Along the Coast of Norway. — Education at the Far North. — An Interesting Character. — A Botanical Enthusiast. — Remarkable Mountain Tunnel. — A Hard Climb. — The Seven Sisters. — Young England. — An Amateur Photographer. — Horseman’s Island. — Ancient Town of Bodoee. — Arctic Flowers. — The Famous Maelstroem. — Illusions! — The Wonderful Lofoden Islands. — Grand and Unique Scenery. — Glaciers. — Nature’s Architecture. — Mysterious Effects. — Attraction for Artists.

The coast of Norway from the most southerly part which is known as the Naze, to the North Cape which is its extreme point in that direction, is bordered by innumerable rocky islands, and also by deep fjords winding inland from ten to fifty miles each among masses of rock forming lofty, perpendicular walls, often towering a thousand feet and more in height. The traveller is reminded by the aspect of these fjords of the striking scenery of the Saguenay River in North America. The turbulent waves of the North Atlantic and Arctic Oceans hurled against the coast by the western gales for many thousands of years, have steadily worn into the land, and thus formed these remarkable fjords; or perhaps after they were begun by volcanic action, the wearing of the water has gradually brought about their present condition. The coast of Sweden, on the other hand, is formed by the Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Bothnia, both of which are inland waters; and though there are many islands on the Swedish coast, there are no fjords worthy of mention. Notwithstanding that the extreme length of Norway from north to south is hardly twelve hundred miles, yet so numerous and extensive are these peculiar arms of the sea that its coast-line is estimated to measure over three thousand miles,—which gives to these deep indentures of the west coast a length of eighteen hundred miles. The entire peninsula known under the general name of Scandinavia is composed of Norway, Sweden, and a small portion of the Russian possessions in the northeast. This division of country supports a population of little less than seven millions, and contains in round numbers three hundred thousand square miles. To geologists it is especially interesting to know that the mountains of this section of the globe are almost wholly of primitive rocks, presenting as near as possible the same form as when they were first solidified. They are rarely overlaid with more recent formations, but stand forth as tangible evidence of the great antiquity of this region.

In her course northward the steamer winds in and out among the many islands and fjords, touching occasionally at small settlements on the main-land to discharge light freight, and to land or take on board an occasional passenger. The few persons who came from the little clusters of houses, which are not sufficient in number to be called a village, were found to be of more than ordinary intelligence, neat and clean in their appearance; and, much to our surprise, they often spoke English. We were told that even in these sparsely inhabited regions, education is provided for by what is termed the “ambulatory system;” that is, one able teacher instructs the youth of three or four neighboring districts, accommodating the convenience of all by suitable variations of time and place in holding school-sessions.

Among the passengers who came on board our steamer at Trondhjem as we were starting for the north was one whose personal peculiarities had attracted some attention. He was a man of fifty years or more, with iron-gray hair, and a tall, slim figure. He wore a long gray surtout, a flat, flabby cloth cap, with a broad, straight leather visor, beneath which were shaggy grizzly brows, so heavy indeed as to throw his eyes into shadow, deep as a well. His wrinkled face, long and narrow, was supplemented by a double chin as full of folds as his cap. This man glanced about him occasionally, with large blue eyes of such marked intelligence as to indicate the possession of plenty of brains. Fastened across his shoulder there depended upon his left side a long round tin box painted green. He seemed quite wrapped up in his own thought, and addressed no one. He had just seated himself in one corner of the deck, apparently for a nap, when we rounded to at a landing, on the second day of the voyage northward. Among those who came on board from this place were two or three peasant women destined for the next station, with whom was a young girl who held in her hand a tiny bouquet of simple cut flowers. The drowsy figure of the old German, for that was his nationality, suddenly became animated, and he was seen hastening towards the girl, and extending a piece of silver, which was quickly exchanged for the cluster of flowers. A moment later he had assumed his former position, and with his tin box open before him was arranging his floral prize. His profession was no longer a mystery. He was a botanist,—a botanist con amore. Meeting him upon this ground, he was found to be a most delightful talker and a devout disciple of Linnaeus. He was so eloquent upon the properties of flowers,—their disposition, their genealogy, their connubial ties, the fragrance of their breath, their length of life,—that he might have been talking of humanity rather than of the denizens of Flora’s kingdom. Every bit of fern was treasured; every leaf, every pale blossom possessed feeling, consciousness of care, interesting habits, and spoke a familiar language to him. It was delightful to hear him discuss their properties with such enthusiasm, so tenderly and lovingly. It is to the faithful researches of such simple and sincere devotees of science that we are indebted for our knowledge of Nature’s daintiest secrets. Among the flowers brought on board by the young girl was a deep blue orchis. “See,” said the narrow-chested, thin-voiced old man, “this is the Orchis maculata, the Virgin’s and Devil’s hand, with one prong of the root dark and crooked, while the other is straight and white. Behold! I place it in this basin of water; the white hand floats upon the surface, the black hand sinks!” The old man gazed in silence for a moment; then added: “It is the emblem of good triumphing over evil.”

How gentle and benignant the nature that dwelt within the rough exterior of this enthusiast!

The course of the northern-bound steamers takes them by the celebrated island of Torghatten, which is pierced entirely through by a remarkable natural tunnel. The opening on the precipitous side occurs about half way up between the sea-level and the apex. The island rises gradually from the water at first, but soon becomes abrupt, finishing at a height of about one thousand feet. Here the steamer comes to anchor for a few hours, to enable tourists to land and examine the tunnel. If the sea happens to be rough, however, this is not possible. A steep and rather trying climb over the spongy moss and rubble stones, where there is no definite path, brings one at last to the mouth of the opening, which is so regular in form that it would almost seem to have been constructed for some useful purpose by human hands, rather than by any freak of Nature. The floor of the tunnel is quite uneven and rough, being strewn with rocks that have fallen from the roof, owing to atmospheric disintegrating influences operating for many ages. It very naturally recalled the Grotto of Posilippo at Naples, surmounted by Virgil’s tomb, though the Italian tunnel is artificial, while Torghatten is unmistakably natural. This tunnel is sixty feet high at the mouth, and between five and six hundred feet long, maintaining throughout about the same size. Through the large opening one gets a very curious, half-telescopic view of the sea and the many islands lying in range. Such a place would be quite incomplete as a unique resort, and particularly in Scandinavia, without its special legend attached; but the one we heard upon the spot was far too extravagant and foolish to repeat in these pages. This mountain island is said to contain caves which extend some distance beneath the surrounding waters, but which are nevertheless perfectly dry. A story is told of one of these being the bridal chamber of a famous Viking in the olden time, and which is said to be only accessible by diving beneath the surface of the sea. Soon after leaving the perforated insular mountain, the “Seven Sisters” come into view. These are elevations about three thousand feet high, located upon the island of Alsten, which forms the west side of Vefsenfjord. They are of remarkable similarity in form, with deep valleys and dark gorges separating them. From the group there rolled back across the waters a whole broadside of echoes in response to the single boom of our forecastle gun fired for the purpose. These “Sisters” have stood here, in their craggy and solitary grandeur, unexplored and untrodden for perhaps twice ten thousand years. The peaks are far too perpendicular for human access. The course in this region is along the shore of what is called Nordland, extending longitudinally about forty miles, the interior of which has not yet been explored.

We had already passed latitude 66 deg. north, when the captain of the steamer casually remarked to a group of passengers that we must be on the look-out, for we should soon cross the line of the Arctic Circle. Young England was instantly on the alert, with his sticking eye-glass and fidgety manner, wanting to know what the “line” looked like. Intelligent glances were exchanged between a couple of gentlemen passengers, one of whom stepped into the captain’s office and brought out a ship’s spy-glass. After carefully sweeping the horizon with the instrument directed to the northwest, the gentleman thought that he discovered indications of the “line” already. In this supposition he was confirmed by his companion, after he also had taken a careful survey through the glass. Young England stood by, nervously jerking his eye-glass out of place and putting it back again, and anxious to get a peep; so he was kindly accommodated. He shouted almost immediately that he could see the “line,” and indulged in rather boisterous demonstrations of satisfaction at the sight. Presently the gentleman who had borrowed the glass received it again; but before returning it to the captain’s office he removed a small silk thread which had been extended across the object-glass. Young England in his simplicity never suspected the trick played upon his ignorance. The amateur photographer ("photographic fiend,” as he was named by the passengers) was also on board with his portable machine, aiming it at everybody and everything. He too was an English cockney of the shallowest kind; but as regarded any pictorial results from the innocent machine which he set up all over the ship,—now on the bridge, now at the taffrail, and again on the forecastle,—there were none. Not a “negative” was produced during our eight days’ voyage whereby one might judge whether the whole affair was a “blind” or otherwise. This youth was one degree less verdant than he with the sticking eye-glass, but yet he had an opinion to offer upon every topic of conversation, and was, as he believed, quite posted in all national and political matters at home and abroad. If he lives for a few years he will doubtless have less faith in his own wisdom, and will exhibit less conceit to others.

There is but one day in the year when the phenomenon of the midnight sun can be seen at the imaginary line which we designate as the Arctic Circle, a point twenty-three degrees and twenty-eight minutes from the North Pole; but by sailing some three hundred miles farther northward to the North Cape, the projecting point of the extreme north of Norway, it may be observed under favorable circumstances,—that is, when not obscured by clouds,—for over two months dating from the middle of May. Soon after passing the Arctic Circle, fourteen hundred and eight geographical miles from the North Pole, a singularly formed island is observed, called by the natives Hestmandoe, or Horseman’s Island,—a rocky and mountainous formation of two thousand feet in height, more or less. On approaching the island from the west, by a liberal aid from the imagination one can discern the colossal figure of a horseman wrapped in his cloak and mounted on a charger. It forms a well-known landmark to all navigating the coast. The summit, it is believed, has never been reached by human feet.

The fishing village or town of Bodoee, on the main-land, is one of the regular stopping places for the steamers that ply on the coast. It contains some fifteen hundred inhabitants, all toilers of the sea, and is the chief town of Nordland. Some few of the houses are large and comfortable, being of modern construction, forming a strong contrast to the low turf-roofed log-cabins which are to be seen in such close proximity to them. There is an ancient stone church here which the traveller should find time to visit,—a quaint building, with a few antique paintings upon the walls and an atmosphere of past ages permeating its dim interior. Only the sacred rust of this old temple makes it worthy of attention. In and about the humble settlement lovely wild-flowers were observed in profusion,—an agreeable surprise, for we had hardly expected to find these “smiles of God’s goodness” so far north, within the Arctic Circle. Among them were the butterfly-orchis and Alpine lady’s-mantle, besides a goodly crop of primroses, all the more attractive because of the seemingly unpropitious region where they were blooming. Here our earnest but simple old friend the botanist revelled in his specialty, indeed lost himself as it seemed, for when we sailed he was nowhere to be seen, and was surely left behind. “Did he take his baggage with him?” we asked of an officer of the ship. “No, he had none,” was the reply. And so we had parted from the absorbed gentle old scientist, without a word of farewell. Louis Philippe lived for a brief period at Bodoee when travelling as a refugee under the name of Mueller, and visitors are shown the room which he occupied. Under favorable circumstances the midnight sun is visible here for a period of about four weeks each season, and many persons tarry at Bodoee to obtain the desired view without the trouble of travelling farther northward. By ascending the lofty hill called Lobsaas, one gets here also a grand though distant view of the remarkable Lofoden Islands.

After leaving Bodoee the course of the steamers lies directly across the Vestfjord to the islands just referred to, whose jagged outlines have been compared to the teeth which line a shark’s mouth. They lie so close together, particularly on the side by which we approached them, that no opening was visible in their long undulating mountain-chain until the vessel came close upon them and entered a narrow winding passage among rocks and cliffs which formed an entrance channel to the archipelago. In crossing the open sea which lies between the main-land and the islands rough weather is often encountered, but once within the shelter of the group, the waters become calm and mirror-like in smoothness. The passage through the myriad isles and from one to another, now rounding sharp points and now making a complete angle in the course, renders it necessary to “slow down” the steamer, so that she glides silently over the immense depths of dark waters as if propelled by some strange mysterious power below her hull. The Lofodens, owing to the clearness of the atmosphere as seen from Bodoee, appear to be about fifteen or twenty miles away on the edge of the horizon, but the real distance is nearly or quite fifty. The play of light and shade is here so different from that of lower latitudes that the atmosphere seems at times to be almost telescopic, and the most experienced traveller finds himself often deceived in judging of distances.

A little to the westward of the steamer’s course in coming hither from the main-land lies the famous vortex known as the Maelstroem, the theme of many a romance and wild conjecture which lives in the memory of every schoolboy. At certain stages of the wind and tide a fierce eddy is formed here, which is perhaps somewhat dangerous for very small boats to cross, but the presumed risk to vessels of the size of common coasting-craft under proper management is an error. At some stages of the tide it is difficult even to detect the exact spot which at other times is so disturbed. Thus we find that another fact of our credulous youth turns out to be a fable, with a very thin substratum of fact for its foundation. The tragedies recorded in connection with the Venetian Bridge of Sighs are proven to be mostly gross anachronisms; the episode of Tell and the apple was a Swiss fabrication; and now we know that neither ships nor whales were ever drawn into the Norwegian Maelstroem to instant destruction. There are several other similar rapids in and about these pinnacled islands, identical in their cause, though the one referred to is the most restless and formidable.

On close examination the Lofodens were found to consist of a maze of irregular mountain-peaks and precipices, often between two and three thousand feet in height, the passage between them being very tortuous, winding amid straits interspersed with hundreds of small rocky islets which were the home of large flocks of sea-birds. “It seemed,” as was expressively remarked by a lady passenger, “like sailing through Switzerland.” Dwarf-trees, small patches of green grass and moss grew near the water’s edge, and carpeted here and there a few acres of level soil; but the high ridges were bleak and bare rock, covered in spots with never-melting snow and ice. Most of the coast of Norway is composed of metamorphic rock; but these islands are of granite, and for marvellous peaks and oddly-pointed shapes, deep, far-reaching gulches and canyons, are unequalled elsewhere. It seemed to us marvellous that a steamer could be safely navigated through such narrow passages and among such myriads of sunken rocks. These elevations from beneath the sea varied from mere turtle-backs, as the sailors called them, just visible above the water, to mountains with sky-kissing peaks. For a vessel to run upon one of the low hummocks would be simply destruction, the water alongside being rarely less than two or three hundred fathoms in depth. Fortunately the sea is mostly quite smooth within the shelter of the archipelago, otherwise steam-vessels would rarely enter it. The compass is brought but little into use. The pilots distinguish rocks and promontories by their peculiar physiognomy, and they steer from point to point with remarkable accuracy, arriving and departing from given stations with the variation of but a few minutes from the time laid down upon their schedules. Each steamer running upon the coast carries two pilots, independent of the other officers of the ship, one of whom is always at the wheel when the vessel is under way. They are chosen for their responsible character and their knowledge of the route, and they very justly command high wages. We stopped briefly at Henningsvaer, the centre of the Lofoden cod-fishery establishments. It is a small town situated at the base of the Vaagekelle Mountain, an elevation between three and four thousand feet high. The place smells rank to heaven of dried fish and cod-liver oil, the combined stench of which articles, with that of decaying refuse lying everywhere, was truly overpowering. The hardy fishermen work nearly all winter at their rough occupation, braving the tempestuous Northern ocean in frail undecked boats, which to an inexperienced eye seem utterly unfit for such exposed service. The harvest-time to the cod-fishers here is from January to the middle of April. Casualties are of course frequent, but we were told that they are not remarkably so. Winter fishing on the banks of Newfoundland is believed to be the annual cause of more fatalities than are experienced among the Lofoden fishermen. Sometimes this region is visited by terrible hurricanes, as was the case in 1848, on which occasion five hundred fishermen were swept into eternity in one hour. Their boats are built of Norway spruce or pine, and are very light, scarcely more seaworthy than a Swampscott dory. Each has a single, portable mast which carries one square sail. The crew of a boat generally consists of six men. These live when on shore in little log-huts, each containing a score or more of bunks ranged along the sides one above another. The men come hither, as has been intimated, from all parts of the North, and return home at the close of the fishing season.

It should be made clear to the reader’s mind that these matchless islands off the northwest coast of Norway consist of two divisions,—the Lofoden and Vesteraalen isles. The Vestfjord separates the former from the main-land and the Ofotenfjord; and a prolongation of the Vestfjord separates the latter from Norway proper. These two groups are separated from each other by the Raftsund. All the islands on the west of this boundary belong to the Lofoden, and those on the east and north to the Vesteraalen group. The total length of all these islands is about a hundred and thirty miles, and the area is computed at fifteen hundred and sixty square miles. These estimates, we were informed, had lately been very nearly corroborated by actual government survey. The population of the islands will not vary much from twenty thousand. The entire occupation of the people is fishing, curing the fish, and shipping them southward. Some of the shrewdest persons engaged in this business accumulate moderate fortunes in a few years, when they naturally seek some more genial home upon the main-land. The large islands contain rivers and lakes of considerable size, but the growth of trees in this high latitude is sparse, and when found they are universally dwarfed. There is, however, as the product of the brief summer season, an abundance of fresh green vegetation, which is fostered by the humidity of the atmosphere. Still the prevailing aspect is that of towering, jagged rocks. Though the winters are long, they are comparatively mild, so much so that the salt water does not freeze in or about the group at any time of the year. As to the scenery, the Lofodens must be admitted to surpass in true sublimity and grandeur anything of their nature to be found in southern Europe. There is ample evidence showing that in long past ages these islands were much more extensive than at present, and that they were once covered with abundant vegetation. But violent convulsions in the mean time must have rent them asunder, submerging some entirely, and elevating others into their present irregular shapes.

In pursuing her course towards the North Cape, the steamer for a distance of twenty miles and more glides through a strait remarkable for its picturesqueness and unique beauty, which is called the Raftsund. Here the shore is studded by the tiny red cabins of the fishermen, surrounded by green low-growing foliage, the earth-covered roofs of the huts often spread with purple heather-bloom, mingled about the eaves with moss of intensely verdant hue. The high slopes of the hills are covered with Alpine moss, and the upper cliffs with snow, whose yielding tears, persuaded by the warm sun, feed opalescent cascades; while below and all about the ship are the deep dark waters of the Polar Sea. Neither the majestic Alps, the glowing Pyrénées, nor the commanding Apennines ever impressed us like these wild, wrinkled, rock-bound mountains in their virgin mantles of frost. The sensation when gazing in wonder upon the far-away Himalayas, the loftiest range on the earth, was perhaps more overpowering; but the nearness to these abrupt cliffs, volcanic islands, mountains, and glaciers in boreal regions made it seem more like Wonderland. The traveller looks heavenward from the deck of the steamer to see the apex of the steep walls, stern, massive, and immovable, which line the fjords, lost in the blue sky, or wreathed in gauzy mantles of mist-clouds, as he may have looked upward from the deep, green valley of the Yosemite at the lofty crowns of Mount Starr King, El Capitan, or Sentinel Dome. On again approaching the main-land the varying panorama is similarly impressive, though differing in kind. It will be remembered that the coast of Norway extends three hundred miles north of the Arctic Circle, projecting itself boldly into the Polar Sea, and that two hundred miles and more of this distance is north of the Lofoden Island group. Now and then reaches of country are passed affording striking and beautiful landscape effects, where valleys open towards the sea, affording views sometimes capped by glaciers high up towards the overhanging sky, where they form immense level fields of dazzling ice embracing hundreds of square miles. The enjoyment of a trip along the coast is largely dependent upon the condition of the weather, which is frequently very disagreeable. In this respect the author was greatly favored. The absence of fog and mist was remarkable, while the water most of the time was as smooth as a pleasure pond. With a heavy, rolling sea and stormy weather, the trip northward from Bodoee, and especially among the Lofodens, would be anything but enjoyable. Sometimes fancy led us to gaze lazily over the bulwarks into the mirroring sea for long distances, where mountains, gorges, foaming torrents, and sheer precipices were even more sharply depicted than when gazing directly at them. A feeling of loneliness is sure to creep over the solitary traveller at such times, a longing for some congenial companion with whom to share all this glowing experience. “Joy was born a twin.” Fulness of appreciation and delight can be reached only by being shared.

Amid such scenes as we have described rises the enormous Svartisen glacier, its ice and snow defying the power of the sun. This glacier is many miles in length and nearly as wide as it is long, covering a plateau four thousand feet above the level of the sea. The dimensions given the author upon the spot were so mammoth that he hesitates to record them; but it is by far the most extensive one he has ever seen. Sulitelma, the highest mountain in Lapland, six thousand feet above the sea, crowned by a shroud of eternal snow, comes into view, though it is nearly fifty miles inland. The snow-level about this latitude of 69 deg. north is five hundred feet above that of the sea, below which, wherever the earth can find a foothold on the rocks, all is delightfully green,—a tender delicate green, such as marks the early spring foliage of New England, or the leaves of the young locust. The heat of the brief summer sun is intense, and insect life thrives marvellously in common with the more welcome vegetation. Birch and willow trees seem best adapted to withstand the rigor of these regions, and they thrive in the warm season with a vitality and beauty of effect which is heightened by the ever-present contrast. Every hour of the voyage seemed burdened with novelty, and ceaseless vigilance possessed every faculty. A transparent haze at mid-day or midnight lay like a golden veil over land and sea; objects even at a short distance presented a shadowy and an unreal aspect. The rough and barren islands which we passed in our midnight course often exhibited one side glorified with gorgeous roseate hues, while casting sombre and mysterious shadows behind them, which produced a strangely weird effect, half of delight, half of awe, while the long superb trail of sunlight crept towards us from the horizon.

The attractions of Norway to the artist are many, and in a great measure they are unique, especially in the immediate vicinity of the west coast. No two of the many abrupt elevations resemble each other, all are erratic; some like Alpine cathedrals seemingly rear their fretted spires far heavenward, where they echo the hoarse anthems played by the winters’ storms. One would think that Nature in a wayward mood had tried her hand sportively at architecture, sculpture, and castle-building,—constructing now a high monumental column or a mounted warrior, and now a Gothic fane amid, regions strange, lonely, and savage. There are grand mountains and glaciers in Switzerland, but they do not rise directly out of the ocean as they do here in Scandinavia; and as to the scenery afforded by the innumerable fjords winding inland, amid forests, cliffs, and impetuous waterfalls, nowhere else can these be seen save on this remarkable coast. Like rivers, and yet so unlike them in width, depth, and placidity, with their broad mouths guarded by clustering islands, one can find nothing in Nature more grand, solemn, and impressive than a Norwegian fjord. Now and again the shores are lined for brief distances by the greenest of green pastures, dotted with little red houses and groups of domestic animals, forming bits of verdant foreground backed by dark gorges. Down precipitous cliffs leap cascades, which are fed by ice-fields hidden in the lofty mountains so close at hand. These are not merely pretty spouts like many a little Swiss device, but grand, plunging, restless torrents, conveying heavy volumes of foaming water. An artist’s eye would revel in the twilight glory of carmine, orange, and indigo which floods the atmosphere and the sea amid such scenery as we have faintly depicted.