Northern Travel Summer and Winter Pictures of Sweden, Denmark and Lapland

Bayard Taylor

Description

This book requires no further words of introduction than those with which I have prefaced former volumes - that my object in travel is neither scientific, statistical, nor politico-economical; but simply artistic, pictorial, - if possible, panoramic. I have attempted to draw, with a hand which, I hope, has acquired a little steadiness from long practice, the people and the scenery of Northern Europe, to colour my sketches with the tints of the originals, and to invest each one with its native and characteristic atmosphere. In order to do this, I have adopted, as in other countries, a simple rule: to live, as near as possible, the life of the people among whom I travel. The history of Sweden and Norway, their forms of Government, commerce, productive industry, political condition, geology, botany, and agriculture, can be found in other works, and I have only touched upon such subjects where it was necessary to give completeness to my pictures. I have endeavoured to give photographs, instead of diagrams, or tables of figures; and desire only that the untravelled reader, who is interested in the countries I visit, may find that he is able to see them by the aid of my eyes

Sujets

• Europe

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 23 octobre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819904229
• Langue: English

Extrait

PREFACE.
This book requires no further words of introductionthan those with which I have prefaced former volumes – that myobject in travel is neither scientific, statistical, norpolitico-economical; but simply artistic, pictorial, – if possible,panoramic. I have attempted to draw, with a hand which, I hope, hasacquired a little steadiness from long practice, the people and thescenery of Northern Europe, to colour my sketches with the tints ofthe originals, and to invest each one with its native andcharacteristic atmosphere. In order to do this, I have adopted, asin other countries, a simple rule: to live, as near as possible,the life of the people among whom I travel. The history of Swedenand Norway, their forms of Government, commerce, productiveindustry, political condition, geology, botany, and agriculture,can be found in other works, and I have only touched upon suchsubjects where it was necessary to give completeness to mypictures. I have endeavoured to give photographs, instead ofdiagrams, or tables of figures; and desire only that theuntravelled reader, who is interested in the countries I visit, mayfind that he is able to see them by the aid of my eyes.
BAYARD TAYLOR.
LONDON: November, 1857.
CHAPTER I.
A WINTER VOYAGE ON THE BALTIC.
We went on board the little iron Swedish propeller, Carl Johan , at Lübeck, on the morning of December 1, A.D.1856, having previously taken our passage for Stockholm. What wasour dismay, after climbing over hills of freight on deck, andcreeping down a narrow companion-way, to find the cabin stowed fullof bales of wool and barrels of butter. There was a little pantryadjoining it, with a friendly stewardess therein, who, in answer tomy inquiries, assured us that we would probably be placed in a hut . After further search, I found the captain, who wassuperintending the loading of more freight, and who also statedthat he would put us into a hut. "Let me see the hut, then," Idemanded, and we were a little relieved when we found it to be astate-room, containing two of the narrowest of bunks. There wasanother hut opposite, occupied by two more passengers, all that thesteamer could carry and all we had, except a short deck-passenger,who disappeared at the commencement of the voyage, and was not seenagain until its close.
The day was clear and cold, the low hills aroundLübeck were covered with snow, and the Trave was already frozenover. We left at noon, slowly breaking our way down the narrow andwinding river, which gradually widened and became clearer of ice aswe approached the Baltic. When we reached Travemünde it was snowingfast, and a murky chaos beyond the sandy bar concealed the Baltic.The town is a long row of houses fronting the water. There were fewinhabitants to be seen, for the bathing guests had long sinceflown, and all watering places have a funereal air after the seasonis over. Our fellow-passenger, a jovial Pole, insisted on goingashore to drink a last glass of Bavarian beer before leavingGermany; but the beverage had been so rarely called for that it hadgrown sharp and sour, and we hurried back unsatisfied.
A space about six feet square had been cleared outamong the butter-kegs in the cabin, and we sat down to dinner bycandle-light, at three o'clock. Swedish customs already appeared,in a preliminary decanter of lemon-colored brandy, a thimbleful ofwhich was taken with a piece of bread and sausage, before the soupappeared. The taste of the liquor was sweet, unctuous and notagreeable. Our party consisted of the captain, the chief officer,who was his brother-in-law, the Pole, who was a second-cousin ofKosciusko, and had a name consisting of eight consonants and twovowels, a grave young Swede with a fresh Norse complexion, and ourtwo selves. The steward, Hildebrand, and the silent stewardess,Marie, were our attendants and purveyors. The ship's officers wererather slow and opaque, and the Swede sublimely self-possessed andindifferent; but the Pole, who had been condemned to death atCracow, and afterwards invented cheap gas, was one of the jolliestfellows alive. His German was full of funny mistakes, but herattled away with as much assurance as if it had been his nativetongue. Before dinner was over, we were all perfectly wellacquainted with each other.
Night had already set in on the Baltic; nothing wasto be seen but snow; the deck was heaped with freight; the stormblew in our teeth; and the steamer, deeply laden, moved slowly andlabouriously; so we stretched ourselves on the narrow bunks in ourhut, and preserved a delicate regard for our equilibrium, even insleep. In the morning the steep cliffs of Möen, a Danish island,were visible on our left. We looked for Rügen, the last strongholdof the worship of Odin in the Middle Ages, but a raw mist rolleddown upon the sea, and left us advancing blindly as before. Thewind was strong and cold, blowing the vapory water-smoke in longtrails across the surface of the waves. It was not long, however,before some dim white gleams through the mist were pointed out asthe shores of Sweden, and the Carl Johan slackened her speedto a snail's pace, snuffing at headland after headland, like a dogoff the scent, in order to find her way into Ystad.
A lift of the fog favored us at last, and we raninto the little harbor. I walked the contracted hurricane deck atthree o'clock, with the sunset already flushing the west, looked onthe town and land, and thought of my friend Dr. Kane. The mercuryhad fallen to 16°, a foot of snow covered the house-roofs, the low,undulating hills all wore the same monotonous no-color, and theyellow-haired people on the pier were buttoned up close, mittenedand fur-capped. The captain telegraphed to Calmar, our next port,and received an answer that the sound was full of ice and theharbor frozen up. A custom-house officer, who took supper with uson board, informed us of the loss of the steam-ship Umeå, which wascut through by the ice near Sundsvall, and sunk, drowning fifteenpersons – a pleasant prospect for our further voyage – and the Polewould have willingly landed at Ystad if he could have found aconveyance to get beyond it. We had twelve tons of coal to take onboard, and the work proceeded so slowly that we caught anothersnow-storm so thick and blinding that we dared not venture out ofthe harbor.
On the third morning, nevertheless, we were again atsea, having passed Bornholm, and were heading for the southern endof the Island of Oland. About noon, as we were sitting huddledaround the cabin stove, the steamer suddenly stopped. There was ahurried movement of feet overhead – a cry – and we rushed on deck.One of the sailors was in the act of throwing overboard a lifebuoy. "It is the Pole!" was our first exclamation. "No, no," saidHildebrand, with a distressed face, "it is the cabin-boy" – asprightly, handsome fellow of fourteen. There he was struggling inthe icy water, looking toward the steamer, which was every momentmore distant. Two men were in the little boat, which had just beenrun down from the davits, but it seemed an eternity until theiroars were shipped, and they pulled away on their errand of life ordeath. We urged the mate to put the steamer about, but he passivelyrefused. The boy still swam, but the boat was not yet half-way, andheaded too much to the left. There was no tiller, and the men couldonly guess at their course. We guided them by signs, watching theboy's head, now a mere speck, seen at intervals under the loweringsky. He struggled gallantly; the boat drew nearer, and one of themen stood up and looked around. We watched with breathless suspensefor the reappearance of the brave young swimmer, but we watched invain. Poor boy! who can know what was the agony of those tenminutes, while the icy waves gradually benumbed and dragged downthe young life that struggled with such desperate energy to keepits place in the world! The men sat down and rowed back, bringingonly his cap, which they had found floating on the sea. "Ah!" saidHildebrand, with tears in his eyes, "I did not want to take himthis voyage, but his mother begged me so hard that I could notrefuse, and this is the end!"
We had a melancholy party in the cabin thatafternoon. The painful impression made by this catastrophe washeightened by the knowledge that it might have been prevented. Thesteamer amidships was filled up to her rail with coal, and the boywas thrown overboard by a sudden lurch while walking upon it.Immediately afterwards, lines were rove along the stanchions, toprevent the same thing happening again. The few feet of deck uponwhich we could walk were slippery with ice, and we kept below,smoking gloomily and saying little. Another violent snow-storm cameon from the north, but in the afternoon we caught sight of somerocks off Carlscrona, and made the light on Oland in the evening.The wind had been blowing so freshly that our captain suspectedCalmar Sound might be clear, and determined to try the passage. Wefelt our way slowly through the intricate sandbanks, in the midstof fog and snow, until after midnight, when only six miles fromCalmar, we were stopped by fields of drift ice, and had to put backagain.
The fourth morning dawned cold and splendidly clear.When I went on deck we were rounding the southern point of Oland,through long belts of floating ice. The low chalk cliffs werecovered with snow, and looked bleak and desolate enough. The windnow came out of the west, enabling us to carry the foresail, sothat we made eight or nine knots, in spite of our overloadedcondition. Braisted and I walked the deck all day, enjoying thekeen wind and clear, faint sunshine of the North. In the afternoon,however, it blew half a gale, with flurries of mingled rain andsnow. The sea rose, and the steamer, lumbered as she was, could notbe steered on her course, but had to be "conned," to keep off thestrain. The hatches were closed, and an occasional sea broke overthe bows. We sat below in the dark huts; the Pole, leaning againstthe