Part 6 (1/2)
The North Cape, the northernmost point of Norway, is a rocky headland on Magero Island--the end of all things, rising a thousand feet above the deep blue Arctic sea. The climb up the steep, zigzag pathway from the spot where the steamer lands you is arduous, and you will be glad of the rest by King Oscar's column. You would have been glad if a score of other pa.s.sengers had not been with you, and still more glad if you had come here half a century earlier, before the hand of man had marked the spot, and before all your distant friends expected you to post them a postcard from the North Cape.
Still, something of romance remains as, gazing northwards, you remember that, except, perhaps, for a corner of Spitzbergen, nothing intervenes between you and the North Pole--only that barrier of ice which, so far, has defied all penetration. But this is mere sentiment, and you have come to see something else--the merging of sunset with sunrise. Du Chaillu well describes the scene: ”The brilliancy of the splendid orb varies in intensity, like that of sunset and sunrise, according to the state of moisture of the atmosphere. One day it will be of a deep red colour, tingeing everything with a roseate hue, and producing a drowsy effect. There are times when the changes in the colour between the sunset and sunrise might be compared to the variations of a charcoal fire, now burning with a fierce red glow, then fading away, and rekindling with greater brightness.
”There are days when the sun has a pale, whitish appearance, and when even it can be looked at for six or seven hours before midnight. As this hour approaches the sun becomes less glaring, gradually changing into more brilliant shades as it dips towards the lowest point of its course. Its motion is very slow, and for quite a while it apparently follows the line of the horizon, during which there seems to be a pause, as when the sun reaches noon. This is midnight. For a few minutes the glow of sunset mingles with that of sunrise, and one cannot tell which prevails; but soon the light becomes slowly and gradually more brilliant, announcing the birth of another day, and often before an hour has elapsed the sun becomes so dazzling that one cannot look at it with the natural eye.”
Such is the wondrous sight, and all through the summer, even before and after the period of the non-setting of the sun, the nights are almost as light as day. Indeed, all over Norway, far to the south of the Arctic Circle, the summer nights are remarkably short--not altogether an unmixed blessing to those who find it difficult to sleep in daylight.
But what a change comes over these northern lands in winter! At the North Cape the sun sets on November 18, not to rise again until January 24, and everywhere within the Arctic Circle there is a time of continuous night. To us, who have no experience of such a state of affairs, it seems as if life must be bereft of all its pleasures. Yet the dwellers in the Arctic regions think nothing of it. To them even the dark winter has its charms, for, as has been said of a certain gentleman, it is not really as black as it has been painted.
In the first place, there is the snow, covering everything, and even at the darkest time of year there is sufficient light, if the sky be clear, to see to read for an hour before and an hour after midday. Then there is the light given by the moon and stars, and lastly the cheering glow of the aurora borealis,or northern lights. It is not, therefore, always dark, though when snow falls or the clouds block out the sky the darkness becomes intense. At such times the picture is truly a melancholy one.
To say that the light given by the aurora borealis does duty for sunlight is not true. Magnificent spectacle as it presents, this marvellous phenomenon produces no light of any real value, and only occasionally for a few minutes does it illumine the landscape. Tales of sleighing over the wastes of snow by the light of the aurora borealis have no foundation in fact, for seldom, if ever, has it sufficient power to obliterate the stars, and never does the moon pale before it. On the other hand, it is certain that these northern lights, streaming up into the heavens on every clear night of the long winter, must bring feelings of pleasure to the inhabitants of the Polar regions. The form, the intensity, and the colour of the light is ever varying, and thus, in watching it, there is always expectancy. We in England are accustomed to see these lights on autumn nights, but the display is feeble in comparison with that of the Arctic winter.
No one knows for certain what the aurora borealis really is, and even the most scientific people can tell you no more than that they suppose it to be ”a phenomenon of electrical origin”!
CHAPTER XV
LAPLANDERS AT HOME
Although Lapps are occasionally seen in charge of reindeer herds on some of the southern mountain tracts of Norway, their real home is in the Far North, not only of Norway, but also of Sweden, Finland, and Russia, and the country which they inhabit is known as Lapland.
That portion of it which belongs to Norway covers only some 3,000 or 4,000 square miles, while the whole of the Land of the Lapps has an area of something like 35,000 square miles. But statistics show that in Norwegian Lapland there are a great many more inhabitants than there are in Russian, Finnish, and Swedish Lapland put together; and the people, whether they be under the rule of Russia, Sweden, or Norway, are all of the same race--Asiatics and Mongols--totally unlike Europeans in appearance.
In the first place, they are dark, and what we consider ugly, though it is quite possible that in their eyes we ourselves are hideous. Then they are short--a five-foot Lapp would be almost a giant--but what they lack in stature they make up in st.u.r.diness; for, although spare of body, probably no men in the world can do a longer day's work, or survive greater hards.h.i.+ps. Dirty they are certainly, since they never change their clothes and seldom comb their hair; yet, for all that, they are perfectly healthy and happy.
They have gradually split up into three groups, known as Mountain Lapps, Sea Lapps, and River Lapps, the first being nomads, or wanderers, and the other two settlers, by the sea or river, who have abandoned the original mode of life of their race.
Mountain Lapps are the most restless individuals it is possible to imagine. Winter and summer they are always on the move, and three days are seldom pa.s.sed in one place. Time does not enslave them, for they do not trouble about it. Routine is nothing to them: they eat and drink when they feel inclined, and they sleep when a favourable opportunity occurs. In such matters, as well as in many others, they resemble wild animals. But in some respects they are methodical: they work by the seasons, and in their wanderings take the same lines each year. In the summer months they are down by the sea; during the remainder of the year they are on the mountains, though at Christmas-time they usually arrange to encamp somewhere in the vicinity of a church; for Christmas is a great event in the lives of the Lapps, since they profess Christianity, and if they are able to go to church at no other time of the year, they make a point of doing so at this season.
To-day these people are law-abiding and peaceable, but they are a strange mixture of good and bad. They are kind and hospitable, and of a cheerful disposition; at the same time they can be cruel, cunning, and selfish, while their love of money is no less than their love of drink--when they can obtain it.
For one thing only does the Mountain Lapp live--his herd of reindeer. They provide all his wants--food, clothing, and the wherewithal to purchase luxuries. They are his wealth; his very existence depends on them, and, in consequence, his mode of living has to be accommodated to the habits of his reindeer. Whither-soever they choose to graze, their owner has to follow; and he deems it no hards.h.i.+p to pitch his rough tent on the snowy wastes in winter, or even to sleep out under a rock, with the thermometer at seventy degrees below zero. It is his life; from earliest childhood he has known none other; he is content with it. And it is not only the men who pa.s.s their lives thus; for the Lapp family is to some extent a united one, and the women and children thoroughly enjoy the wild, free life, apparently suffering no ill effects from the rigours of the climate.
A Lapp baby starts life in a very queer way. Until it is able to walk it is kept in what is called a _komse_, a kind of cradle made of strips of wood covered with leather, and just large enough to take the baby. The little creature is rolled up in sheepskin and put into the cradle, which is then stuffed with moss, and the leather covering laced securely all around, so that only the baby's face is seen. To protect its head the _komse_ is provided with a wooden hood, like most cradles, and there is generally a shawl, which can be thrown over the whole thing in severe weather; in fact, when the baby has been properly done up in its _komse_, it might go by parcel post without coming to much harm. It is a very excellent arrangement, because the family is incessantly moving about, and the mothers have their work to do, so cannot always be bothering about their babies. A thong of leather stretches from head to foot of the _komse_, which the mother can thus sling on her shoulder when going about, and by this thong the baby can be hung up to a tent-pole or to the branch of a tree if its mother is busy. But as often as not the _komses_ are just stuck up on end in the snow or against a rock while work is going on.
As soon as the child can walk and has finished its cradle existence, it is dressed in clothes similar to those of his or her father or mother, and looks most quaint. And the life which these children lead is devoid of much amus.e.m.e.nt. From the beginning they are helping to pack up and move the tent, and to look after the reindeer; they are nothing more than little old men and women; their toys are miniatures, or models, of such things as they will have to use later in life--la.s.soes, snowshoes, sleighs--and their games are restricted to learning the use of the same. They are treated by their parents more or less as if they were grown up, and allowed to do much as they please. Consequently, they become self-willed, and have little respect for their elders.
After all, the mode of life of the Lapps does not differ very greatly from that of our own gipsies, though of the two the Lapps are certainly the better people. The wandering spirit is inherent in both, but a portion of each sooner or later shakes it off, and leads a more settled life. Some there are, however, who will never be anything but wanderers, so long as there remains a free country wherein they are at liberty to roam.
Let us now see the kind of place which the Mountain Lapp calls ”home.” It cannot be anything very elaborate or bulky, as it has to be packed up and moved about nearly every day, and it has to be carried on the backs of the reindeer in summer, or drawn by them in sleighs in the winter. So it is nothing more than a most unconventional form of tent, not altogether unlike the wigwam of the Red Indian, or the dwelling of many other nomadic people. A few long poles are stuck up on a circle, with their ends fastened together to form a sort of cone, and over this framework is stretched a covering of coa.r.s.e woollen material. At one side there is a loose flap, forming a door, and the whole of the top part of the tent round about the ends of the poles is left open, to admit light and to allow the smoke from the fire to issue forth. The diameter of the tent is about twelve or fifteen feet, and the height in the centre eight or ten feet. This is the kitchen, larder, store-room, drawing-room, dining-room, and bedroom of the family--men, women, boys, girls, babies, dogs and all.