Letters From High Latitudes [63]
two wave-lashed ridges of drift ice. Before midnight, we had regained the open sea, and were standing away
"to Norroway, To Norroway, over the faem."
In the forenoon I had been too busy to have our usual Sunday church; but as soon as we were pretty clear of the ice I managed to have a short service in the cabin.
Of our run to Hammerfest I have nothing particular to say. The distance is eight hundred miles, and we did it in eight days. On the whole, the weather was pretty fair, though cold, and often foggy. One day indeed was perfectly lovely,--the one before we made the coast of Lapland, --without a cloud to be seen for the space of twenty-four hours; giving me an opportunity of watching the sun performing his complete circle overhead, and taking a meridian altitude at midnight. We were then in 70 degrees 25' North latitude; i.e., almost as far north as the North Cape; yet the thermometer had been up to 80 degrees during the afternoon.
Shortly afterwards the fog came on again, and next morning it was blowing very hard from the eastward. This was the more disagreeable, as it is always very difficult, under the most favourable circumstances, to find one's way into any harbour along this coast, fenced off, as it is, from the ocean by a complicated outwork of lofty islands, which, in their turn, are hemmed in by nests of sunken rock, sown as thick as peas, for miles to seaward. There are no pilots until you are within the islands, and no longer want them,--no lighthouses or beacons of any sort; and all that you have to go by is the shape of the hill-tops; but as, on the clearest day, the outlines of the mountains have about as much variety as the teeth of a saw, and as on a cloudy day, which happens about seven times a week, you see nothing but the line of their dark roots,--the unfortunate mariner, who goes poking about for the narrow passage which is to lead him between the islands,--at the BACK of one of which a pilot is waiting for him,--will, in all probability, have already placed his vessel in a position to render that functionary's further attendance a work of supererogation. At least, I know it was as much surprise as pleasure that I experienced, when, after having with many misgivings ventured to slip through an opening in the monotonous barricade of mountains, we found it was the right channel to our port. If the king of all the Goths would only stick up a lighthouse here and there along the edge of his Arctic seaboard, he would save many an honest fellow a heart-ache.
[Figure: fig-p130.gif]
I must now finish this long letter.
Hammerfest is scarcely worthy of my wasting paper on it. When I tell you that it is the most northerly town in Europe, I think I have mentioned its only remarkable characteristic. It stands on the edge of an enormous sheet of water, completely landlocked by three islands, and consists of a congregation of wooden houses, plastered up against a steep mountain; some of which being built on piles, give the notion of the place having slipped down off the hill half-way into the sea. Its population is so and so,--its chief exports this and that; for all which, see Mr. Murray's "Handbook," where you will find all such matters much more clearly and correctly set down than I am likely to state them. At all events, it produces milk, cream--NOT butter--salad, and bad potatoes; which is what we are most interested in at present. To think that you should be all revelling this very moment in green-peas and cauliflowers! I hope you don't forget your grace before dinner. I will write to you again before setting sail for Spitzbergen.
LETTER IX.
EXTRACT FROM THE "MONITEUR" OF THE 31ST JULY.
I have received a copy of the "Moniteur" of the 31st July, containing so graphic an account of the voyage of the "Reine Hortense" towards Jan Mayen, and of the catastrophe to her tender the "Saxon,"--in consequence of which the corvette was compelled to abandon her voyage to the Northward,--that I must forward it to you.
(Translation.)
"Voyage of Discovery along the Banquise,
"to Norroway, To Norroway, over the faem."
In the forenoon I had been too busy to have our usual Sunday church; but as soon as we were pretty clear of the ice I managed to have a short service in the cabin.
Of our run to Hammerfest I have nothing particular to say. The distance is eight hundred miles, and we did it in eight days. On the whole, the weather was pretty fair, though cold, and often foggy. One day indeed was perfectly lovely,--the one before we made the coast of Lapland, --without a cloud to be seen for the space of twenty-four hours; giving me an opportunity of watching the sun performing his complete circle overhead, and taking a meridian altitude at midnight. We were then in 70 degrees 25' North latitude; i.e., almost as far north as the North Cape; yet the thermometer had been up to 80 degrees during the afternoon.
Shortly afterwards the fog came on again, and next morning it was blowing very hard from the eastward. This was the more disagreeable, as it is always very difficult, under the most favourable circumstances, to find one's way into any harbour along this coast, fenced off, as it is, from the ocean by a complicated outwork of lofty islands, which, in their turn, are hemmed in by nests of sunken rock, sown as thick as peas, for miles to seaward. There are no pilots until you are within the islands, and no longer want them,--no lighthouses or beacons of any sort; and all that you have to go by is the shape of the hill-tops; but as, on the clearest day, the outlines of the mountains have about as much variety as the teeth of a saw, and as on a cloudy day, which happens about seven times a week, you see nothing but the line of their dark roots,--the unfortunate mariner, who goes poking about for the narrow passage which is to lead him between the islands,--at the BACK of one of which a pilot is waiting for him,--will, in all probability, have already placed his vessel in a position to render that functionary's further attendance a work of supererogation. At least, I know it was as much surprise as pleasure that I experienced, when, after having with many misgivings ventured to slip through an opening in the monotonous barricade of mountains, we found it was the right channel to our port. If the king of all the Goths would only stick up a lighthouse here and there along the edge of his Arctic seaboard, he would save many an honest fellow a heart-ache.
[Figure: fig-p130.gif]
I must now finish this long letter.
Hammerfest is scarcely worthy of my wasting paper on it. When I tell you that it is the most northerly town in Europe, I think I have mentioned its only remarkable characteristic. It stands on the edge of an enormous sheet of water, completely landlocked by three islands, and consists of a congregation of wooden houses, plastered up against a steep mountain; some of which being built on piles, give the notion of the place having slipped down off the hill half-way into the sea. Its population is so and so,--its chief exports this and that; for all which, see Mr. Murray's "Handbook," where you will find all such matters much more clearly and correctly set down than I am likely to state them. At all events, it produces milk, cream--NOT butter--salad, and bad potatoes; which is what we are most interested in at present. To think that you should be all revelling this very moment in green-peas and cauliflowers! I hope you don't forget your grace before dinner. I will write to you again before setting sail for Spitzbergen.
LETTER IX.
EXTRACT FROM THE "MONITEUR" OF THE 31ST JULY.
I have received a copy of the "Moniteur" of the 31st July, containing so graphic an account of the voyage of the "Reine Hortense" towards Jan Mayen, and of the catastrophe to her tender the "Saxon,"--in consequence of which the corvette was compelled to abandon her voyage to the Northward,--that I must forward it to you.
(Translation.)
"Voyage of Discovery along the Banquise,