Читать книгу The Land of the Long Night - Paul B. Du Chaillu - Страница 11

Table of Contents

Fine Weather Leaving Haparanda.—Windstorms Succeed.—A Finlander's Farm.—Strange Fireplace.—Interior of a Cow-house.—Queer Food for Cattle.—Passing the Arctic Circle.

I LEFT Haparanda in the beginning of January, surrounded by the friends who had taken such an interest in me. The atmosphere was clear, and not a cloud was to be seen in the pale blue sky, turning into greenish as it approached the horizon. There was not a breath of wind. Once the thermometer marked 30 degrees below zero.

"Be careful," said my friends. "This is treacherous weather for ears and noses, there is danger of their getting frozen; rub them, and also your face, now and then with snow. Keep your ears covered, and protect them with your hood. If it becomes colder put on your mask."

I thanked them for their kind advice, but replied: "No mask for me just now, I want to breathe this pure invigorating air as much as I can. I want it to reach my lungs."

"It was indeed, a fearful wind storm."

"Be careful in such weather," they repeated. "This is beautiful weather indeed, but sometimes it does not last long and is followed by furious gales, or great snowstorms; but we hope this fine weather will follow you for many days. Often it lasts quite a while."

Then we bade good-bye to each other. They tucked the sheepskin round me, and bade the driver to take good care of Paulus.

Soon after this we were out of Haparanda and on the highroad leading to Pajala, which was about one hundred and ten miles further north, there being ten or twelve post stations between the two places.

Sleighing was fine, the road had been used much, so we went on at a very fast pace. It was just the weather people, horses, dogs, and reindeer liked. I liked it also very much, for it was so exhilarating, and I felt so well and so strong. I was ready, nevertheless, for all kinds of weather, and I was fully prepared to meet great storms, for I wanted to encounter the blizzards of the Arctic regions just to find out how strongly the wind could blow. I found out later!

I changed horses at several post stations during the day, among them the stations of Korpikyla, Niemis, Ruskola, and Matarengi. I found that the Finnish language was now prevalent, Swedish being only spoken by comparatively few people.

That day was the end of the fine weather. Towards evening the wind was blowing very hard, and it increased in strength every minute until it blew a perfect hurricane. Then what my friends had said to me came to mind. It was indeed a fearful windstorm!

The gale had become such that the horse at times did not seem to have strength enough to pull our sleigh. The snow flew in thick cloudy masses to a great height, curling and recurling upon itself and blinding us. Fortunately our robes were fastened very securely. I wore my hood, and it was so arranged that my eyes were the only part of my face that was not covered. The wind was so powerful that our sleigh was in continual danger of upsetting, and was only saved because it was so low.

I was glad indeed when I reached the hamlet of Matarengi with its red-painted log church, two hundred years old, and separate belfry of the same color.

The windstorm lasted three days. During that time I found that the temperature varied from 8 to 22 degrees below zero.

Then it became calm, the sky was perfectly clear, and the mercury marked 40 degrees below zero. There was not a breath of wind. It was fine, and I made ready to continue my journey.

Wherever I changed horse and sleigh, before starting I shook hands with the station master and his family, and after this bade good-bye to the driver who had brought me to the place. One must not forget that little politeness in these northern lands, otherwise the people would think you ill-bred or proud and would dislike you. No man has ever made friends by being proud or conceited. It is, after all, very silly, and often very ill-bred. I have found that one gets along much better in the world by being polite and obliging. It is so much easier to be pleasant than sour and gruff. In the former case you are happy; in the latter discontented and wretched. I always feel sorry when I meet people who are proud or conceited. Often I laugh at them in my sleeve, and when that pride or conceit becomes overbearing I have great contempt for them, and do not wish to have anything to do with them.

I approached very fast the regions of "The Land of the Long Night." The road was filled with freshly made, huge snowdrifts, which greatly impeded our progress. Towards noon the wind increased again, and soon I was in a worse gale than before. I said to myself, "Now I am indeed in 'The Land of the Wind.'"

Suddenly I saw dimly through the clouds of snow the dwellings of a farm. "Let us go there," I said to my driver, "for we cannot reach the post station to-day." Our horse evidently thought as we did; he had made up his mind to go no further, and preferred to be in a stable. He suddenly turned to the right, entered the yard, and stopped before the dwelling-house of the farm. I alighted. I was so dizzy from the effects of the wind that I could not walk straight, and tottered about for a minute or more. My driver was in the same condition.

I entered the house and found myself in a large room, in the midst of a family of Finlanders, whose language is very unlike the Swedish or Norwegian. I was welcomed at once by all.

I looked around, and saw a queer-looking structure, built of slabs of stone plastered over. It was about seven feet square, the inside oven-like in shape. They were just lighting a fire; then the door was closed. In one section of the structure was an open fireplace used for cooking.

Poles were secured to the ceiling near the fireplace, upon which hung garments—stockings, shoes, boots, and other articles. In the middle of the room was the usual trap-door leading into the cellar. There were two large hand looms upon which two girls were weaving. These two looms were very old and had been several generations in the family. Three other girls were occupied with wheels, spinning wool and flax.

Along the walls of this large room, which was about twenty feet square, were a number of bench-like sofas, used for beds. Two or three wooden chairs, and a large wooden table surrounded by wooden benches, made up the rest of the furniture.

The stove began to heat the room fearfully, for after the firewood had been reduced to charcoal, and the fumes from it were gone, the sliding trap-door in the chimney had been closed, thus preventing the heat from escaping. The thick walls of the oven-like stove had been heated, and threw out a great deal of heat, which to me soon became unbearable.

The farmer said to me that the walls would remain warm for two or three days. The windows were all tight; none could be opened, and the only ventilation came through the door when some one came in or went out.

I went out and looked at the farm buildings while my sleigh was being made ready. I was surprised to see the buildings of the farm and the big timber of the log house, for I was so far north. The yard was enclosed by houses on three sides. The dwelling-house, the barn, and the cow-houses were the largest buildings. There were besides a blacksmith shop, a storehouse, and a shed for carts. All these buildings were painted red.

In the middle of the yard was an old-fashioned well, with its sweep, having at one end a bucket and at the other a heavy stone, and surrounded by a thick mass of ice. From the well there was a trough going into the cow-house, which I entered. The cattle were small and well-shaped and in good order. The building was very low, the windows very small and giving but little light. The floor was entirely planked over, and there were pens on each side.

Looking towards the end of the building I saw a girl standing by a huge iron pot, about four feet in diameter and three feet deep, encased in masonry. She was putting coarse marsh grass into the pot, which was filled with water made warm by a fire underneath. "Much of the grass we gather," said the farmer, "is coarse, and it is so tough that the cattle cannot eat it; so we have to prepare it in this way before we give it to them."

A number of sheep were penned in a corner. "Our three horses," said the farmer, "have a stable for themselves." This farm was one of the good farms, and there were a number quite as good. In some the dwellings are of two stories, but these were the great exception.

In the mean time supper had been prepared. Dry mutton as tough as leather but cut very thin, smoked reindeer meat, hard bread, butter, cheese, two wooden bowls of buttermilk, and fish were put on the table. This was a great repast, in my honor. There was no tablecloth, no napkin, no fork, the flat bread was used instead of plates, we had wooden spoons for the sour milk, and helped ourselves to it from the common dish.

A little after supper came bedtime. The girls, looking at the clock, which marked nine, suddenly got up to make the beds ready. They pulled out the sliding boxes, in one of which three of them were to sleep. The boxes were filled with straw and hay, and had homespun blankets or sheepskins, and eider down or feather pillows. The sofa-like beds were all along the walls, for there was a large family.

It was well that I was at the farm. A more terrific windstorm than all those I had seen before, arose during the night. In the morning the snow swirled to an immense height, hiding everything from sight; the whole country was enveloped in a thick cloud; the huge snowdrifts were carried hither and thither. The storm lasted two days, and after it was over the weather became calm, the temperature was 40° below zero, and when the atmosphere was very clear we had about three or four hours of twilight.

Then I bade farewell to the good farmer and his wife, and once more I was on my way to "The Land of the Long Night," which was now very near.

The next day I came to a little lake the natives called Kunsijarvi, and further on I came to still another lake called Rukojarvi; and between these two I had crossed the Arctic Circle. But it was January, the sun showed itself above the horizon at noon. Near the shore of Lake Rukojarvi was a solitary farm, where I stopped.