Chapter Eight.
Visit to a Strange People—The Midnight Sun
One day the Snowflake lay becalmed in one of those long narrow fiords by which the whole of the west coast of Norway is cut up, and some of which extend from seventy to a hundred miles inland.
There was no prospect of a breeze, so another boat excursion was talked of. Hearing this, Hans Ericsson informed his master that there was a small settlement of Laplanders about thirty miles or so inland, and that he would be very glad to guide him and his friends to it if they chose.
They jumped at the proposal at once, and in less than half an hour they were on their way to it. Bob Bowie also went on this expedition.
No carioles could be procured in that wild region, but at a poor fishing-village on the coast they got two of the country carts. These are small rough machines, with a seat on wooden springs. They can hold only two persons, and are light and serviceable, well suited to the rough roads. Fred and Sam led the way; Grant and the steward followed. Hans acted the part of shooscarle to the former, and the owner of the carts drove the latter.
The first start was up the side of a hill at least two thousand feet, and the road was so steep that it was all that the ponies could do to drag up the empty carts. Having gained the top of the first hill, they came upon a level plateau, resembling the bleak Scottish moorlands, which terminated in a range of wild snow-capped mountains. After resting the ponies a few minutes, they set off at a brisk trot, and were soon across the level ground. Ascending to another plateau, they crossed it, and finally reached the higher mountain-range of the interior. Here they crossed several patches of snow which the summer heat had not yet been able to melt away.
As soon as they were fairly amongst the mountains, the roads became horrible, and it was a matter of wonder that the springs of the carts were not broken. Toiling up hills, and dashing down on the other side,—crashing over fallen rocks, and shaving the edge of yawning gulfs and precipices,—thus they advanced till evening, through a country which was the picture of barrenness and desolation.
Rocks were the chief feature of the scenery. They had got to such a height above the level of the sea that there were no pines, only a few stunted birch-trees. There was little soil, but that little was well clothed with vegetation. Rocky mountains, rocky masses, and rocky glens everywhere; but as they went farther inland the scenery improved a little.
Soon they found that instead of travelling inland they had been only crossing one of these broad necks of high land which separate the fords of Norway from each other, and ere long they came in sight of the sea, with precipitous mountains dipping into it.
Here, on a green slope facing the fiord, were seen the conical tents of the strange people whom they had travelled so far to visit.
The inhabitants of Lapland are a distinct race from their southern neighbours the Norwegians, in size, intelligence, civilisation, and manner of life. They are as near as may be savages in appearance, and in some of their habits, insomuch that on first visiting them a stranger might be apt to set them down as real savages. Yet they are many degrees higher than the savage, such as the Red Indian of North America. The Lapp is as dirty as the Indian, and dwells in as poor a hut, and lives in as simple a style; but he is rich in property—his property being herds of reindeer, while the Indian depends entirely on the chase for wealth and subsistence. Then again, although the Lapp has nothing worthy of the name of a house, he is an educated man, to a small extent. He can read, and, above all, he possesses the Word of God in a language which he understands.
In bodily size, however, the Red Indian beats him; for as a race the Lapps are particularly small, though they are well proportioned and active.
They are seldom visited by strangers; and it is not improbable that when the two carts dashed into their village our friends were the first Englishmen they had ever seen.
It happened to rain heavily during the last part of the journey to the Lapp village. To the surprise and amusement of the travellers, Bob Bowie drew forth from his cart a huge red cotton umbrella which he had purchased at Bergen, and which, seeing the sky cloudy, he had brought with him in the hope that he might have occasion to use (that is, to display) it.
The rain, however, did not depress the spirits of the party a whit. Nothing in the shape of water could damp their enthusiasm.
If any one wants to see a poor, ragged, diminutive, wizened, yet jolly race of human beings,—a race of beings who wear hairy garments, sup reindeer’s milk with wooden spoons, and dwell in big bee-hives,—he has only got to go to Lapland and see the Lapps.
Quitting the carts at the outskirts of the village, the travellers advanced into the centre of it just as the natives were driving a herd of reindeer into an enclosure to be milked.
There could not have been fewer than three hundred reindeer-stags, does, and numerous fawns; and these, they afterwards learned, constituted the entire wealth of three families of Lapps.
As Fred and his friends strode into the enclosure, and came upon these good people rather suddenly, their amazement was unspeakable at finding they had bagged a party of giants along with their deer. Even scraggy Sam Sorrel looked quite big compared with them.
After the first gaze and shout of surprise, they crowded round the strangers, and they all—men, women, and children—began to eye and paw them over, and to examine their costumes with deep interest. The diminutive size of the Lapps became very apparent as they were thus engaged. None of the men were much, if at all, above five feet, several were considerably under that height, and the women were short in proportion.
If the bosoms of these Lapps were small, their hearts must certainly have been very large, for they received their visitors with great warmth and delight. Altogether they were a jovial and hearty, though uncommonly ill-dressed race of mortals.
The men were clothed partly in deer-skin, partly in coarse cloth, and these garments were reduced by long service to a uniform dirty-brown colour. They showed signs of being slept in by night as well as worn by day.
There was a schoolmaster amongst them. Only fancy, a Lapp schoolmaster, four feet nine or ten inches high! Sam Sorrel took a sketch of this gentleman on the spot, with his wife and child. What the schoolmaster taught, or whom he taught, or when or where he taught, are questions to which Fred could obtain no answer. To look at him, one would have imagined that eating, sleeping, and herding reindeer were the only lessons that he was able to teach. Yet it was found on inquiry that some of them could read Norse; and Sam actually discovered an old man in one of the huts poring over a New Testament in that language. There seemed something strangely incongruous in all this. They were dirty and uncouth; they had no houses, no tables or chairs, no civilised habits of any kind; yet they could read, and they had a schoolmaster! A very dirty one, to be sure, and not very deeply learned, I dare say; still a dominie, without doubt. On the strength of their acquirements, Fred presented the tribe with a Norse New Testament.
Besides being four feet ten, the schoolmaster was comical and quizzical. He was evidently the wit of his tribe. His face was yellow and dirty; his nose was short and red, in addition to which it was turned up at the point; his eyes were small, and sloped downwards at the inner corners towards the nose, like those of the Chinese. His dirty leathern tunic was belted so low down, and his little legs were so short, that there was considerably more of him above the belt than below it. On his head he wore a cap, somewhat like that of a jockey in shape, and his lower limbs were encased in tight but ill-fitting leggings. Altogether, this man was the most disreputable-looking schoolmaster that was ever seen either at home or abroad.
While both parties were making acquaintance with each other, the rain fell more heavily.
“You’d better put up your umbrella, Bob Bowie,” said Fred.
Bob, who had forgotten the umbrella, in consequence of being so much taken up with the Lapps, at once put it up. Being extremely proud of this curiosity, he was glad of the opportunity to display it. A shout of surprise and delight greeted its appearance. It was clear that the Lapps had never seen one before. The schoolmaster at once seized it out of Bob’s hand, and strutted about with it over his head, to the inexpressible joy of the children, who ran after him and crowded round him. Undoubtedly he must have been a kind schoolmaster. For some time the earnest attention of old and young was entirely given to this umbrella, while they tried to find out how many could get under it at once.
The costume of the women was as rude as that of the men. The schoolmaster’s wife wore a sort of cloth helmet, and a rough yellow cloth gown, which was not by any means too long. Her little girl wore a tight-fitting skull-cap, and another youngster had on a thing much too large for it—like a huge extinguisher, which seemed to be its father’s nightcap.
They were extremely ugly, all of them, but very happy-looking and good-natured.
Of course Fred had taken a few trinkets with him, such as beads, thimbles, scissors, sugar-plums, knives, etcetera; and as every one in the village received something, the whole place resounded with exclamations of joy.
Despite the rain, Sam Sorrel pulled out his sketch-book and began to take portraits. Here was another source of wonder to the Lapps. For some time they knew not what to make of it, but crowded round Sam with looks of inquisitive surprise, and, getting on tip-toe, peeped at his book. When one or two lines had been drawn, exclamations of interest were uttered by one and other; and when in a few minutes, the small youth with his father’s extinguisher on his head became clearly defined on the paper, there was a regular burst of laughter.
Sam instantly received a far greater number of “orders” than he could execute. The stout little woman in the cloth helmet placed herself in an attitude which was no doubt meant to be irresistibly attractive. Several of the youngsters plucked the artist by the sleeve, and thrust forward their pert little faces, as if to say, “Do me!” or “Here’s a chance for you!” and the schoolmaster, promptly clearing a space in front of Sam, placed himself in an attitude, and by his commanding look ordered him to begin at once. He did begin, on the spot and finished the portrait in five minutes—rather a long sitting, considering the state of the weather, and the impatience of the schoolmaster to see himself on canvas!
While this was going on in one quarter, Bob Bowie had attracted round him a circle of warm admirers, whose souls he captivated by showing and explaining to them the interior of his watch. As the lecture was delivered in English, it is not to be supposed that the audience profited much by means of their ears, but their eyes did double duty that day; at least one might reasonably suppose so, from the immense size to which they were constantly expanded!
They evidently did not know whether to regard the watch as a mechanical contrivance or a living creature. In the study of this mysterious thing they were somewhat distracted by the presence of their first love the umbrella, which the lecturer had erected over his head in order to shield his timepiece from the rain. Fred and Grant went about everywhere, looking at everything, and talking, as they best could, to everybody.
Meanwhile the three hundred deer, in the midst of which they had been standing all this time, kept moving about the enclosure, emitting a peculiar grunting sound, and making a strange clicking noise with their ankle-joints. This is a well-known peculiarity of the reindeer. Every time they lift or set down their feet, the ankle-joints crack as do the knuckles of a man when he pulls his fingers. As these deer were constantly getting up and lying down, the twittering rattle of their ankle-joints was unceasing.
Presently the schoolmaster’s wife took a small wooden cup, milked one of the does, and handed the proceeds to Fred. He was surprised to find the milk as thick and as pleasant to the taste as the richest cream; and he was still more surprised to be told that all that could be got from a doe at any one time was about half a tea-cupful.
The deer varied in colour from dark brown to almost white. The stags stood about three feet eight inches high at the shoulder, and the antlers were about three feet long, following the curve.
Quitting the enclosure, the party next visited several of the huts,—which were made of moss, turf, sticks, etcetera, put together in such a confused way, that it was difficult to make out how they had been formed. A hole in the side was the only door to each hut, and a hole in the top was the window and chimney. In one of these they found an extremely old woman seated on a pile of dirty deerskins. Sam Sorrel said he was convinced she was the schoolmaster’s great-grandmother. She looked like a living mummy, so small and wrinkled and brown and dried up was the poor old body. Yet she was lively enough to show signs of pleasure when Fred patted her back gently and presented her with a pair of scissors and a pair of worsted gloves.
It was a late hour before the curiosity of our friends was satisfied; the sun was dipping low on the horizon when at last they bade adieu to the Lapps, and harnessing their ponies, set out on the return journey. The way was long, and their eyes were heavy. They tried by means of conversation and song to keep themselves awake, but were unsuccessful. Despite their utmost efforts their heads would nod, and brief little dreams kept perpetually reminding them of Laplanders, dirty little schoolmasters, and reindeer.
Now, while Fred was nodding in his cart, and trying to keep awake that night, he little thought that he was so nearly attaining the great object for which he had come to Norway. Yet so it was. They came, in course of time, to the summit of a ridge from which could be had a splendid view of the fiord, and the sea with its thousands of islands beyond, and the Snowflake floating like a white speck on the blue water far below. Here Hans pulled up and touched Fred on the shoulder.
“Well, Hans, anything wrong?” said Fred starting and looking round.
“Sun not set here,” replied Hans with a grin.
“What!” cried Fred, jumping out of the cart, rubbing his eyes, and staring at the great luminary which was dipping close to the sea. “Impossible! we are not yet far enough north. You must be mistaken, Hans.”
To this Hans replied that he was not mistaken. That he had been on that same spot at the same time of the year long ago, and had noticed that the sun had not descended below the horizon. Pointing to the sharp top of a hill that rose some six or eight hundred feet close beside them, he said that from that point the sun would be seen complete, while from the place where they then stood the lower part of it would be hid below the horizon.
“Hallo! Grant Sam, d’ye hear that?” shouted Fred with enthusiasm. “We’ve no time to lose, quick, follow!”
Away Fred Temple went up the mountain-side like a deer, followed by Sam and Grant, who having been more than half-asleep when aroused by their comrade’s shout, scarce knew what they were about. Even Bob Bowie’s spirit was stirred, and he went stumbling after his friends rubbing his eyes and yawning as he went.
The highest peak was soon reached. Here they sat down to watch. The sun was close upon the horizon now, and Fred’s heart beat fast with anxiety lest it should descend below it.
“There’s but a narrow line of sky between the sea and the lower edge of the sun now,” said Fred. “It looks no more than an inch broad, and it is narrowing, I think.”
“No, it is growing broader,” said Grant.
“No, narrower,” whispered Sam.
“Broader it is!” said Fred eagerly.
For a few seconds they remained uncertain and silent, gazing earnestly at the sun. At last there could be no doubt of it. The line of sky was evidently broader: the sun had begun to rise without having set.
“Huzzah,” shouted Fred Temple, springing up, tossing his cap into the air, and cheering as enthusiastically as if he had just discovered a new gold-field! Infected with the same spirit, the others joined him, and then they expended their energies in building a cairn of stones on the hill-top to commemorate the event!
“Hans, thou son of Eric,” said Fred, grasping the hand of his pilot and guide when this was finished. “I like thee, man; thou hast done me good service this day. But for you I should have missed this chance, so I consider myself thy debtor, lad; mark me well, I will discharge this debt when we return to the south. So now, let us be gone.”
How Fred discharged this debt remains to be seen. Meanwhile the party descended the hill, and returned once more to their floating home.
Chapter Nine.
Miscellaneous Adventures—The Value of Language—Salmon-Fishing
The main object of the voyage having now been gained, Fred Temple did not care to push northward with the earnest haste that he had hitherto exhibited. He did, indeed, avail himself of a fine southerly breeze which sprang up, and succeeded in reaching latitude 67 and a half degrees, where he saw the sun all night from the deck of his little yacht; but he devoted himself henceforth to enjoying the country fully.
He no longer sailed against baffling winds, but went quite contentedly in any direction in which the wind chose to blow him. The consequence was that he visited many curious out-of-the-way places, and saw many strange sights; besides having a considerable number of peculiar adventures. The week following that in which he first saw the sun all night was particularly full of small adventures. Let me briefly relate a few.
One day, having left the schooner becalmed close to the mainland, they took the boat and rowed towards the land. While they were pulling along-shore under a tremendous cliff that rose out of the sea like a wall, they heard voices on the top of the cliff. The top was lined with bushes, so that they could see no one, but the sounds led them to suppose that some persons were disputing there. Presently a crash was heard, and, looking up, they beheld a dark object in the air. They had just time to observe that this object was a pony and cariole, which had evidently fallen from the top of the cliff, when they were drenched with spray, and a mass of foam indicated the spot not three yards off, where the whole affair had disappeared beneath the waves! In a few seconds the pony came kicking to the surface. It had broken loose from the cariole, and, strange to say, reached the shore unhurt and in safety.
Another day they saw a whale. It may not, perhaps, have occurred to many people that, although a whale is a very well-known fish, and his picture extremely familiar to us, the sight of a live whale about six or eight yards under one’s feet is an uncommonly startling and impressive vision. Such a sight our voyagers saw while sailing up the Skars Fiord.
It was a calm day, and a pleasant day withal; and I think it right to state that, although they did at times grumble at prolonged calms, their grumbling was more than half feigned; while their gratitude for good weather, bright days, not to mention nights, and pleasant scenes, was sincere. But, to return to the point, it was a calm day, and they were doing nothing—that is, nothing worthy of mention. The waters of the fiord were deep and blue and clear, so that, looking over the side of the yacht, they could see very far down in reality—countless fathoms in imagination—into the mysterious abyss.
Presently some one cried, “Hullo! look there!”
“Hullo! look where?” inquired all the rest.
“There, close astern, it’s a—a—”
“Whale!” shouted the whole ship’s company.
That it really was a whale, and a big one too, became very apparent three minutes later, for it thrust a great blunt nose, like the end of a large boat, out of the water, and gave a prolonged puff. A few minutes later, and the nose appeared close off the starboard bow, then it came up not far from the larboard quarter; so they were convinced that the creature was taking a survey of the yacht. Perhaps it took it for another whale, and felt inclined to be social. After one or two circuits it drew nearer, and at last the huge fish could be seen as if in the depths of a bad looking-glass, swimming round and round the yacht, ever and anon coming to the surface, and showing the whole length and depth of its bulky body.
They were considerably excited, as may be supposed, at such an unexpected visit, and the near approach of such a visitant. As they gazed at him with eager eyes, he suddenly turned his head straight towards the side of the vessel, and, sinking down sufficiently to clear the keel, dived right under it, and came up on the other side.
So clear was the water, and so near was the fish to the surface, that they saw its great fins driving it along, and observed its comparatively little eyes looking inquisitively up at them. On clearing the yacht he came to the surface not more that thirty yards from the side. In fact he had shaved it as near as possible without actually touching. “Familiarity breeds contempt,” saith the proverb. The longer this whale played round them, the more did he exhibit a growing tendency to play with them, and as there was no saying what fancies he might take into his great head, Fred resolved to give him a shot.
Accordingly, the rifle—a double-barrel—was brought up, and, watching his opportunity, Fred put two leaden balls into the back of his head. The insulted monster wisely took the hint, gave a final flourish of his tail, and disappeared for ever!
On another occasion they landed at the head of a remote fiord, where the natives seldom had the chance of seeing strangers, and were, therefore, overjoyed to receive them. Here Sam Sorrel had a small adventure. His companions had left him to sketch. While thus engaged, a fat, hearty, good-natured fellow found him and insisted on him paying a visit to his cottage. The houses of the people in Norway, generally, are built of wood, and are roofed with red tiles. Floors, walls, ceilings, tables, chairs, beds, etcetera, all are of wood, and usually unpainted. All have iron stoves for winter use; no carpets cover the floors, and no ornaments grace the walls, save one or two prints, and a number of large tobacco-pipes, for the Norsemen are great smokers and chewers of tobacco.
The language here perplexed our artist not a little. Being a lazy student, he had left Fred to do all the talking, but now he found himself for the first time alone with a Norwegian! fairly left to his own resources. Well, he accompanied his fat friend, and began by stringing together all the Norse he knew (which wasn’t much), and endeavoured to look as if he knew a great deal more; but his speech quickly degenerated into sounds which were quite unintelligible either to his new friend or himself; at last he terminated in a mixture of bad Norse and broad Scotch! Having dwelt many years in Scotland, Sam found his knowledge of Lowland Scotch to be of use, for there is great similarity between it and the Norwegian tongue.
For instance, they call a cow a ko or a coo. Bring me meen skoe (I spell as pronounced) is, Bring me my shoes. Gae til land is, Go ashore. Tak place is, Take place, or sit down. If you talk of bathing, they will advise you to dook oonder; and should a mother present her baby to you she will call it her smook barn, her pretty bairn or child, smook being the Norse word for pretty. And it is a curious fact, worthy of particular note, that all the mothers in Norway think their bairns smook, very smook! and they never hesitate to tell you so; why, I cannot imagine, unless it be that if you were not told, you would not be likely to find it out for yourself.
Well, Sam and his fat friend soon became very amicable on this system. The Norseman told him no end of stories, of which he did not comprehend a sentence, but, nevertheless, looked as if he did; smiled, nodded his head, and said “Ya, ya,” (yes, yes), to which the other replied “Ya, ya,” waving his arms, slapping his breast, and rolling his eyes as he bustled along towards his dwelling.
The house was perched on a rock, close to the water’s edge. It was very small, quite like a bandbox with windows in it. Here the man found another subject to rave about and dance round, in the shape of his own baby, a soft, smooth copy of himself, which lay sleeping like a cupid in its cradle. The man was evidently very fond—perhaps even proud—of this infant. He went quite into ecstasies about it; now gazing into its chubby face with looks of pensive admiration; anon starting and looking at Sam with eager glance, as if to say, “Did you ever, in all your life, see such a magnificent cherub?” His enthusiasm was quite catching. Sam afterwards confessed that he actually began to feel quite a fatherly interest in the cherub.
“Oh!” cried the father in rapture, “dat er smook barn” (that’s a pretty baby).
“Ya, ya,” said Sam, “smook barn,” though it must be confessed that if he had called it a smoked bairn he would have been nearer the mark, for it was as brown as a red herring.
In proof of his admiration of this baby our artist made a sketch of it on the spot, and presented it to the delighted father, after which he was introduced to the Norseman’s wife, and treated to a cup of coffee. When Sam returned from this visit, he told his companions that he was quite amazed at having got on so well with the language, and was warm in praise of his host, who, he said, laughed more heartily than any man he had ever met with. It is just possible that the Norseman may have had more occasion afforded him for laughter than usual, for Sam had waxed very talkative, and had been particularly profuse in the use and abuse of his pet phrase, ver so goot.