Norway, 2nd July, 1868.
Happening to be in Norway just now, and believing that young people feel
an interest in the land of the old sea-kings, I send you a short account
of my experiences. Up to this date I verily believe that there is
nothing in the wide world comparable to this island coast of Norway. At
this moment we are steaming through a region which the fairies might
rejoice to inhabit. Indeed, the fact that there are no fairies here
goes far to prove that there are none anywhere. What a thought! No
fairies? Why all the romance of childhood would be swept away at one
fell blow if I were to admit the idea that there are no fairies. Perish
the matter-of-fact thought! Let me rather conclude, that, for some
weighty, though unknown, reason, the fairies have resolved to leave this
island world uninhabited.
Fortune favours me. I have just come on deck, after a two days' voyage
across the German Ocean, to find myself in the midst of innumerable
islands, a dead calm--so dead that it seems impossible that it should
ever come alive again--and scenery so wild, so gorgeous, that one ceases
to wonder where the Vikings of old got their fire, their romance, their
enterprise, and their indomitable pluck. It is warm, too, and
brilliantly sunny.
On gazing at these tall grey rocks, with the bright green patches here
and there, and an occasional red-tiled hut, one almost expects to see a
fleet of daring rovers dash out of a sequestered bay, with their long
yellow hair, and big blue eyes, and broad shoulders--not to mention
broad-swords and ring-mail and battle-axes. But one does not always see
what one expects. The days of the sea-kings are gone by; and at this
moment, rowing out of one of these same sequestered bays, comes the boat
of a custom-house officer. Yes, there is no doubt whatever about it.
There he comes, a plain-looking unromantic man in a foraging-cap, with a
blue surtout and brass buttons, about as like to a sea-king as a
man-of-war is to a muffin.
Of course, the scenery is indescribable--no scenery _is_ describable.
In order that my reader may judge of the truth of this statement, I
append the following description.
There are islands round us of every shape and size--all of them more or
less barren, the greater part of their surfaces being exposed grey rock.
Here and there may be seen, as I have already hinted, small patches of
bright green, and, sparsely scattered everywhere, are little red-roofed
wooden cottages--poor enough things the most of them; others,
gaudy-looking affairs with gable-ends, white faces, and windows bordered
with green. All of these are, while I write, reflected in the water as
in a mirror, for there is not a breath of wind. Over the islands on my
left are seen more islands extending out to sea. On the right tower up
the blue hills of the interior of old Norway, and, although the weather
is excessively hot, many of these are covered with snow. Everything is
light, and transparent, and thin, and blue, and glassy, and fairy-like,
and magically beautiful, and altogether delightful! There: have you
made much of all that, good reader? If you have, be thankful, for, as I
set out by saying, description of scenery, (at least to any good
purpose), is impossible. The description of a man, however, is quite
another thing. Here is our pilot. He is a rugged man, with fair hair,
and a yellow face, and a clay-coloured chin, and a red nose. He is
small in stature, and thin, insignificant in appearance, deeply
miserable in aspect. His garments are black glazed oiled-cloth from
head to foot, and immensely too large for him, especially the waistcoat,
which is double-breasted, and seems to feel that his trousers are not a
sufficient covering for such a pair of brittle looking legs, for it
extends at least half way down to his knees. The flap of his
sou'-wester, also, comes half way down his back. He is a wonderful
object to look upon; yet he has the audacity, (so it seems to me), to
take us in charge, and our captain has the foolhardiness to allow him.
If one goes out of the beaten track of "routes" in Norway, one is apt to
get into difficulties of a minor kind. I happen to be travelling just
now with a party of four friends, of whom three are ladies, the fourth a
jolly young fellow fresh from college. A few days ago we had a few
unusual experiences--even for Norway. On leaving Bergen we had made up
our minds, as the steamer did not sail to within about sixty miles of
our destination, to get ourselves and our luggage put down at a small
hamlet at the mouth of the Nord-fjord, and there engage two large boats
to transport us the remaining sixty miles up the fjord.
The ladies of our party valorously resolved to sit up all night to see
the magnificent island scenery, through which we were passing under the
influence of the charming and subdued daylight of midnight--for there is
no night here just now.
As for myself, being an old traveller, I have become aware that sleep is
essential to a comfortable and useful existence. I therefore bade my
friends good-night, took a farewell look at the bright sky, and the
islands, and the sleeping sea, and went below to bed.
Next day we spent steaming along the island coast.
At one o'clock on the following morning we reached Moldeoen, where the
steamer landed us on a rock on which were a few acres of grass and half
a dozen wooden houses. We had a good deal of luggage with us, also some
casks, cases, and barrels of provisions, and a piano-forte, as our place
of sojourn is somewhat out of the way and far removed from civilised
markets. A few poverty-stricken natives stood on the rude stone pier as
we landed, and slowly assisted us to unload. At the time I conceived
that the idiotical expression of their countenances was the result of
being roused at untimely hours; but our subsequent experience led me to
change my mind in regard to this.
In half an hour the steamer puffed away into the mysterious depths of
one of the dark-blue fjords, and we were left on a desolate island, like
Robinson Crusoe, with our worldly goods around us. Most of the natives
we found so stupid that they could not understand our excellent Norse.
One fellow, in particular, might as well have been a piece of mahogany
as a man. He stood looking at me with stolid imbecility while I was
talking to him, and made no reply when I had done. In fact the motion
of his eyes, as he looked at me, alone betrayed the fact that he was
flesh and blood.
We soon found that two boats were not to be had; that almost all the men
of the place were away deep-sea fishing, and would not be back for many
hours, and that when they did come back they would be so tired as to
require at least half a day's rest ere they could undertake so long a
journey with us. However, they sent a man off in a boat to search for
as many boatmen as could be found. He was away an hour. During this
period the few inhabitants who had turned out to see the steamer,
disappeared, and we were left alone on the beach. There was no inn
here; no one cared for us; every place seemed dirty with the exception
of one house, which had a very lonely and deserted aspect, so we did not
venture to disturb it.
In the course of time the messenger returned. No men were to be found
except three. This was not a sufficient crew for even one large boat--
we required two.
A feeling that we were homeless wanderers came over us now, and each,
seating himself or herself on a box or a portmanteau, began to meditate.
Seeing this, the three men coolly lay down to rest in the bow of their
boat, and, drawing a sail over them, were quickly sound asleep.
The act suggested the idea that we could not do better, so we placed two
portmanteaus end to end, and thus made a couch about six feet long. A
box, somewhat higher, placed at one end, served for a pillow, and on
this one of the ladies lay down, flat on her back of course, that being
the only possible position under the circumstances. A shawl was thrown
over her, and she went to sleep like an effigy on a tombstone.
Another of the ladies tried a similar couch; but as boxes of equal
height could not be found, her position was not enviable. The third
lady preferred an uneasy posture among the ribs and cordage of the boat,
and I lay down on the paving-stones of the quay, having found from
experience that, in the matter of beds, flatness is the most
indispensable of qualities, while hardness is not so awful as one might
suppose. Where my comrade the collegian went to I know not.
Presently one of the ladies got up and said that this would never do;
that the next day was Sunday, and that we were in duty bound to do our
best to reach the end of our journey on Saturday night. Thus
admonished, my comrade and I started up and resolved to become "men,"
that is, to act as boatmen. No sooner said than done. We roused the
three sleepers, embarked the most important half of our luggage; left
the other half in charge of the native with the idiotic countenance,
with directions to take care of it and have it forwarded as soon as
possible, and, at a little after two in the morning, pulled vigorously
away from the inhospitable shores of Moldeoen.
We started on our sixty-miles' journey hopefully, and went on our way
for an hour or so with spirit. But when two hours had elapsed, my
companion and I began to feel the effects of rowing with unaccustomed
muscles rather severely, and gazed with envy at the three ladies who lay
coiled up in an indescribable heap of shawls and crinolines in the stern
of the boat, sound asleep. They needed sleep, poor things, not having
rested for two days and two nights.
But my poor friend was more to be pitied than they. Having scorned to
follow my example and take rest when he could get the chance, he now
found himself unexpectedly called on to do the work of a man when he
could not keep his eyes open. When our third hour began, I saw that he
was fast asleep at the oar--lifting it indeed and dipping it in proper
time, but without pulling the weight of an ounce upon it. I therefore
took it from him, and told him to take half an hour's nap, when I would
wake him up, and expect him to take the oars and give me a rest.
On being relieved he dropped his head on a sugar-cask, and was sound
asleep in two minutes!
I now felt drearily dismal. I began to realise the fact that we had
actually pledged ourselves to work without intermission for the next
eighteen or twenty hours, of which two only had run, and I felt
sensations akin to what must have been those of the galley-slaves of
old. In the midst of many deep thoughts and cogitations, during that
silent morning hour, when all were asleep around me save the three
mechanical-looking boatmen, and when the only sounds that met my ears
were the dip of the oars and the deep breathing, (to give it no other
name), of the slumberers--in the midst of many deep thoughts, I say, I
came to the conclusion that in my present circumstances the worst thing
I could do was to _think_! I remembered the fable of the pendulum that
became so horrified at the thought of the number of ticks it had to
perform in a lengthened period of time, that it stopped in despair; and
I determined to "shut down" my intellect.
Soon after, my shoulders began to ache, and in process of time I felt a
sensation about the small of my back that induced the alarming belief
that the spinal marrow was boiling. Presently my wrists became cramped,
and I felt a strong inclination to pitch the oars overboard, lie down in
the bottom of the boat, and howl! But feeling that this would be
unmanly, I restrained myself. Just then my companion in sorrow began to
snore, so I awoke him, and--giving him the oars--went to sleep.
From this period everything in the history of that remarkable day became
unconnected, hazy, and confusing. I became to some extent mechanical in
my thoughts and actions. I rowed and rested, and rowed again; I ate and
sang, and even laughed. My comrade did the same, like a true Briton,
for he was game to the backbone. But the one great, grand,
never-changing idea in the day was--pull--pull--pull!
We had hoped during the course of that day to procure assistance, but we
were unsuccessful. We passed a number of fishermen's huts, but none of
the men would consent to embark with us. At last, late that night, we
reached a small farm about two-thirds of the way up the fjord, where we
succeeded in procuring another large boat with a crew of five men.
Here, also, we obtained a cup of coffee; and while we were awaiting the
arrival of the boat I lay down on the pier and had a short nap.
None but those who have toiled for it can fully appreciate the blessing
of repose. It was a clear, calm night when we resumed our boat journey.
The soft daylight threw a species of magical effect over the great
mountains and the glassy fjord, as we rowed away with steady and
vigorous strokes, and I lay down in the bow of the boat to sleep. The
end of the mast squeezed my shoulder; the edge of a cask of beef
well-nigh stove in my ribs; the corner of a box bored a hole in the nape
of my neck--yet I went off like one of the famed seven sleepers, and my
friend, although stretched out beside me in similarly unpropitious
circumstances, began to snore in less than five minutes after he laid
down.
The last sounds I heard before falling into a state of oblivion were the
voices of our fair companions joining in that most beautiful of our
sacred melodies, the "Evening Hymn," ere they lay down to rest in the
stern of the boat. Next morning at nine we arrived at the top of the
fjord, and at the end, for a time at least, of our journeying.