"Often and often, when she was a girl,
had his wife and her sisters sailed over its fabulous
crater in an open boat." But in this wild romantic country,
with its sparse population, rugged mountains, and gloomy
fiords, very ordinary matters become invested with a
character of awe and mystery quite foreign to the atmosphere
of our own matter-of-fact world; and many of the Norwegians
are as prone to superstition as the poor little Lapp
pagans who dwell among them.
No later than a few years ago, in the very fiord we had
passed on our way to Alten, when an unfortunate boat got
cast away during the night on some rocks at a little
distance from the shore, the inhabitants, startled by
the cries of distress which reached them in the morning
twilight, hurried down in a body to the sea-side, - not
to afford assistance, - but to open a volley of musketry
on the drowning mariners; being fully persuaded that the
stranded boat, with its torn sails, was no other than
the Kracken or Great Sea-Serpent flapping its dusky wings:
and when, at last, one of the crew succeeded in swimming
ashore in spite of waves and bullets, - the whole society
turned and fled!
And now, again good-bye. We are just going up to dine
with Mr. T - ; and after dinner, or at least as soon as
the tide turns, we get under way - Northward Ho! (as Mr.
Kingsley would say) in right good earnest this time!
LETTER XI.
WE SAIL FOR BEAR ISLAND, AND SPITZBERGEN - CHERIE ISLAND -
BARENTZ-SIR HUGH WILLOUGHBY - PARRY'S ATTEMPT TO REACH
THE NORTH POLE - AGAIN AMONGST THE ICE - ICEBLINK - FIRST
SIGHT OF SPITZBERGEN - WILSON - DECAY OF OUR HOPES - CONSTANT
STRUGGLE WITH THE ICE - WE REACH THE 80 DEGREES N. LAT. - A
FREER SEA - WE LAND IN SPITZBERGEN - ENGLISH BAY - LADY
EDITH'S GLACIER - A MIDNIGHT PHOTOGRAPH - NO REINDEER TO
BE SEEN - ET EGO IN ARCTIS - WINTER IN SPITZBERGEN -
PTARMIGAN - THE BEAR-SAGA - THE "FOAM" MONUMENT -
SOUTHWARDS - SIGHT THE GREENLAND ICE - A GALE - WILSON ON
THE MAELSTROM - BREAKERS AHEAD - ROOST - TAKING A SIGHT -
THRONDHJEM.
Throndhjem, Aug. 22nd, 1856.
We have won our laurels, after all! We have landed in
Spitzbergen - almost at its most northern extremity; and
the little "Foam" has sailed to within 630 miles of the
Pole; that is to say, within 100 miles as far north as
any ship has ever succeeded in getting.
I think my last letter left us enjoying the pleasant
hospitalities of Kaafiord.
The genial quiet of that last evening in Norway was
certainly a strange preface to the scenes we have since
witnessed.
