A rough and narrow path ascends the side of the Cape in steep zigzags, at the sides of which are long ropes, attached at the ends to the rock, which are a great assistance in pulling yourself up; great banks of snow lay beside the path as we ascended; and in places steps had been cut in the steep rock. As we rested on our upward way, extended views of the ocean were spread out before us, in which the only sign of life was our steamer in the bay far below, dwarfed into diminutive proportions.
The summit of the North Cape is a long, level, barren plateau, across which we walked to a granite column at the north end, erected to commemorate the visit of Oscar II. in 1882. A wire, attached to low posts, marks the way; it is a necessary precaution, as people are often overtaken by thick mists and fogs, who would wander completely bewildered, and perhaps fall down the precipitous sides, without this guiding wire.
At last we stood at one end of the world, for the North Cape, in latitude 71° 10´, is the most northern point of Europe, and going to the edge of the steep cliff and looking downward we saw the waves breaking at its base, a thousand feet below. It was eleven o’clock in the evening on the 28th of June; the sun was behind a cloud, but its rays fell upon the water, and the mountains glowed in the subdued light. The ocean lay at our feet calm and almost motionless; southward extended long lines of barren mountains, until their dim outlines blended with the distant horizon; northward the unbroken expanse of the unknown Arctic Ocean stretched toward the unexplored polar regions. Only to a little over a dozen degrees of latitude north of this point has man penetrated, for Lieut. Lockwood, in latitude 83° 24´, attained the highest point reached, which is four hundred and fifty-six miles from the north pole, and eight hundred and fifty-four miles nearer the pole than the North Cape is. Yet how great has been the cost of these polar expeditions! How many victims have perished in the frozen North, or escaped from its clutches ruined in health!
Not a ship, not a sail, could we see; not a sign of vegetation save a few lichens and short moss clothed the barren rocks; not a sound nor indication of life save the cry of the sea-gull, as it circled round its rocky home, broke the eternal silence. It was a sublime sight, but oh how desolate! Never before did the world and all it contained seem so far removed, as when we looked out upon this silent, dreary, and lifeless scene.
A gentle breeze came up from the ocean, the air was neither cold nor penetrating, as we sat upon the rocks awaiting the hour of midnight. The clouds were ever changing; soon after twelve o’clock they parted, and for a few minutes we gazed upon the full disk of the midnight sun. Never can we forget that sight! The sun was high above the horizon, less glaring and brilliant than by day, its mellow light flooding ocean and mountain.
It seemed to have paused in its course, and a slight glow betokened the mingling of sunset and sunrise, and marked the dawn of another day. We stood spell-bound, enchanted by the magic scene, until a cloud covered the sun and the mist crept up from the sea; then relinquishing all hopes of another view of the sun, we started across the desolate plain and began our descent.
The steamer’s whistle blew, the loud and oft-repeated echoes reverberated from the rocky walls of the little bay, the descent was quickly accomplished, we were rowed out to the steamer, and soon started on our journey south.
As we stood on deck for a last sight of the North Cape, the sun came forth and shone as brightly as at midday—high in the heavens. It was then half-past one in the morning, but it was difficult to realize, except from the position of the sun, that it was not one o’clock in the afternoon.
We retired to our state-rooms with thankful hearts for the glorious sight we had seen, and that we had not been disappointed in this, the crowning experience of our travels in the North. Often the weather is so bad that even the outlines of the North Cape cannot be distinguished, and travellers return to Hammerfest to wait for another steamer and make the journey a second time, perhaps to be greeted with fog and mist. The captain said that during his previous trip there was such a succession of rainy and miserable weather, they did not see the sun once during the entire trip of eleven days, and several tourists were so disgusted that they vowed the midnight sun was a grand humbug, and doubted if in the North there was even a sun at midday. It is a very rare occurrence when it is perfectly clear at the North Cape. If one could remain there twenty-four hours under a cloudless sky, he would see the sun go round in a circle; at midnight it would appear to almost stop, as it moved slowly along on a line with the horizon, and then would begin to gradually ascend.
The whole disk of the sun at midnight (in pleasant weather) can be seen from the