, and exquisitely cold
and bracing, despite the sharp grip it took upon my nose and ears. These
Arctic days, short as they are, have a majesty of their own--a splendor,
subdued though it be; a breadth and permanence of hue, imparted alike to
the sky and to the snowy earth, as if tinted glass was held before your
eyes. I find myself at a loss how to describe these effects, or the
impression they produce upon the traveller's mood. Certainly, it is the
very reverse of that depression which accompanies the Polar night, and
which even the absence of any real daylight might be considered
sufficient to produce.
Our road was well beaten, but narrow, and we had great difficulty in
passing the many hay and wood teams which met us, on account of the
depth of the loose snow on either side. We had several violent overturns
at such times, one of which occasioned us the loss of our beloved
pipe--a loss which rendered Braisted disconsolate for the rest of the
day. We had but one between us, and the bereavement was not slight. Soon
after leaving Haparanda, we passed a small white obelisk, with the words
"Russian Frontier" upon it. The town of Torneå, across the frozen river,
looked really imposing, with the sharp roof and tall spire of its old
church rising above the line of low red buildings. Campbell, I remember,
says,
"Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow,"
with the same disregard of geography which makes him grow palm trees
along the Susquehanna River. There was Torneå; but I looked in vain for
the "hoary brow." Not a hill within sight, nor a rock within a circuit
of ten miles, but one unvarying level, like the western shore of the
Adriatic, formed by the deposits of the rivers and the retrocession of
the sea.
Our road led up the left bank of the river, both sides of which were
studded with neat little villages. The country was well cleared and
cultivated, and appeared so populous and flourishing that I could
scarcely realise in what part of the world we were. The sun set at a
quarter past one, but for two hours the whole southern heaven was superb
in its hues of rose and orange. The sheepskin lent us by our landlady
kept our feet warm, and we only felt the cold in our faces; my nose,
especially, which, having lost a coat of skin, was very fresh and
tender, requiring unusual care At three o'clock, when we reached
Kuckula, the first station, the northern sky was one broad flush of the
purest violet, melting into lilac at the zenith, where it met the fiery
skirts of sunset.
We refreshed ourselves with hot milk, and pushed ahead, with better
horses. At four o'clock it was bright moonlight, with the stillest air.
We got on bravely over the level, beaten road, and in two hours reached
Korpikylä, a large new inn, where we found very tolerable accommodations.
Our beds were heaps of reindeer skins; a frightfully ugly Finnish girl,
who knew a few words of Swedish, prepared us a supper of tough meat,
potatoes, and ale. Everything was now pure Finnish, and the first
question of the girl, "_Hvarifrån kommar du?_" (Where dost thou come
from?) showed an ignorance of the commonest Swedish form of address. She
awoke us with a cup of coffee in the morning, and negotiated for us the
purchase of a reindeer skin, which we procured for something less than a
dollar. The _hus-bonde_ (house-peasant, as the landlord is called here)
made no charge for our entertainment, but said we might give what we
pleased. I offered, at a venture, a sum equal to about fifty cents,
whereupon he sent the girl to say that he thanked us most heartily.
The next day was a day to be remembered: such a glory of twilight
splendors for six full hours was beyond all the charms of daylight in
any zone. We started at seven, with a temperature of 20° below zero,
still keeping up the left bank of the Torneå. The country now rose into
bold hills, and the features of the scenery became broad and majestic.
The northern sky was again pure violet, and a pale red tinge from the
dawn rested on the tops of the snowy hills. The prevailing color of the
sky slowly brightened into lilac, then into pink, then rose color, which
again gave way to a flood of splendid orange when the sun appeared.
Every change of color affected the tone of the landscape. The woods, so
wrapped in snow that not a single green needle was to be seen, took by
turns the hues of the sky, and seemed to give out, rather than to
reflect, the opalescent lustre of the morning. The sunshine brightened
instead of dispelling these effects. At noon the sun's disc was not more
than 1° above the horizon, throwing a level golden light on the hills.
The north, before us, was as blue as the Mediterranean, and the vault of
heaven, overhead, canopied us with pink. Every object was glorified and
transfigured in the magic glow.
At the first station we got some hot milk, with raw salmon, shingle
bread and frozen butter. Our horses were good, and we drove merrily
along, up the frozen Torneå. The roads were filled with people going to
church, probably to celebrate some religious anniversary. Fresh ruddy
faces had they, firm features, strong frames and resolute carriage, but
the most of them were positively ugly, and, by contrast with the frank
Swedes, their expression was furtive and sinister. Near Päckilä we
passed a fine old church of red brick, with a very handsome belfry. At
Niemis we changed horses in ten minutes, and hastened on up the bed of
the Torneå to Matarengi, where we should reach the Arctic Circle. The
hills rose higher, with fine sweeping outlines, and the river was still
half a mile broad--a plain of solid snow, with the track marked out by
bushes. We kept a sharp look-out for the mountain of Avasaxa, one of
the stations of Celsius, Maupertius, and the French Academicians, who
came here in 1736, to make observations determining the exact form of
the earth. Through this mountain, it is said, the Arctic Circle passes,
though our maps were neither sufficiently minute nor correct to
determine the point. We took it for granted, however, as a mile one way
or the other could make but little difference; and as Matarengi lies due
west of Avasaxa, across the river, we decided to stop there and take
dinner on the Arctic Circle.
The increase of villages on both banks, with the appearance of a large
church, denoted our approach to Matarengi, and we saw at once that the
tall, gently-rounded, isolated hill opposite, now blazing with golden
snow, could be none other than Avasaxa. Here we were, at last, entering
the Arctic Zone, in the dead of winter--the realization of a dream which
had often flashed across my mind, when lounging under the tropical
palms; so natural is it for one extreme to suggest the opposite. I took
our bearings with a compass-ring, as we drove forward, and as the summit
of Avasaxa bore due east we both gave a shout which startled our
postilion and notably quickened the gait of our horses. It was impossible
to toss our caps, for they were not only tied upon our heads, but frozen
fast to our beards. So here we were at last, in the true dominions of
Winter. A mild ruler he had been to us, thus far, but he proved a despot
before we were done with him.
Soon afterwards, we drove into the inn at Matarengi, which was full of
country people, who had come to attend church. The landlord, a sallow,
watery-eyed Finn, who knew a few words of Swedish, gave us a room in an
adjoining house, and furnished a dinner of boiled fish and barley mush,
to which was added a bottle labelled "Dry Madeira," brought from
Haparanda for the occasion. At a shop adjoining, Braisted found a
serviceable pipe, so that nothing was wanting to complete our jubilee.
We swallowed the memory of all who were dear to us, in the dubious
beverage, inaugurated our Arctic pipe, which we proposed to take home as
a _souvenir_ of the place, and set forward in the most cheery mood.
Our road now crossed the river and kept up the Russian side to a place
with the charming name of Torakankorwa. The afternoon twilight was even
more wonderful than that of the forenoon. There were broad bands of
purple, pure crimson, and intense yellow, all fusing together into fiery
orange at the south, while the north became a semi-vault of pink, then
lilac, and then the softest violet. The dazzling Arctic hills participated
in this play of colors, which did not fade, as in the South, but stayed,
and stayed, as if God wished to compensate by this twilight glory for the
loss of the day. Nothing in Italy, nothing in the Tropics, equals the
magnificence of the Polar skies. The twilight gave place to a moonlight
scarcely less brilliant. Our road was hardly broken, leading through deep
snow, sometimes on the river, sometimes through close little glens, hedged
in with firs drooping with snow--fairy Arctic solitudes, white, silent
and mysterious.
By seven o'clock we reached a station called Juoxengi. The place was
wholly Finnish, and the landlord, who did not understand a word of
Swedish, endeavoured to make us go on to the next station. We pointed
to the beds and quietly carried in our baggage. I made the usual signs
for eating, which speedily procured us a pail of sour milk, bread and
butter, and two immense tin drinking horns of sweet milk. The people
seemed a little afraid of us, and kept away. Our postilion was a silly
fellow, who could not understand whether his money was correct. In the
course of our stenographic conversation, I learned that "_cax_" signified
two. When I gave him his drink-money he said "_ketox!_" and on going out
the door, "_hüweste!_"--so that I at least discovered the Finnish for
"Thank you!" and "Good-bye!" This, however, was not sufficient to order
horses the next morning. We were likewise in a state of delightful
uncertainty as to our future progress, but this very uncertainty gave a
zest to our situation, and it would have been difficult to find two
jollier men with frozen noses.
CHAPTER VIII.
ADVENTURES AMONG THE FINNS.
We drank so much milk (for want of more solid food) at Juoxengi, that in
spite of sound sleep under our sheepskin blankets, we both awoke with
headaches in the morning. The Finnish landlord gave me to understand, by
holding up his fore-finger, and pronouncing the word "_üx_," that I was
to pay one _rigsdaler_ (about 26 cents), for our entertainment, and was
overcome with grateful surprise when I added a trifle more. We got
underway by six o'clock, when the night was just at its darkest, and it
was next to impossible to discern any track on the spotless snow.
Trusting to good luck to escape overturning, we followed in the wake of
the _skjutsbonde_, who had mounted our baggage sled upon one of the
country sledges, and rode perched upon his lofty seat. Our horses were
tolerable, but we had eighteen miles to Pello, the next station, which
we reached about ten o'clock.
Our road was mostly upon the Torneå River, sometimes taking to the woods
on either side, to cut off bends. The morn was hours in dawning, with
the same splendid transitions of colour. The forests were indescribable
in their silence, whiteness, and wonderful variety of snowy adornment.
The weeping birches leaned over the road, and formed white fringed
arches; the firs wore mantles of ermine, and ruffs and tippets of the
softest swan's down. Snow, wind, and frost had worked the most
marvellous transformations in the forms of the forest. Here were
kneeling nuns, with their arms hanging listlessly by their sides, and
the white cowls falling over their faces; there lay a warrior's helmet;
lace curtains, torn and ragged, hung from the points of little Gothic
spires; caverns, lined with sparry incrustations, silver palm-leaves,
doors, loop-holes, arches and arcades were thrown together in a
fantastic confusion and mingled with the more decided forms of the
larger trees, which, even, were trees but in form, so completely were
they wrapped in their dazzling disguise. It was an enchanted land, where
you hardly dared to breathe, lest a breath might break the spell.
There was still little change in the features of the country, except
that it became wilder and more rugged, and the settlements poorer and
further apart. There were low hills on either side, wildernesses of
birch and fir, and floors of level snow over the rivers and marshes. On
approaching Pello, we saw our first reindeer, standing beside a hut. He
was a large, handsome animal; his master, who wore a fur dress, we of
course set down for a Lapp. At the inn a skinny old hag, who knew a
dozen words of Swedish, got us some bread, milk, and raw frozen salmon,
which, with the aid of a great deal of butter, sufficed us for a meal.
Our next stage was to Kardis, sixteen miles, which we made in four
hours. While in the midst of a forest on the Swedish side, we fell in
with a herd of reindeer, attended by half-a-dozen Lapps. They came
tramping along through the snow, about fifty in number, including a
dozen which ran loose. The others were harnessed to _pulks_, the
canoe-shaped reindeer sledges, many of which were filled with stores and
baggage. The Lapps were rather good-looking young fellows, with a
bright, coppery, orange complexion, and were by no means so
ill-favoured, short, and stunted as I had imagined. One of them was,
indeed, really handsome, with his laughing eyes, sparkling teeth, and a
slender, black moustache.
We were obliged to wait a quarter-of-an-hour while the herd passed, and
then took to the river again. The effect of sunset on the snow was
marvellous--the spotless mounds and drifts, far and near, being stained
with soft rose colour, until they resembled nothing so much as heaps of
strawberry ice. At Kardis the people sent for an interpreter, who was a
young man, entirely blind. He helped us to get our horses, although we
were detained an hour, as only one horse is kept in readiness at these
stations, and the neighbourhood must be scoured to procure another. I
employed the time in learning a few Finnish words--the whole
travelling-stock, in fact, on which I made the journey to Muonioniska.
That the reader may see how few words of a strange language will enable
him to travel, as well as to give a sample of Finnish, I herewith copy
my whole vocabulary: