CROSSING THE ARCTIC CIRCLE.

I was obliged to remain three days in Haparanda, applying poultices, gargles, and liniments, according to the doctor’s instructions.  As my Swedish was scarcely sufficient for the comprehension of prescriptions, or medical technicalities in general, a written programme of my treatment was furnished to Fredrika, the servant-maid, who was properly impressed with the responsibility thereby devolving upon her.  Fredrika, no doubt, thought that my life was in her hands, and nothing could exceed the energy with which she undertook its preservation.  Punctually to the minute appeared the prescribed application, and, if she perceived or suspected any dereliction on my part, it was sure to be reported to the doctor at his next visit.  I had the taste of camomile and mallows in my mouth from morning till night; the skin of my jaw blistered under the scorching of ammonia; but the final result was, that I was cured, as the doctor and Fredrika had determined.

This good-hearted girl was a genuine specimen of the Northern Swedish female.  Of medium height, plump, but not stout, with a rather slender waist and expansive hips, and a foot which stepped firmly and nimbly at the same time, she was as cheerful a body as one could wish to see.  Her hair was of that silky blonde so common in Sweden; her eyes a clear, pale blue, her nose straight and well formed, her cheeks of the delicate pink of a wild-rose leaf, and her teeth so white, regular and perfect that I am sure they would make her fortune in America.  Always cheerful, kind and active, she had, nevertheless, a hard life of it:  she was alike cook, chambermaid, and hostler, and had a cross mistress to boot.  She made our fires in the morning darkness, and brought us our early coffee while we yet lay in bed, in accordance with the luxurious habits of the Arctic zone.  Then, until the last drunken guest was silent, towards midnight, there was no respite from labour.  Although suffering from a distressing cough, she had the out-door as well as the in-door duties to discharge, and we saw her in a sheepskin jacket harnessing horses, in a temperature 30 deg. below zero.  The reward of such a service was possibly about eight American dollars a year.  When, on leaving, I gave her about as much as one of our hotel servants would expect for answering a question, the poor girl was overwhelmed with gratitude, and even the stern landlady was so impressed by my generosity that she insisted on lending us a sheepskin for our feet, saying we were “good men.”

There is something exceedingly primitive and unsophisticated in the manners of these Northern people ­a straight-forward honesty, which takes the honesty of others for granted ­a latent kindness and good-will which may at first be overlooked, because it is not demonstrative, and a total unconsciousness of what is called, in highly civilised circles, “propriety.”  The very freedom of manners which, in some countries, might denote laxity of morals, is here the evident stamp of their purity.  The thought has often recurred to me ­which is the most truly pure and virginal nature, the fastidious American girl, who blushes at the sight of a pair of boots outside a gentleman’s bedroom door, and who requires that certain unoffending parts of the body and articles of clothing should be designated by delicately circumlocutious terms, or the simple-minded Swedish women, who come into our bedrooms with coffee, and make our fires while we get up and dress, coming and going during all the various stages of the toilet, with the frankest unconsciousness of impropriety?  This is modesty in its healthy and natural development, not in those morbid forms which suggest an imagination ever on the alert for prurient images.  Nothing has confirmed my impression of the virtue of the Northern Swedes more than this fact, and I have rarely felt more respect for woman or more faith in the inherent purity of her nature.

We had snug quarters in Haparanda, and our detention was therefore by no means irksome.  A large room, carpeted, protected from the outer cold by double windows, and heated by an immense Russian stove, was allotted to us.  We had two beds, one of which became a broad sofa during the day, a backgammon table, the ordinary appliances for washing, and, besides a number of engravings on the walls, our window commanded a full view of Tornea, and the ice-track across the river, where hundreds of persons daily passed to and fro.  The eastern window showed us the Arctic dawn, growing and brightening through its wonderful gradations of color, for four hours, when the pale orange sun appeared above the distant houses, to slide along their roofs for two hours, and then dip again.  We had plentiful meals, consisting mostly of reindeer meat, with a sauce of Swedish cranberries, potatoes, which had been frozen, but were still palatable, salmon roes, soft bread in addition to the black shingles of fladbrod, English porter, and excellent Umea beer.  In fact, in no country inn of the United States could we have been more comfortable.  For the best which the place afforded, during four days, with a small provision for the journey, we paid about seven dollars.

The day before our departure, I endeavored to obtain some information concerning the road to Lapland, but was disappointed.  The landlord ascertained that there were skjuts, or relays of post-horses, as far as Muonioniska, 210 English miles, but beyond this I could only learn that the people were all Finnish, spoke no Swedish, were miserably poor, and could give us nothing to eat.  I was told that a certain official personage at the apothecary’s shop spoke German, and hastened thither; but the official, a dark-eyed, olive-faced Finn, could not understand my first question.  The people even seemed entirely ignorant of the geography of the country beyond Upper Tornea, or Matarengi, forty miles off.  The doctor’s wife, a buxom, motherly lady, who seemed to feel quite an interest in our undertaking, and was as kind and obliging as such women always are, procured for us a supply of fladbrod made of rye, and delightfully crisp and hard ­and this was the substance of our preparations.  Reindeer mittens were not to be found, nor a reindeer skin to cover our feet, so we relied, as before, on plenty of hay and my Scotch plaid.  We might, perhaps, have had better success in Tornea, but I knew no one there who would be likely to assist us, and we did not even visit the old place.  We had taken the precaution of getting the Russian vise, together with a small stock of roubles, at Stockholm, but found that it was quite unnecessary.  No passport is required for entering Tornea, or travelling on the Russian side of the frontier.

Trusting to luck, which is about the best plan after all, we started from Haparanda at noon, on the 5th of January.  The day was magnificent, the sky cloudless, and resplendent as polished steel, and the mercury 31 deg. below zero.  The sun, scarcely more than the breadth of his disc above the horizon, shed a faint orange light over the broad, level snow-plains, and the bluish-white hemisphere of the Bothnian Gulf, visible beyond Tornea.  The air was perfectly still, and exquisitely cold and bracing, despite the sharp grip it took upon my nose and ears.  These Arctic days, short as they are, have a majesty of their own ­a splendor, subdued though it be; a breadth and permanence of hue, imparted alike to the sky and to the snowy earth, as if tinted glass was held before your eyes.  I find myself at a loss how to describe these effects, or the impression they produce upon the traveller’s mood.  Certainly, it is the very reverse of that depression which accompanies the Polar night, and which even the absence of any real daylight might be considered sufficient to produce.

Our road was well beaten, but narrow, and we had great difficulty in passing the many hay and wood teams which met us, on account of the depth of the loose snow on either side.  We had several violent overturns at such times, one of which occasioned us the loss of our beloved pipe ­a loss which rendered Braisted disconsolate for the rest of the day.  We had but one between us, and the bereavement was not slight.  Soon after leaving Haparanda, we passed a small white obelisk, with the words “Russian Frontier” upon it.  The town of Tornea, across the frozen river, looked really imposing, with the sharp roof and tall spire of its old church rising above the line of low red buildings.  Campbell, I remember, says,

     “Cold as the rocks on Torneo’s hoary brow,”

with the same disregard of geography which makes him grow palm trees along the Susquehanna River.  There was Tornea; but I looked in vain for the “hoary brow.”  Not a hill within sight, nor a rock within a circuit of ten miles, but one unvarying level, like the western shore of the Adriatic, formed by the deposits of the rivers and the retrocession of the sea.

Our road led up the left bank of the river, both sides of which were studded with neat little villages.  The country was well cleared and cultivated, and appeared so populous and flourishing that I could scarcely realise in what part of the world we were.  The sun set at a quarter past one, but for two hours the whole southern heaven was superb in its hues of rose and orange.  The sheepskin lent us by our landlady kept our feet warm, and we only felt the cold in our faces; my nose, especially, which, having lost a coat of skin, was very fresh and tender, requiring unusual care At three o’clock, when we reached Kuckula, the first station, the northern sky was one broad flush of the purest violet, melting into lilac at the zenith, where it met the fiery skirts of sunset.

We refreshed ourselves with hot milk, and pushed ahead, with better horses.  At four o’clock it was bright moonlight, with the stillest air.  We got on bravely over the level, beaten road, and in two hours reached Korpikyla, a large new inn, where we found very tolerable accommodations.  Our beds were heaps of reindeer skins; a frightfully ugly Finnish girl, who knew a few words of Swedish, prepared us a supper of tough meat, potatoes, and ale.  Everything was now pure Finnish, and the first question of the girl, “Hvarifran kommar du?” (Where dost thou come from?) showed an ignorance of the commonest Swedish form of address.  She awoke us with a cup of coffee in the morning, and negotiated for us the purchase of a reindeer skin, which we procured for something less than a dollar.  The hus-bonde (house-peasant, as the landlord is called here) made no charge for our entertainment, but said we might give what we pleased.  I offered, at a venture, a sum equal to about fifty cents, whereupon he sent the girl to say that he thanked us most heartily.

The next day was a day to be remembered:  such a glory of twilight splendors for six full hours was beyond all the charms of daylight in any zone.  We started at seven, with a temperature of 20 deg. below zero, still keeping up the left bank of the Tornea.  The country now rose into bold hills, and the features of the scenery became broad and majestic.  The northern sky was again pure violet, and a pale red tinge from the dawn rested on the tops of the snowy hills.  The prevailing color of the sky slowly brightened into lilac, then into pink, then rose color, which again gave way to a flood of splendid orange when the sun appeared.  Every change of color affected the tone of the landscape.  The woods, so wrapped in snow that not a single green needle was to be seen, took by turns the hues of the sky, and seemed to give out, rather than to reflect, the opalescent lustre of the morning.  The sunshine brightened instead of dispelling these effects.  At noon the sun’s disc was not more than 1 deg. above the horizon, throwing a level golden light on the hills.  The north, before us, was as blue as the Mediterranean, and the vault of heaven, overhead, canopied us with pink.  Every object was glorified and transfigured in the magic glow.

At the first station we got some hot milk, with raw salmon, shingle bread and frozen butter.  Our horses were good, and we drove merrily along, up the frozen Tornea.  The roads were filled with people going to church, probably to celebrate some religious anniversary.  Fresh ruddy faces had they, firm features, strong frames and resolute carriage, but the most of them were positively ugly, and, by contrast with the frank Swedes, their expression was furtive and sinister.  Near Packila we passed a fine old church of red brick, with a very handsome belfry.  At Niemis we changed horses in ten minutes, and hastened on up the bed of the Tornea to Matarengi, where we should reach the Arctic Circle.  The hills rose higher, with fine sweeping outlines, and the river was still half a mile broad ­a plain of solid snow, with the track marked out by bushes.  We kept a sharp look-out for the mountain of Avasaxa, one of the stations of Celsius, Maupertius, and the French Academicians, who came here in 1736, to make observations determining the exact form of the earth.  Through this mountain, it is said, the Arctic Circle passes, though our maps were neither sufficiently minute nor correct to determine the point.  We took it for granted, however, as a mile one way or the other could make but little difference; and as Matarengi lies due west of Avasaxa, across the river, we decided to stop there and take dinner on the Arctic Circle.

The increase of villages on both banks, with the appearance of a large church, denoted our approach to Matarengi, and we saw at once that the tall, gently-rounded, isolated hill opposite, now blazing with golden snow, could be none other than Avasaxa.  Here we were, at last, entering the Arctic Zone, in the dead of winter ­the realization of a dream which had often flashed across my mind, when lounging under the tropical palms; so natural is it for one extreme to suggest the opposite.  I took our bearings with a compass-ring, as we drove forward, and as the summit of Avasaxa bore due east we both gave a shout which startled our postilion and notably quickened the gait of our horses.  It was impossible to toss our caps, for they were not only tied upon our heads, but frozen fast to our beards.  So here we were at last, in the true dominions of Winter.  A mild ruler he had been to us, thus far, but he proved a despot before we were done with him.

Soon afterwards, we drove into the inn at Matarengi, which was full of country people, who had come to attend church.  The landlord, a sallow, watery-eyed Finn, who knew a few words of Swedish, gave us a room in an adjoining house, and furnished a dinner of boiled fish and barley mush, to which was added a bottle labelled “Dry Madeira,” brought from Haparanda for the occasion.  At a shop adjoining, Braisted found a serviceable pipe, so that nothing was wanting to complete our jubilee.  We swallowed the memory of all who were dear to us, in the dubious beverage, inaugurated our Arctic pipe, which we proposed to take home as a souvenir of the place, and set forward in the most cheery mood.

Our road now crossed the river and kept up the Russian side to a place with the charming name of Torakankorwa.  The afternoon twilight was even more wonderful than that of the forenoon.  There were broad bands of purple, pure crimson, and intense yellow, all fusing together into fiery orange at the south, while the north became a semi-vault of pink, then lilac, and then the softest violet.  The dazzling Arctic hills participated in this play of colors, which did not fade, as in the South, but stayed, and stayed, as if God wished to compensate by this twilight glory for the loss of the day.  Nothing in Italy, nothing in the Tropics, equals the magnificence of the Polar skies.  The twilight gave place to a moonlight scarcely less brilliant.  Our road was hardly broken, leading through deep snow, sometimes on the river, sometimes through close little glens, hedged in with firs drooping with snow ­fairy Arctic solitudes, white, silent and mysterious.

By seven o’clock we reached a station called Juoxengi.  The place was wholly Finnish, and the landlord, who did not understand a word of Swedish, endeavoured to make us go on to the next station.  We pointed to the beds and quietly carried in our baggage.  I made the usual signs for eating, which speedily procured us a pail of sour milk, bread and butter, and two immense tin drinking horns of sweet milk.  The people seemed a little afraid of us, and kept away.  Our postilion was a silly fellow, who could not understand whether his money was correct.  In the course of our stenographic conversation, I learned that “cax” signified two.  When I gave him his drink-money he said “ketox!” and on going out the door, “huweste!” ­so that I at least discovered the Finnish for “Thank you!” and “Good-bye!” This, however, was not sufficient to order horses the next morning.  We were likewise in a state of delightful uncertainty as to our future progress, but this very uncertainty gave a zest to our situation, and it would have been difficult to find two jollier men with frozen noses.