CHAPTER VI.

_FROM TROMSÖ TO THE NORTH CAPE._

THE SIGHTS OF TROMSÖ—A VISIT TO A WHALE-OIL FACTORY—THE MOST NORTHERN TOWN IN THE WORLD—BIRD ISLANDS IN THE ARCTIC OCEAN—A PICNIC AT THE BASE OF THE NORTH CAPE—THE MIDNIGHT SUN—PERPLEXITIES OF PERPETUAL DAY.

Tromsö, the chief town in Finmarken, numbers fifty-five hundred inhabitants; it is situated upon an island with a background of snow mountains across the gleaming fjord. Above the town, a number of pleasant villas and wooden houses extend along the heights, one of which was pointed out by a Norwegian passenger as his home. This gentleman during the journey had conversed with equal fluency in Norwegian, English, French, and German. The Norwegians are good linguists, and it is surprising to find so many who speak such excellent English.

The harbor is a busy place, full of vessels of many nationalities, among which were those bearing the flags of Russia, Germany, and France. They bring merchandise of various kinds and take back cargoes of fish, train oil, and furs. Many small boats came out to meet the steamer and we were rowed ashore at the fixed charge of three cents each.

It was after ten o’clock in the evening, but the streets were full of people and the stores all open. The first mate hunted up the custodian of the museum, and we had the novel experience of viewing its collections, thus late in the evening, by the bright light of perpetual day. There were fish, birds, mammals, and minerals peculiar to Norway, costumed figures illustrating Norwegian and Lapp life, together with an array of wood carvings, ancient ornaments, and old furniture. But more interesting than the figures of the Lapps in the museum were the live Lapps in the streets, who live in Tromsö, and appear a little more civilized than those in the neighboring encampment. They are short in stature, oily and dirty as to looks, clothed in a loose garment belted at the waist, some being made of coarse cloth, others of reindeer skin worn with the hair turned inward. On the head were brightly colored caps, their legs were encased in reindeer leggings, and they wore moccasins of reindeer skin ending in pointed toes.

They gathered around us laden with rude articles of their own manufacture, for sale, consisting of small spoons made from reindeer horn, knives like daggers in reindeer-horn cases, and caps and shoes such as they themselves wore. They spoke Norwegian, and we made them understand by signs and the few words at our command that we would give the half of their asking price, which in time they were glad to accept.

The shops were full of interesting photographs and curiosities; the largest stores contained rich furs, fine wolf and bear skins, and handsome cloaks made from eider down.

Tromsö has several hotels, schools, churches, a bank, telegraph office, and its wide streets are lined with comfortable houses mostly built of wood: altogether it impressed us as an active and thriving place. We were followed by a throng of Lapps to the wharf, who offered us great bargains as we stepped into small boats and were rowed out to the steamer.

As we left Tromsö, at about twelve o’clock, the subdued light of the midnight sun, veiled by a fleecy cloud, shone upon the long range of snow-clad mountains across the fjord; the magnificent sight chained us in rapturous contemplation, and we remained on deck until the glistening mountains vanished from view.

In the quiet midnight hour, when all nature is awake, when bright daylight illumines imposing views of mountains and sea, one loses all thought of sleep, and it is a struggle to leave the enchanted scene for your state-room, and, shutting out the light with thick curtains, seek needed rest and sleep.

The next morning we were called before six o’clock, and in small boats were rowed to an island to visit a whale-oil factory. We rowed in and out among seven whales, several of them fifty feet long, floating like great hulks in the water; two whales had been cut up and their blood had colored the water for quite a distance; so as we pulled for the landing we seemed to advance through a sea of blood.

On a great platform, surrounded by deep pools of blood, lay two immense leviathans of the deep; the skin and thick layers of flesh had been stripped from them and lay about in oozing piles; men, their clothing from head to feet reeking with gore, chopped and slashed away like demons inside the great carcasses, which seemed like bloody wrecks; the crash and noise of the machinery used in moving and denuding the monsters was deafening; it was a carnival of blood and slaughter, and we grew sick and faint at the sight. Picking our way amid the pools of blood and piles of flesh, we went into the oil factory, where the great rolls of blubber and flesh are cut by machinery into pieces, and then placed in boilers; much of the flesh looked clean and white like thick strips of very fat pork. By steam the contents of the boilers are tried, until all the oil contained in the blubber and flesh has run through pipes into large tanks. Some whales will produce sixty barrels of refined oil.

The best of the flesh is canned and placed on the market bearing French labels; some is cured and smoked, and other choice bits are made into _sausages_.

The residue in the boilers, after the oil has run off, is dried and ground into a feed for fattening cattle, who eat it readily; it has the color and appearance of ground coffee. The bones are made into fertilizers, and it will thus be seen that, when a whale has passed through this factory, nearly every part has been utilized. We took as a souvenir a whale’s inner ear, a bony structure somewhat resembling in shape a snail’s shell nearly closed, six inches long.

We saw the inside arrangement of a whale’s mouth. On each side of the upper jaw are long thin plates of whalebone set close together like the teeth of a comb, and fringed at the edges with a substance resembling thread. These plates, which furnish the whalebone of commerce, extend along the jaw from six to twelve feet, according to the size of the whale, their use being to retain the great assortment constituting the whale’s food. A whale opens his capacious jaws, taking in a mouthful of water, fish, and many forms of sea life; the water is forced out between the whalebone plates, which keep back the solids, and down goes the living collection _à la_ Jonah, without chewing, into the whale’s big belly.

The harpoon, with which the whales are killed, is a stout iron rod or spear five feet long, with an iron ring at one end; it is shot from a cannon on the ship, which sometimes approaches within forty feet of the whale. When it enters, an immense cartridge explodes, killing the whale, and lifting four arms near the point of the harpoon which fasten into the whale, and it is towed ashore by ropes attached to the harpoon’s ring. From April till August, a great many whales are killed off the north coast of Norway, which are attracted by the schools of fish swarming there at that season.

It is perhaps needless to say that though the visit to this whale factory was intensely interesting, it was also extremely disagreeable. The smell of the boiling blubber, the great tanks of oil, and the heaps of fertilizers, is beyond description. It was only by holding our noses and stuffing handkerchiefs into our mouths that we were able to complete the tour of inspection. We returned to the steamer unable to eat any breakfast, though we had taken but a roll and cup of coffee on leaving, and several of the ladies ended by being sea-sick. The terrible odor clung to our clothes even after we had spread them on deck in the fresh air; the trophies of whalebone and whale’s ears which we brought back to the steamer converted the air of our state-rooms into miniature whale factories, and for the remainder of the voyage it was only necessary to say “whales,” to send a look of disgust over every countenance.

Hammerfest, the most northern town in the world, is situated in latitude 70° 40´, and contains twenty-one hundred inhabitants.

The wooden houses comprising the town are mostly built upon a small promontory jutting into the sea, back of which rises abruptly a high hill whence have fallen avalanches of rock, altogether too near the houses, one would judge, for the peace of mind of their occupants. In fact, the hills and boulders have left little room for the town that extends along the shores of the bay, where are situated numerous fish houses, and long wooden frames on which are hung fish to dry, with occasional figures, dressed like scarecrows in a New England cornfield, perched among the fish to frighten away the sea fowl and prevent their devouring it. A few little stone huts with turf roofs are the abode of some half-civilized Lapps; there are shops for the sale of Lapp costumes, furs, walrus tusks, and quaint Norwegian boxes; the windows of many of the houses were bright with flowers and potted plants; we heard the notes of a piano; and even here, at the north end of the world, the people seemed to have many of the comforts and enjoyments of civilized life.

The harbor was full of steamers and sailing vessels loading with fish and oil, and the pungent odor of cod liver oil and of the fish drying along the shores pervaded the place.

Out upon the north promontory a granite column has been erected to commemorate the measurement of the number of degrees between Ismail, at the mouth of the Danube, and this point, by the geometers of three nations, under order of Oscar I. and the Czars Alexander I. and Nicholas. Seaward is a continuous line of snowy mountains rising one above the other, and thickly dotting the bay are islands and rocky reefs.

We remained but a few hours at Hammerfest, and then continued on our way to the North Cape, a journey of about four hours. On reaching the island of Hjelmsö, with high barren cliffs rising straight from the water, the steamer stops, the shrill whistle is blown, and two small cannon on the steamer’s prow are fired. Immediately thousands of sea fowl, the sole occupants of the island, fly from the cliffs uttering shrill cries; the air is filled with them as they circle wildly around until they return to the cliffs, filling every crevice and space on the rocks, the gulls looking like white dots on the black surface.

When all is quiet the cannon are fired again, and the birds rise in a cloud, filling the air like so many great snow flakes, flying around the ship uttering plaintive cries, then settling back to their rocky home. Four times was the whistle blown and the cannon fired, and as the echoes died away we heard the whirr of thousands of wings cleaving the air, and watched the wild fright and disorder of the great collection of sea fowl; then leaving them in peace we steamed out upon the Arctic Ocean.

The long sweeping waves pitched our good ship about, yet we kept onward amid desolate scenery, till rising before us we saw the huge form of the North Cape—the goal of our long journey. This great mass of rock, its seamed and furrowed sides destitute of vegetation, rising almost perpendicularly nearly one thousand feet above the dark water, is an imposing sight, and the impression is one never to be forgotten.

The captain intended to anchor and we were all to fish for codfish, which he described as exciting sport, as the fish are large and abundant, and at times they are pulled in so rapidly that the deck is covered with them; but though the lines were set, the pitching motion began to affect many of the passengers so severely that we decided to abandon the fishing, and to run into a little bay formed between two projections of the Cape, and to land. The small boats were lowered, and it was an exciting scene as we descended the steps at the steamer’s side, stepped into the pitching boats, and were rowed landward, the great waves bearing us in upon the shore among the rocks and dashing surf.

What was our surprise to find at the base of the North Cape, extending from the border of rocks along the shore, a narrow grassy slope, where were growing beautiful violets, forget-me-nots, buttercups, and many flowers we had never seen before. It was six o’clock in the afternoon, the weather was the finest of any time during the whole voyage, the sun shone from a cloudless sky, and we marvelled to find it so warm that overcoats and wraps were uncomfortable. The stewards brought dishes and food from the steamer, and sitting upon the grass, with the waves dashing upon the rocks at our feet, we enjoyed a delightful picnic supper. We gathered flowers, searched for pebbles, peculiar-shaped stones, or anything of interest cast up by the sea, and at nine o’clock began the steep climb to the summit. The only building at the North Cape is a little hut, in which a man lives in summer during the tourist season, who has a supply of wine, mostly champagne, which he carries to the summit and sells to visitors to celebrate their view of the midnight sun, or to console them in their disappointment at not seeing it. Letters have been received from foreign countries directed Poste Restante, North Cape, but their delivery was about as impossible as if directed Post Office, North Pole.

A rough and narrow path ascends the side of the Cape in steep zigzags, at the sides of which are long ropes, attached at the ends to the rock, which are a great assistance in pulling yourself up; great banks of snow lay beside the path as we ascended; and in places steps had been cut in the steep rock. As we rested on our upward way, extended views of the ocean were spread out before us, in which the only sign of life was our steamer in the bay far below, dwarfed into diminutive proportions.

The summit of the North Cape is a long, level, barren plateau, across which we walked to a granite column at the north end, erected to commemorate the visit of Oscar II. in 1882. A wire, attached to low posts, marks the way; it is a necessary precaution, as people are often overtaken by thick mists and fogs, who would wander completely bewildered, and perhaps fall down the precipitous sides, without this guiding wire.

At last we stood at one end of the world, for the North Cape, in latitude 71° 10´, is the most northern point of Europe, and going to the edge of the steep cliff and looking downward we saw the waves breaking at its base, a thousand feet below. It was eleven o’clock in the evening on the 28th of June; the sun was behind a cloud, but its rays fell upon the water, and the mountains glowed in the subdued light. The ocean lay at our feet calm and almost motionless; southward extended long lines of barren mountains, until their dim outlines blended with the distant horizon; northward the unbroken expanse of the unknown Arctic Ocean stretched toward the unexplored polar regions. Only to a little over a dozen degrees of latitude north of this point has man penetrated, for Lieut. Lockwood, in latitude 83° 24´, attained the highest point reached, which is four hundred and fifty-six miles from the north pole, and eight hundred and fifty-four miles nearer the pole than the North Cape is. Yet how great has been the cost of these polar expeditions! How many victims have perished in the frozen North, or escaped from its clutches ruined in health!

Not a ship, not a sail, could we see; not a sign of vegetation save a few lichens and short moss clothed the barren rocks; not a sound nor indication of life save the cry of the sea-gull, as it circled round its rocky home, broke the eternal silence. It was a sublime sight, but oh how desolate! Never before did the world and all it contained seem so far removed, as when we looked out upon this silent, dreary, and lifeless scene.

A gentle breeze came up from the ocean, the air was neither cold nor penetrating, as we sat upon the rocks awaiting the hour of midnight. The clouds were ever changing; soon after twelve o’clock they parted, and for a few minutes we gazed upon the full disk of the midnight sun. Never can we forget that sight! The sun was high above the horizon, less glaring and brilliant than by day, its mellow light flooding ocean and mountain.

It seemed to have paused in its course, and a slight glow betokened the mingling of sunset and sunrise, and marked the dawn of another day. We stood spell-bound, enchanted by the magic scene, until a cloud covered the sun and the mist crept up from the sea; then relinquishing all hopes of another view of the sun, we started across the desolate plain and began our descent.

The steamer’s whistle blew, the loud and oft-repeated echoes reverberated from the rocky walls of the little bay, the descent was quickly accomplished, we were rowed out to the steamer, and soon started on our journey south.

As we stood on deck for a last sight of the North Cape, the sun came forth and shone as brightly as at midday—high in the heavens. It was then half-past one in the morning, but it was difficult to realize, except from the position of the sun, that it was not one o’clock in the afternoon.

We retired to our state-rooms with thankful hearts for the glorious sight we had seen, and that we had not been disappointed in this, the crowning experience of our travels in the North. Often the weather is so bad that even the outlines of the North Cape cannot be distinguished, and travellers return to Hammerfest to wait for another steamer and make the journey a second time, perhaps to be greeted with fog and mist. The captain said that during his previous trip there was such a succession of rainy and miserable weather, they did not see the sun once during the entire trip of eleven days, and several tourists were so disgusted that they vowed the midnight sun was a grand humbug, and doubted if in the North there was even a sun at midday. It is a very rare occurrence when it is perfectly clear at the North Cape. If one could remain there twenty-four hours under a cloudless sky, he would see the sun go round in a circle; at midnight it would appear to almost stop, as it moved slowly along on a line with the horizon, and then would begin to gradually ascend.

The whole disk of the sun at midnight (in pleasant weather) can be seen from the

North Cape from May 13 till July 30, Hammerfest “ “ 16 “ “ 27, Tromsö “ “ 20 “ “ 22.

After the longest days it descends every day nearer the horizon, until it disappears below, at first only for a few hours; but the days grow shorter, until the season of constant night comes on, as an offset to that of perpetual day. The sun is not seen at the

North Cape from Nov. 18 to Jan. 24, Hammerfest “ “ 21 “ “ 21, Tromsö “ “ 25 “ “ 17.

The interesting phenomenon of the midnight sun is due to the fact that the two revolutions of the earth, one on its axis, the other around the sun, are in different planes, the equator and the ecliptic making an angle with each other. Thus during a certain season the north pole is inclined towards the sun, so that all parts of the polar circle are constantly beneath the sun’s rays, while the south pole is turned as far as possible into the shade; as the earth continues in its course around the sun the south pole comes within the circle of perpetual illumination, and the north polar circle, for an equal period, is in darkness.

During the period of darkness, Hammerfest has no regular steamer communication with the outer world, for in winter the mail steamers do not go beyond Tromsö, a month being allowed for the round trip from Throndhjem. The first of the voyage there are a few hours of daylight, and as they advance northward the moon and the brilliant aurora borealis at times furnish light, but often the steamer can run but a few hours, and anchors until there is light, as the coast is so dangerous, and navigation so intricate, that it is impossible to run by the compass. How dreary and tedious must it be through the dark winter, and with what delight must the inhabitants of these Northern regions hail the first appearance of the sun!

Certainly the days of perpetual daylight are most confusing to one who has been accustomed to a division of the twenty-four hours into day and night.

During the entire voyage we never saw a lighted candle nor lamp; all hours of the night and day were the same for every practical purpose; at midnight we have written letters, and read on deck, and often at night, after having tried in vain to get to sleep, I have sat up in my berth, and read in the bright daylight, until from mere exhaustion I would fall asleep.

It was almost impossible to tell whether it was eight o’clock in the morning, or eight o’clock in the evening, and the early risers were sometimes in doubt as to whether they were eating their supper or breakfast; my state-room mate and myself never got mixed on the latter, as we were always soundly sleeping in our berths when the last bell rang; for if the midnight sunbeams had a wakeful effect, the morning sunbeams were the same as in other parts of the world, where the breakfast bell always rings too early.

Added to our perplexity in distinguishing day from night was the constant change of time, for as we sailed toward the North Cape we were continually going eastward. Tromsö is on about the same degree of longitude as Stockholm, and Hammerfest is farther east than Riga in Russia. We started with Throndhjem time, but in the far North we travelled east so rapidly in the contracted degrees of longitude, that no one was ever sure of the time except once a day, when the clock was set. One day at the dinner table fifteen watches were consulted, and each one denoted a different time. I did not change my watch, but kept it at Throndhjem time, and daily made my calculations to arrive at local time.

A gentleman who was impatiently waiting one day for the dinner bell to ring, inquired the time, and was amazed that my watch showed it was just about the breakfast hour. He was sure he had eaten his breakfast, but we nearly talked him into believing he had not, and that my watch had local time, and we ended by almost convincing him that he had received a _midnight sunstroke_.

The irregularity regarding sleep becomes terribly demoralizing to methodical mortals, but there is so much of interest to be seen at all hours of the day and night that one gets into the habit of sleeping only for a few hours, when there is nothing of especial interest to do or see.

The Hamburg steamers run beyond the North Cape along the north coast of Norway to Vadsö, occupying over two days for the journey, which we were told was monotonous and uninteresting. The mountains dwindle into vast and barren plateaux, and the land ceases to be an object of interest. A few bird islands are passed, but the island belt has disappeared, and one is left at the mercy of the full sweep of the waves of the Arctic Ocean. The scenery is bleak and dreary, fogs often detain the steamer, and the journey is not to be recommended, as there is not enough of interest to be seen to repay its discomforts.

The North Cape is a fitting termination to the voyage, and one who has obtained a good view from its summit and seen the midnight sun, can turn southward, satisfied that he has seen the most striking features of the Norwegian scenery, and the most imposing sight in the world.

THE VOYAGE BACK TO

THRONDHJEM.