The monastery of Petschenga

by J. A. Friis

‘How many reports did you hear?’ the sportsman inquired.

‘Four,’ we replied.

‘Just so: two double ones,’ he said. ‘I have only shot four young birds; they are, however, enough for us to-day.’

The botanist was with one voice condemned to pluck the ptarmigan, as he had been too lazy to pick the cloudberries. He went away with the birds, but, shameful to say, when he came back he had skinned them instead of plucking them. What barbarism! A fire was lighted, and a couple of pots were set over it. There was plenty of fuel, and we had an excellent kitchen. The smoke soon began to curl in the air, and protected us from the mosquitoes, so that we were able to take the veils off our faces.

After having regaled ourselves with a capital meal, some of the party retired to rest. The Lapps laid themselves down on the ground under a birch-tree. They needed no tent. They drew themselves up, head, legs, and arms, within their coarse-woven garments, and had by this means both over and under clothing, as well as a protection from mosquitoes. Only an old Lapp, Nilas, and I remained sitting at the fire chatting, and smoking our clay pipes over a glass of grog. The nectar of life excited the Lapp; he became communicative, and I began to question him as to whether he knew anything about what had occurred in those parts in former times. I could see that there must have been people living in the district at some period. The grassy mounds were in places so regular, and of so remarkable a shape, besides being so neatly formed, that they must originally have been the work of man.

‘Have you seen the big wonderful stone that is lying close to the Kujasuga River?’ asked the Lapp.

‘No,’ I said; ‘I have never been here before, and I have neither seen nor heard of any stone. But let us go and look at it.’

Two thousand feet or so behind our encampment a small rivulet emptied itself into the river; it was as bright and clear as crystal. Probably it was not flowing far from its source, or it would not have been so free from mud, and so wonderfully clear and cold. Just below a little waterfall which the rivulet forms, a huge round stone was lying. At first I thought it might be an old idol which the Lapps formerly worshipped, [[7]]but in this I was mistaken. When I got down close to it, and had cleared it of the branches and rubbish which covered it, I saw to my amazement that it was—a Millstone. There was no possible mistake about it. It was a real millstone, and so big that I doubt whether, at the present day, a bigger one could be found in any water or wind mill. The hole in the centre was so large that I could easily put my head through it. It was also quite evident that the stone had been in use at some time. But how on earth did it get there? How did it find its way there in the seventieth degree of north latitude, where not a single blade of corn ever grew, to say nothing of ripening? It could not have lain there since the Deluge. Nor could it have been brought there by the ice, like a stray log of wood, for the motion of the ice is from north to south, and surely in olden times people were not using millstones at the north pole, unless it should really turn out to be the case, in accordance with the very newest theory, that Europe has been peopled from the north! It was an enigma, and one which completely puzzled me.

A shipwreck? Perhaps, thought I, it was brought there by a shipwreck. But no; the millstone is about a quarter of a mile from the sea. It was clear that somebody must have taken it there, and must have had a mill at that place. But who?

‘Can you tell me anything about the stone, Nilas?’ I asked. ‘Do you know what such a stone is used for?’