Part 19 (1/2)
On the second morning after leaving the Sound we pa.s.sed close along the Downs of Jutland, a barren sh.o.r.e, singularly diversified by great mounds of sand. The wind sweeping in from the ocean casts up the loose sands that lie upon this low peninsula, and drifts them against some bush or other obstacle sufficiently firm to form a nucleus. In the course of a few years, by constant acc.u.mulations, this becomes a vast mound, sometimes over a hundred feet high. Nearly the whole of Northern Jutland is diversified with sand-plains, heaths, and ever-changing mounds, among which wandering bands of gipsies still roam. The sh.o.r.es along the Skagen are surrounded by dangerous reefs of quicksand, stretching for many miles out into the ocean. Navigation at this point is very difficult, especially in the winter, when terrific gales prevail from the northwest. The numerous stakes, buoys, and other water-marks by which the channel is designated, the frequency of light-houses and signal telegraphs, and the wrecks that lie strewn along the beach, over which the surging foam breaks like a perpetual dirge, afford striking indication of the dangers to which mariners are subject in this wild region. Hans Christian Andersen, in one of his most delightful works, has thrown a romantic interest over the scenery of Jutland, giving a charm to its very desolation, and investing with all the beauty of a genial humanity the rude lives of the gipsies and fishermen who inhabit this wild region of drifting sands and wintry tempests. Steen Blicher has also cast over it the spell of his poetic genius; and Von Buch, in his graphic narrative, has given a memorable interest to its sea-girt sh.o.r.es, where ”masts and skeletons of vessels stand like a range of palisades.”
During our pa.s.sage through the Skager-Rack we pa.s.sed innumerable fleets of fis.h.i.+ng-smacks, and often encountered the diminutive skiffs of the fishermen, with two or three amphibious occupants, buffeting about among the waves many miles from the sh.o.r.e. The weather had been steadily growing worse ever since our departure from Copenhagen. As we entered the North Sea it began to blow fiercer than ever, and for two days we experienced all the discomforts of chopping seas that drenched our decks fore and aft, and chilling gales mingled with fogs and heavy rains. It was cold enough for midwinter, yet here we were on the verge of midsummer. Our little craft was rendered somewhat unmanageable by a deck-load of coal and a heavy cargo of freight, and there were periods when I would have thought myself fortunate in being once more off Cape Horn in the good s.h.i.+p _Pacific_. The amtman and his young bride spent this portion of their honey-moon performing a kind of duet that reminded me of my friend Ross Wallace's lines in ”Perdita:”
”Like two sweet tunes that wandering met, And so harmoniously they run, The hearer deems they are but one.”
At least the harmony was perfect, whatever might be thought of the music in other respects. Young Jonasen swallowed a few more sardines about this period of the voyage, which he vainly attempted to secure by sudden and violent contractions of the diaphragm. In short, there were but two persons in the cabin besides Captain Andersen and myself who had the temerity to appear at table--one an old Danish merchant, who generally received advices, midway through the meal, requiring his immediate presence on deck; and the other a gentleman from Holstein, who always lost his appet.i.te after the soup, and had to jump up and run to his state-room for exercise.
In due time we sighted the sh.o.r.es of Scotland. A pilot came on board inside the Frith of Forth, and, as we steamed rapidly on our course, all the pa.s.sengers forgot their afflictions, and gazed with delight on the sloping sward and woodland, the picturesque villages, and romantic old castles that decorate the sh.o.r.es of this magnificent sheet of water.
Our destination was Grangemouth, where we arrived early on Sunday morning. A few sailors belonging to some vessels in the docks, a custom-house inspector, and three small boys, comprised the entire visible population of the place. Judging by the manner in which the Sabbath is kept in Scotland, the Scotch must be a profoundly moral people. The towns are like grave-yards, and the inhabitants bear a striking resemblance to s.e.xtons, or men who spend much of their lives in burying the dead.
I was very anxious to get a newspaper containing the latest intelligence from America, but was informed that none could be had on Sunday. I wanted to go up to Edinburg: it was not possible on Sunday.
I asked a man where could I get some cigars? he didna ken; it was Sunday. The depressed expression of the few people I met began to prey like a nightmare on my spirits. Doubtless it is a very good thing to pay a decent regard to the Sabbath, but can any body tell me where we are commanded to look gloomy? The contrast was certainly very striking between the Scotch and the Danes. Of course there is no such thing as drunkenness in Scotland, no a.s.saults and batteries, no robberies and murders, no divorces, no cheating among the merchants of Glasgow or the bankers of Edinburg, no sympathizing with rebellion and the inst.i.tution of slavery--for the Scotch are a sober and righteous people, much given to sackcloth and ashes, manufactures of iron, and societies for the insurance of property against fire.
The _Arcturus_ was detained several days discharging and taking in freight. I availed myself of the first train to visit Edinburg. A day there, and an excursion to Glasgow and Loch Lomond, agreeably occupied the time. I must confess the scenery--beautiful as it is, and fraught with all the interest that history and genius can throw over it--disappointed me. It was not what I expected. It was a damp, moist, uncomfortable reality, as Mantalini would say--not very grand or striking in any respect. A subsequent excursion to the Trosachs, Loch Katrine, Loch Long, and the Clyde, afforded me a better opportunity of judging, yet it all seemed tame and commonplace compared with the scenery of California and Norway. If I enjoyed a fair specimen of the climate--rain, wind, and fog, varied by sickly gleams of suns.h.i.+ne--it strikes me it would be a congenial country for snails and frogs to reside in. The Highlands are like all other wild places within the limits of Europe, very gentle in their wildness compared with the rugged slopes of the Sierra Nevada. The Lady of the Lake must have possessed an uncommonly strong const.i.tution, if she made her nocturnal excursions on Loch Katrine in a thin white robe without suffering any bad consequences, for I found a stout overcoat insufficient to keep the chilling mists of that region from seeking in my bones a suitable location for rheumatism.
CHAPTER XL.
THE JOLLY BLOODS.
I was quietly sitting in my state-room, awaiting the departure of the steamer, when a tremendous racket on the cabin steps, followed by a rush of feet up and down the saloon, startled me out of a pleasant home-dream.
”h.e.l.lo! What the devil! I say! Where's every body! Stoord! Blast the fellow! Here, Bowser! What'r ye abeaout! Ho there! Where the dooce are our berths? By Jove! Ha! ha! This is jolly!”
Other voices joined in, with a general chorus of complaints and exclamations--”Egad! it's a _do_! No berths, no state-rooms! Ho, Stoord! Where's my trunk? I say, Stoord, where's my fis.h.i.+ng-rod? Hey!
hey! did you 'appen to see my overalls? I've lost my gun! 'Pon my word, this is a pretty do! Let's go see the Agent?” ”Come on!
Certainly!” ”Oh, hang it, no!” ”Oh yes!” ”Here, Bowser! What the devil! Where's Bowser? Gone ash.o.r.e, by Jove! A pretty kettle of fis.h.!.+”
Here there was a sudden and general stampede, and amid loud exclamations of ”Beastly!” and ”Disgusting!” the party left the cabin. I barely had time to see that it consisted of some four or five fas.h.i.+onable tourists--spirited young bloods of sporting proclivities, who had taken pa.s.sage for Iceland. The prospect of having some company was pleasant enough, and from the specimen I had seen there could be no doubt it would be lively and entertaining.
Once more during the night I was aroused by a repet.i.tion of the noises and exclamations already described. The steamer was moving off. The pa.s.sengers were all on board. We were battering our way through the ca.n.a.l. Soon the heaving waters of the ocean began to subdue the enthusiasm of the sportsmen, and before morning my ears were saluted by sounds and observations of a very different character.
I shall only add at present, in reference to this lively party of young ”Britishers,” that I found them very good fellows in their way--a little boisterous and inexperienced, but well-educated and intelligent. The young chap with the dog was what we would call in America a ”regular bird.” He and his dog afforded us infinite diversion during the whole pa.s.sage--racing up and down the decks, into and out of the cabin, and all over each other. There was something so fresh and sprightly about the fellow, something so good-natured, that I could readily excuse his roughness of manner. One of the others, a quiet, scholastic-looking person, who did not really belong to the party, having only met them on board, was a young collegian well versed in Icelandic literature. He was going to Iceland to perfect himself in the language of the country, and make some translations of the learned Sagas.
A favorable wind enabled us to sight the Orkneys on the afternoon following our departure from the Frith of Forth. Next day we pa.s.sed the Shetlands, of which we had a good view. The rocky sh.o.r.es of these islands, all rugged and surf-beaten, with myriads of wild-fowl darkening the air around them, presented a most tempting field of exploration. I longed to take a ramble in the footsteps of Dr.
Johnson; but to see the Shetlands would be to lose Iceland, and of the two I preferred seeing the latter. After a pleasant pa.s.sage of two days and a half from Grangemouth we made the Faroe Islands, and had the good fortune to secure, without the usual loss of time occasioned by fogs, an anchorage in the harbor of Thorshavn.
[Ill.u.s.tration: A DANDY TOURIST.]
[Ill.u.s.tration: THORSHAVN.]
CHAPTER XLI.
THE FAROE ISLANDS.
The Faroe Islands lie about midway between Scotland and Iceland, and belong to Denmark. The whole group consists of thirty-five small islands, some of which are little more than naked rocks jutting up out of the sea. About twenty are inhabited. The rest are too barren and precipitous to afford a suitable place of abode even for the hardy Faroese. The entire population is estimated at something over six thousand, of which the greater part are shepherds, fishermen, and bird-catchers. Owing to the situation of these islands, surrounded by the open sea and within the influence of the Gulf Stream, the climate is very mild, although they lie in the sixty-second degree of north lat.i.tude. The winters are never severe, and frost and snow rarely last over two months. They are subject, however, at that season to frequent and terrible gales from the north, and during the summer are often inaccessible for days and even weeks, owing to dense fogs. The humidity of the climate is favorable to the growth of gra.s.s, which covers the hills with a brilliant coating of green wherever there is the least approach to soil; and where there is no soil, as in many places along the sh.o.r.es, the rocks are beautifully draped with moss and lichens. The highest point in the group is 2800 feet above the level of the sea, and the general aspect of them all is wild and rugged in the extreme. Prodigious cliffs, a thousand feet high, stand like a wall out of the sea on the southern side of the Stromoe. The Mygenaes-holm, a solitary rock, guards, like a sentinel, one of the pa.s.sages, and forms a terrific precipice of 1500 feet on one side, against which the waves break with an everlasting roar. Here the solan-goose, the eider-duck, and innumerable varieties of gulls and other sea-fowl, build their nests and breed.
[Ill.u.s.tration: VIEW IN FAROE ISLANDS.]