Letters From High Latitudes [45]
I did not make much acquaintance, as I experienced a difficulty in finding befitting remarks on the occasion of being presented to them. Once or twice, indeed, I hazarded, through their fathers, some little complimentary observations in Latin; but I cannot say that I found that language lend itself readily to the gallantries of the ball-room. After supper dancing recommenced, and the hilarity of the evening reached its highest pitch when half a dozen sailors, dressed in turbans made of flags (one of them a lady with the face of the tragic muse), came forward and danced the cancan, with a gravity and decorum that would have greatly edified what Gavarni calls "la pudeur municipale."
At 3 o'clock A.M. I returned on board the schooner, and we are all now very busy in making final preparations for departure. Fitz is rearranging his apothecary's shop. Sigurdr is writing letters. The last strains of music have ceased on board the "Artemise"; the sun is already high in the heavens; the flower beds are returning on shore,--a little draggled perhaps, as if just pelted by a thunder-storm; the "Reine Hortense" has got her steam up and the real, serious part of our voyage is about to begin.
I feel that my description has not half done justice to the wonders of this interesting island; but I can refer you to your friend Sir Henry Holland for further details; he paid a visit to Iceland in 1810, with Sir G. Mackenzie, and made himself thoroughly acquainted with its historical and scientific associations.
CONCLUDING ACT.
SCENE. R. Y. S: "Foam": astern of the "Reine Hortense"
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
VOICE OF FRENCH CAPTAIN, COMMANDING "R.H." LORD D. DOCTOR. WILSON.
VOICE OF THE FRENCH CAPTAIN.--"Nous partons."
LORD D--.--"All ready, Sir!"
WILSON TO DOCTOR (sotto voce).--"Sir!"
DOCTOR.--"Eh?"
WILSON.--"Do you know, Sir?"
DOCTOR.--"What?"
WILSON.--"Oh, nothing, Sir;--only we're going to the hicy regions, Sir, ain't we? Well, I've just seen that ere brig as is come from there, Sir, and they say there's a precious lot of ice this year! (Pause.) Do you know, Sir, the skipper showed me the bows of his vessel, Sir? She's got seven feet of solid timber in her for'ard: WE'VE only two inches, Sir!"
(DIVES BELOW.)
VOICE OF FRENCH CAPTAIN (WITH A SLIGHT ACCENT).--"Are you ready?"
Lord D--.-"Ay, ay, Sir! Up anchor!"
LETTER VIII.
START FROM REYKJAVIK--SNAEFELL--THE LADY OF FRODA-A BERSERK TRAGEDY--THE CHAMPION OF BREIDAVIK--ONUNDER FIORD--THE LAST NIGHT--CROSSING THE ARCTIC CIRCLE--FETE ON BOARD THE "REINE HORTENSE"--LE PERE ARCTIQUE-WE FALL IN WITH THE ICE--THE "SAXON" DISAPPEARS--MIST--A PARTING IN A LONELY SPOT--JAN MAYEN--MOUNT BEERENBERG--AN UNPLEASANT POSITION--SHIFT OF WIND AND EXTRICATION--"TO NORROWAY OVER THE FAEM"--A NASTY COAST--HAMMERFEST.
Hammerfest, July.
Back in Europe again,--within reach of posts! The glad sun shining, the soft winds blowing, and roses on the cabin table,--as if the region of fog and ice we have just fled forth from were indeed the dream-land these summer sights would make it seem. I cannot tell you how gay and joyous it all appears to us, fresh from a climate that would not have been unworthy of Dante's Inferno. And yet--had it been twice as bad, what we have seen would have more than repaid us, though it has been no child's play to get to see it.
But I must begin where I left off in my last letter,--just, I think, as we were getting under way, to be towed by the "Reine Hortense" out of Reykjavik Harbour. Having been up all night,--as soon as we were well clear of the land, and that it was evident the towing business was doing well--I turned in for a few hours. When I came on deck again we had crossed the Faxe Fiord on our way north, and were sweeping round the base of Snaefell--an extinct volcano which rises from the sea in an icy cone to the height of 5,000 feet, and grimly looks across to Greenland. The day was beautiful; the mountain's summit beamed down upon us in unclouded splendour, and everything seemed to promise an uninterrupted view of the west coast
At 3 o'clock A.M. I returned on board the schooner, and we are all now very busy in making final preparations for departure. Fitz is rearranging his apothecary's shop. Sigurdr is writing letters. The last strains of music have ceased on board the "Artemise"; the sun is already high in the heavens; the flower beds are returning on shore,--a little draggled perhaps, as if just pelted by a thunder-storm; the "Reine Hortense" has got her steam up and the real, serious part of our voyage is about to begin.
I feel that my description has not half done justice to the wonders of this interesting island; but I can refer you to your friend Sir Henry Holland for further details; he paid a visit to Iceland in 1810, with Sir G. Mackenzie, and made himself thoroughly acquainted with its historical and scientific associations.
CONCLUDING ACT.
SCENE. R. Y. S: "Foam": astern of the "Reine Hortense"
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
VOICE OF FRENCH CAPTAIN, COMMANDING "R.H." LORD D. DOCTOR. WILSON.
VOICE OF THE FRENCH CAPTAIN.--"Nous partons."
LORD D--.--"All ready, Sir!"
WILSON TO DOCTOR (sotto voce).--"Sir!"
DOCTOR.--"Eh?"
WILSON.--"Do you know, Sir?"
DOCTOR.--"What?"
WILSON.--"Oh, nothing, Sir;--only we're going to the hicy regions, Sir, ain't we? Well, I've just seen that ere brig as is come from there, Sir, and they say there's a precious lot of ice this year! (Pause.) Do you know, Sir, the skipper showed me the bows of his vessel, Sir? She's got seven feet of solid timber in her for'ard: WE'VE only two inches, Sir!"
(DIVES BELOW.)
VOICE OF FRENCH CAPTAIN (WITH A SLIGHT ACCENT).--"Are you ready?"
Lord D--.-"Ay, ay, Sir! Up anchor!"
LETTER VIII.
START FROM REYKJAVIK--SNAEFELL--THE LADY OF FRODA-A BERSERK TRAGEDY--THE CHAMPION OF BREIDAVIK--ONUNDER FIORD--THE LAST NIGHT--CROSSING THE ARCTIC CIRCLE--FETE ON BOARD THE "REINE HORTENSE"--LE PERE ARCTIQUE-WE FALL IN WITH THE ICE--THE "SAXON" DISAPPEARS--MIST--A PARTING IN A LONELY SPOT--JAN MAYEN--MOUNT BEERENBERG--AN UNPLEASANT POSITION--SHIFT OF WIND AND EXTRICATION--"TO NORROWAY OVER THE FAEM"--A NASTY COAST--HAMMERFEST.
Hammerfest, July.
Back in Europe again,--within reach of posts! The glad sun shining, the soft winds blowing, and roses on the cabin table,--as if the region of fog and ice we have just fled forth from were indeed the dream-land these summer sights would make it seem. I cannot tell you how gay and joyous it all appears to us, fresh from a climate that would not have been unworthy of Dante's Inferno. And yet--had it been twice as bad, what we have seen would have more than repaid us, though it has been no child's play to get to see it.
But I must begin where I left off in my last letter,--just, I think, as we were getting under way, to be towed by the "Reine Hortense" out of Reykjavik Harbour. Having been up all night,--as soon as we were well clear of the land, and that it was evident the towing business was doing well--I turned in for a few hours. When I came on deck again we had crossed the Faxe Fiord on our way north, and were sweeping round the base of Snaefell--an extinct volcano which rises from the sea in an icy cone to the height of 5,000 feet, and grimly looks across to Greenland. The day was beautiful; the mountain's summit beamed down upon us in unclouded splendour, and everything seemed to promise an uninterrupted view of the west coast