Godhavn is too far north for the production of such garden-luxuries as we found at Julianashaab on our first arrival in the country; yet little round red radishes were not wanting any more now than they had been when Mr. Olrik formerly invited me to his table. But they were grown beneath glass, and not in the open air, the earth being brought in barrels from Copenhagen. There was also a head of lettuce, reared in the same manner, for the perfection of the very excellent luncheon to which Mrs. Smith invited us upon our first appearance.
As Godhavn is the most pleasant and lively of all the Greenland towns, so Disco Island presents the most picturesque and attractive scenery. Looking from the town across the harbor, which is not over half a mile wide, you face the lofty cliffs of trap rock, which extend to right and left for miles. Above they are capped with snow; below, the waves break upon them fiercely, and the icebergs are ground to pieces on their sharp angles.
I walked out with the ladies of the inspector’s family, and had a fine view of the cliffs from behind the town; thence we proceeded across the narrow neck of rocks around the head of the harbor, and, after strolling along a beautiful sandy beach which stretches in a grand curve for a mile, we entered a valley beside a broad and rapid stream, called Rothe River, which breaks through deep caverns of the most picturesque description, and over the tortured rocks dashes in falls of rare beauty. I can not imagine any thing more wild than the scene before us at the summit of the principal fall. Looking up the valley, I could trace the winding stream to an immense glacier that descended from the lofty hills. Directly abreast of these, to the left, was another glacier, which, having poured down over a very steep and rugged declivity, was twisted into the most fantastic shapes. Above towered the grand crest of Lyngmarkens Fjeld, over which snow-clouds were sweeping before a wind that did not reach us in our sheltered situation. The air in the valley was calm, and the day was unusually warm for the time of year. The light snow that had fallen three days before, and which gave such a gloomy aspect to the land upon our first arrival in Godhavn, had now disappeared, and there was still something of the summer green which had clothed the valley. Even bright flowers, though wilted by the frost, and drooping languidly, were there, yet they seemed to be pleading mournfully for life.
One must come to these Arctic wilds to perfect his love and reverence for these sweet gifts of nature. They seem to be clothed here with a new significance—an intelligence of their own, which warns them that their life must needs be short, and that they must quickly prepare for their end, and provide speedily for their posterity. From the time when “lingering winter chills the lap of spring” to that when the very slight warmth which the summer has given to the earth has been dissipated by the returning frosts—between the deep snows of those two periods—there occurs a remarkable series of transformations. The snow has scarcely disappeared before the seed swells into life; and in a few days green supplants the universal whiteness. Blossoms gay and smiling burst forth with corresponding rapidity; the new seeds are formed, and fall to be covered with their winter cloak; and from the beginning to the end there is scarcely an interval of six weeks. One can not look upon this astonishing growth—flowering, seeding, and decay—and witness this adaptation of life to the conditions of climate, without wonder. Alfieri has beautifully expressed the feeling in these lines:
“Oh, ’tis the touch of fairy hand
That wakes the spring of Northern land.
It warms not there by slow degrees,
With changeful pulse, the uncertain breeze;
But sudden on the wondering sight
Bursts forth the beam of living light,