The North Cape, the northernmost point of Norway, is a rocky headland on Magero Island--the end of all things, rising a thousand feet above the deep blue Arctic sea. The climb up the steep, zigzag pathway from the spot where the steamer lands you is arduous, and you will be glad of the rest by King Oscar"s column. You would have been glad if a score of other pa.s.sengers had not been with you, and still more glad if you had come here half a century earlier, before the hand of man had marked the spot, and before all your distant friends expected you to post them a postcard from the North Cape.
Still, something of romance remains as, gazing northwards, you remember that, except, perhaps, for a corner of Spitzbergen, nothing intervenes between you and the North Pole--only that barrier of ice which, so far, has defied all penetration. But this is mere sentiment, and you have come to see something else--the merging of sunset with sunrise. Du Chaillu well describes the scene: "The brilliancy of the splendid orb varies in intensity, like that of sunset and sunrise, according to the state of moisture of the atmosphere. One day it will be of a deep red colour, tingeing everything with a roseate hue, and producing a drowsy effect. There are times when the changes in the colour between the sunset and sunrise might be compared to the variations of a charcoal fire, now burning with a fierce red glow, then fading away, and rekindling with greater brightness.
"There are days when the sun has a pale, whitish appearance, and when even it can be looked at for six or seven hours before midnight. As this hour approaches the sun becomes less glaring, gradually changing into more brilliant shades as it dips towards the lowest point of its course. Its motion is very slow, and for quite a while it apparently follows the line of the horizon, during which there seems to be a pause, as when the sun reaches noon. This is midnight. For a few minutes the glow of sunset mingles with that of sunrise, and one cannot tell which prevails; but soon the light becomes slowly and gradually more brilliant, announcing the birth of another day, and often before an hour has elapsed the sun becomes so dazzling that one cannot look at it with the natural eye."
Such is the wondrous sight, and all through the summer, even before and after the period of the non-setting of the sun, the nights are almost as light as day. Indeed, all over Norway, far to the south of the Arctic Circle, the summer nights are remarkably short--not altogether an unmixed blessing to those who find it difficult to sleep in daylight.
But what a change comes over these northern lands in winter! At the North Cape the sun sets on November 18, not to rise again until January 24, and everywhere within the Arctic Circle there is a time of continuous night. To us, who have no experience of such a state of affairs, it seems as if life must be bereft of all its pleasures. Yet the dwellers in the Arctic regions think nothing of it. To them even the dark winter has its charms, for, as has been said of a certain gentleman, it is not really as black as it has been painted.
In the first place, there is the snow, covering everything, and even at the darkest time of year there is sufficient light, if the sky be clear, to see to read for an hour before and an hour after midday. Then there is the light given by the moon and stars, and lastly the cheering glow of the aurora borealis,or northern lights. It is not, therefore, always dark, though when snow falls or the clouds block out the sky the darkness becomes intense. At such times the picture is truly a melancholy one.
To say that the light given by the aurora borealis does duty for sunlight is not true. Magnificent spectacle as it presents, this marvellous phenomenon produces no light of any real value, and only occasionally for a few minutes does it illumine the landscape. Tales of sleighing over the wastes of snow by the light of the aurora borealis have no foundation in fact, for seldom, if ever, has it sufficient power to obliterate the stars, and never does the moon pale before it. On the other hand, it is certain that these northern lights, streaming up into the heavens on every clear night of the long winter, must bring feelings of pleasure to the inhabitants of the Polar regions. The form, the intensity, and the colour of the light is ever varying, and thus, in watching it, there is always expectancy. We in England are accustomed to see these lights on autumn nights, but the display is feeble in comparison with that of the Arctic winter.
No one knows for certain what the aurora borealis really is, and even the most scientific people can tell you no more than that they suppose it to be "a phenomenon of electrical origin"!
CHAPTER XV
LAPLANDERS AT HOME
Although Lapps are occasionally seen in charge of reindeer herds on some of the southern mountain tracts of Norway, their real home is in the Far North, not only of Norway, but also of Sweden, Finland, and Russia, and the country which they inhabit is known as Lapland.
That portion of it which belongs to Norway covers only some 3,000 or 4,000 square miles, while the whole of the Land of the Lapps has an area of something like 35,000 square miles. But statistics show that in Norwegian Lapland there are a great many more inhabitants than there are in Russian, Finnish, and Swedish Lapland put together; and the people, whether they be under the rule of Russia, Sweden, or Norway, are all of the same race--Asiatics and Mongols--totally unlike Europeans in appearance.
In the first place, they are dark, and what we consider ugly, though it is quite possible that in their eyes we ourselves are hideous. Then they are short--a five-foot Lapp would be almost a giant--but what they lack in stature they make up in st.u.r.diness; for, although spare of body, probably no men in the world can do a longer day"s work, or survive greater hardships. Dirty they are certainly, since they never change their clothes and seldom comb their hair; yet, for all that, they are perfectly healthy and happy.
They have gradually split up into three groups, known as Mountain Lapps, Sea Lapps, and River Lapps, the first being nomads, or wanderers, and the other two settlers, by the sea or river, who have abandoned the original mode of life of their race.
Mountain Lapps are the most restless individuals it is possible to imagine. Winter and summer they are always on the move, and three days are seldom pa.s.sed in one place. Time does not enslave them, for they do not trouble about it. Routine is nothing to them: they eat and drink when they feel inclined, and they sleep when a favourable opportunity occurs. In such matters, as well as in many others, they resemble wild animals. But in some respects they are methodical: they work by the seasons, and in their wanderings take the same lines each year. In the summer months they are down by the sea; during the remainder of the year they are on the mountains, though at Christmas-time they usually arrange to encamp somewhere in the vicinity of a church; for Christmas is a great event in the lives of the Lapps, since they profess Christianity, and if they are able to go to church at no other time of the year, they make a point of doing so at this season.
To-day these people are law-abiding and peaceable, but they are a strange mixture of good and bad. They are kind and hospitable, and of a cheerful disposition; at the same time they can be cruel, cunning, and selfish, while their love of money is no less than their love of drink--when they can obtain it.
For one thing only does the Mountain Lapp live--his herd of reindeer. They provide all his wants--food, clothing, and the wherewithal to purchase luxuries. They are his wealth; his very existence depends on them, and, in consequence, his mode of living has to be accommodated to the habits of his reindeer. Whither-soever they choose to graze, their owner has to follow; and he deems it no hardship to pitch his rough tent on the snowy wastes in winter, or even to sleep out under a rock, with the thermometer at seventy degrees below zero. It is his life; from earliest childhood he has known none other; he is content with it. And it is not only the men who pa.s.s their lives thus; for the Lapp family is to some extent a united one, and the women and children thoroughly enjoy the wild, free life, apparently suffering no ill effects from the rigours of the climate.
A Lapp baby starts life in a very queer way. Until it is able to walk it is kept in what is called a _komse_, a kind of cradle made of strips of wood covered with leather, and just large enough to take the baby. The little creature is rolled up in sheepskin and put into the cradle, which is then stuffed with moss, and the leather covering laced securely all around, so that only the baby"s face is seen. To protect its head the _komse_ is provided with a wooden hood, like most cradles, and there is generally a shawl, which can be thrown over the whole thing in severe weather; in fact, when the baby has been properly done up in its _komse_, it might go by parcel post without coming to much harm. It is a very excellent arrangement, because the family is incessantly moving about, and the mothers have their work to do, so cannot always be bothering about their babies. A thong of leather stretches from head to foot of the _komse_, which the mother can thus sling on her shoulder when going about, and by this thong the baby can be hung up to a tent-pole or to the branch of a tree if its mother is busy. But as often as not the _komses_ are just stuck up on end in the snow or against a rock while work is going on.
As soon as the child can walk and has finished its cradle existence, it is dressed in clothes similar to those of his or her father or mother, and looks most quaint. And the life which these children lead is devoid of much amus.e.m.e.nt. From the beginning they are helping to pack up and move the tent, and to look after the reindeer; they are nothing more than little old men and women; their toys are miniatures, or models, of such things as they will have to use later in life--la.s.soes, snowshoes, sleighs--and their games are restricted to learning the use of the same. They are treated by their parents more or less as if they were grown up, and allowed to do much as they please. Consequently, they become self-willed, and have little respect for their elders.
After all, the mode of life of the Lapps does not differ very greatly from that of our own gipsies, though of the two the Lapps are certainly the better people. The wandering spirit is inherent in both, but a portion of each sooner or later shakes it off, and leads a more settled life. Some there are, however, who will never be anything but wanderers, so long as there remains a free country wherein they are at liberty to roam.
Let us now see the kind of place which the Mountain Lapp calls "home." It cannot be anything very elaborate or bulky, as it has to be packed up and moved about nearly every day, and it has to be carried on the backs of the reindeer in summer, or drawn by them in sleighs in the winter. So it is nothing more than a most unconventional form of tent, not altogether unlike the wigwam of the Red Indian, or the dwelling of many other nomadic people. A few long poles are stuck up on a circle, with their ends fastened together to form a sort of cone, and over this framework is stretched a covering of coa.r.s.e woollen material. At one side there is a loose flap, forming a door, and the whole of the top part of the tent round about the ends of the poles is left open, to admit light and to allow the smoke from the fire to issue forth. The diameter of the tent is about twelve or fifteen feet, and the height in the centre eight or ten feet. This is the kitchen, larder, store-room, drawing-room, dining-room, and bedroom of the family--men, women, boys, girls, babies, dogs and all.
A few branches of trees are spread on the ground, and in the middle, immediately under the opening in the roof, is the fire, which is kept alight day and night. Around it the inmates sit on the ground by day, and sleep by night. There is no furniture of any kind, and only a few cooking-pots, with some wooden bowls, and spoons of wood or of horn. Beds and blankets and suchlike luxuries are also absent, so undressing, dressing, washing, and absurdities of that kind are not indulged in. When the time has come to go to sleep, those who are in the tent just roll themselves close up to the fire, and sleep quite comfortably in the clothes which they probably have not taken off for a year or two. The whole family is not likely to be in the tent at the same time; some members of it must always be looking after the reindeer, as the herd can never be left to its own devices; consequently, there is generally plenty of room.
Meals are free-and-easy affairs; there is no dinner-bell and no fixed time for eating. But food is always ready, hanging in a pot over the fire; and when anyone feels inclined to eat, the hand is plunged into the pot, and a piece of meat pulled out and devoured. In addition to reindeer-meat--of which the Lapps consume a great deal--the food consists of cheese, and sometimes a kind of porridge; while for drink they have water, melted snow, reindeer-milk, and, on occasions, coffee. The latter they are very fond of, but few families can afford to drink it often; so also with spirits, which, however, they only manage to obtain in the towns.
Thus live the Mountain Lapps year in year out. To-day a family is in one place, to-morrow a dozen miles away; now and again other families are met with, and received hospitably; but for the most part the family and its herd keep to themselves, since to do otherwise might lead to difficulties about grazing. The rain floods their tent; the snow buries it; the wind blows it down; yet they survive, and glory in their free life.
The Sea Lapps, though much more numerous than their brethren of the mountains, are not so interesting. They live by the coast in huts built of wood or of sods, and obtain a livelihood by fishing. The River Lapps, on the other hand, are both herdsmen and fishermen. Residing in small settlements on the banks of the rivers, they keep reindeer as well as a few cows and sheep, and they do a little in the way of farming the land round the settlement. Many of them are even intellectual, and the advantages of having their children properly educated in the schools are gradually becoming appreciated.
CHAPTER XVI
WINTER IN CHRISTIANIA
Cold it is, of course--bitterly cold, and always freezing hard; but it is a dry cold, and you hardly notice it. The streets are all one sheet of frozen snow, and great care is taken to keep them in good repair, gangs of road-menders being always at hand to fill up ruts by the simple process of picking up the hard snow of the roadway and then sprinkling a little water on the top, which at once produces a solid surface. No wheeled traffic is now to be seen; everything is on runners, from the carriage of the King to the doll"s perambulator. One no longer hears the rumble of the _carrioles_ and _stolkjaerres_ over the rough flags, and the silence is broken only by the jingling of the sleigh-bells.
It is a strange sight indeed, this winter city, with its fur-clad men and women, and snow-covered houses and gardens, its keen, crisp air and pale blue sky. What a change from the fogs and dampness of our English climate!
Christiania is gay at this time of year, for it is the "season." The members of the Storthing, with their wives and families, are in town for the session, and all sorts of gaieties are in progress. But all those Norwegians who have leisure to enjoy themselves turn their attentions to the real pleasures of winter--sleighing, ski-ing, tobogganing, and skating. The boys and girls are thoroughly happy. Directly school is over away they go, with their skates, snowshoes, or toboggans, to have a right good time in their different playgrounds. The hill on which the palace stands is given up to these little revellers, and in the evenings dozens of them of all ages may be seen descending the slopes face downwards on their _kjaelker_, or racing through the trees with their long ski on their feet. The public gardens also are flooded to form a rink for the sole use of the infant skaters, and, judging by their rosy cheeks, the outdoor exercise in the cold, dry air makes them as healthy as any children in the world.
But grown-up people consider skating feeble sport in comparison with ski-ing, which may be called the national sport of Norway. Not so many years ago it was restricted to that country; but now the sport has become a favourite one in Sweden, Switzerland, and in other parts of Europe where the snow lies deep. Yet, to see perfection in the art, one must go to Norway--the real home of the great long wooden snowshoe. From earliest youth the Norwegians of both s.e.xes are accustomed to go about the country in the long winter months on these strange contrivances, for without them it would be absolutely impossible to move off the roads. Children are taught in the schools to use them; soldiers wear them at winter drill and manoeuvres; farmers, milkmaids, cowboys, all may be seen daily in the country parts going from place to place on them, and so keen are the young rustic lads on becoming proficient ski-runners that all over Norway are to be found ski clubs, formed for the purpose of encouraging snowshoeing as a pastime, and for sending compet.i.tors to the great annual meeting at Christiania.
These snowshoe compet.i.tions are most interesting and exciting; and the pluck, endurance, and daring which they bring out are remarkable. They take place on the hills just outside Christiania, and are attended by every man, woman, and child who can reach the spot. On the first day is held the long-distance race, and on the second the jumping compet.i.tion, only winners in the former being allowed to enter for the latter.
Every English boy knows what it is to take part in a cross-country run of half a dozen miles. The Norwegian test is something more formidable--about fifteen miles of rough, mountainous country, over hill and dale, through forests, and as often as not down rocky precipices, all half buried in snow; in the runner"s hand a staff, and on his feet his ski, six or eight feet long. The course is carefully marked out beforehand by tying pieces of coloured rag to branches and rocks, and it is a point-to-point race throughout. Every district sends its champion, and there are frequently as many as eighty compet.i.tors, who are started one after another at intervals of a minute. Except, however, for expert ski-runners who can follow the course, it is not an interesting race to watch, as one only sees the start or the finish, to learn subsequently who covered the distance in the shortest time.
The appearance of the men as they come in is sufficient proof of the terrific nature of the test. So bathed in perspiration are they that they might have been running a "Marathon" race in the height of summer; and so parched are their tongues that they can scarcely speak. Lucky the skier who, during his run, chances on an unfrozen forest pool whereat he may quench his thirst by deep draughts of what the Norwegian terms "goosewine"--our "Adam"s ale."
But the second day"s sport is of a different kind; the whole thing is visible to the spectators, who from first to last are subjected to thrills of wild excitement. The ground selected for the contest is the side of a somewhat steep hill, and the snow must be in proper condition--deep, and not having a hard-frozen crust. The compet.i.tors a.s.semble on the summit, and at the bottom of the slope--perhaps a hundred yards from the starting-point--is a large enclosed s.p.a.ce, around which stand the spectators. Half-way down the hillside, a horizontal platform, well covered with hard snow, has been built out, so as to form the "taking-off" point for the long jump; and close by it is the box for the judges and committee. The soldiers on ski, keeping the ground, give the signal that all is ready; in another second a bugle-call resounds from the top of the hill; and the first man has started.
Down the slope he comes at the top of his speed, his fists clenched, and determination in his face. Gathering himself together as he nears the "take-off," he bends slightly on his ski, and, with a frantic bound, flies forward into s.p.a.ce. For an instant a breathless silence falls on the crowd, and then, as the _ski-lober_ lands at the bottom, and struggles in vain to keep his feet, cheers mingled with laughter fill the air. Number 2 is no more successful than his predecessor; but Number 3 lands on both feet with much grace, continues his way on level ground, and, wheeling round, receives the well-merited applause of the onlookers. Others follow in quick succession, some making brilliant leaps, some having awkward spills; yet one and all racing down to the platform with almost abandoned recklessness. What with the delay caused by accidents, and the time taken in measuring the successful jumps, the contest occupies some hours. Then the judges declare the names of the prize-winners, together with the length of each man"s leap; and, prodigious as it may seem, it is no unusual thing for the champion to accomplish 100 feet, measured on the slope from the "take-off"
to the landing-point.
Such are some of the winter sports of Norway. Can anyone wonder that the men who enter into them with so great a zest have earned for themselves the name of "Hardy Nors.e.m.e.n"? Can anyone wonder that Dr. Nansen, in his younger days the champion _ski-lober_ at one of these great meetings, should have defeated all others in the race for the North Pole?
NOTES
[1] p.r.o.nounced Nor-gay.
[2] Frontispiece.