Our Toll Had Already Been Paid Before Leaving
Copenhagen; We Had Been Accurately Signalled, And Sailed Fearlessly
By.
{18}
The entrance once passed, we entered the Cattegat, which already
looked more like the great ocean: the coasts retired on each side,
and most of the shifts and barques, which till now had hovered
around us on all sides, bade us "farewell." Some bent their course
towards the east, others towards the west; and we alone, on the
broad desert ocean, set sail for the icy north. Twilight did not
set in until 9 o'clock at night; and on the coasts the flaming
beacons flashed up, to warn the benighted mariner of the proximity
of dangerous rocks.
I now offered up my thanksgiving to Heaven for the protection
hitherto vouchsafed me, with a humble prayer for its continuance.
Then I descended to the cabin, where I found a convenient bunk (a
kind of crib fixed to the side of the ship); I laid myself down, and
was soon in a deep and refreshing sleep.
I awoke full of health and spirits, which, however, I enjoyed but
for a short time. During the night we had left behind us the
"Cattegat" and the "Skagerrack," and were driving through the stormy
German Ocean. A high wind, which increased almost to a gale,
tumbled our poor ship about in such a manner, that none but a good
dancer could hope to maintain an upright position. I had
unfortunately been from my youth no votary of Terpsichore, and what
was I to do? The naiads of this stormy region seized me, and
bandied me to and fro, until they threw me into the arms of what
was, according to my experience, if not exactly after Schiller's
interpretation, "the horrible of horrors," - sea-sickness. At first
I took little heed of this, thinking that sea-sickness would soon be
overcome by a traveller like myself, who should be inured to every
thing. But in vain did I bear up; I became worse and worse, till I
was at length obliged to remain in my berth with but one consoling
thought, namely, that we were to-day on the open sea, where there
was nothing worthy of notice. But the following day the Norwegian
coast was in sight, and at all hazards I must see it; so I crawled
on deck more dead than alive, looked at a row of mountains of
moderate elevation, their tops at this early season still sparkling
with their snowy covering, and then hurried back, benumbed by the
piercing icy wind, to my good warm feather-bed. Those who have
never experienced it can have no conception of the biting,
penetrating coldness of a gale of wind in the northern seas. The
sun shone high in the heavens; the thermometer (I always calculate
according to Reaumur) stood 3 degrees above zero; I was dressed much
more warmly than I should have thought necessary when, in my
fatherland, the thermometer was 8 degrees or 10 degrees BELOW zero,
and yet I felt chilled to the heart, and could have fancied that I
had no clothes on at all.
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