The Land of Thor

by J. Ross Browne

Leaving the Riddarholm Quay, our route lay for the first four hours through the Malar Lake. The weather was delightful, and there was scarcely a ripple on the water. Sloops and wood-boats lay floating upon its glassy surface without perceptible motion. All along on either side beautiful villas peeped from the umbrageous shores and islands. Behind us, the city loomed up in all its queenly beauty, the numerous churches and public buildings presented in majestic outline against the sky, while the forest of shipping at the quays added a more stirring and vital interest to the scene. As we turned the last promontory to the right, and took a lingering look at this charming “city of the sea,” I thought I had never enjoyed a more enchanting coup d’œil. The suburbs of Stockholm; the numerous little islands, with their rich green shrubbery; the villas and gardens; the sparkling vistas of water, form a combination of beauties rarely to be met with in any other part of the world. No wonder the Swedes regard their capital as a paradise. I fully agree with them that in summer it deserves all their praise; but I should prefer a warmer and more genial paradise for winter quarters. Earthen stoves and hot-air furnaces are not in any of the seven heavens that occur in my imagination.

Before many hours we passed a point somewhat celebrated in Swedish history. On a high peak of rock, hanging upon a pole, is a prodigious iron hat, said to be the identical “stove-pipe” worn by one of the old Swedish kings—a terrible fellow, who was in the habit of slaying hundreds of his enemies with his own hand. This famous old king must have been a giant in stature. Judging by his hat, as Professor Agassiz judges of fish by their scales, he must have been forty feet high, by about ten or fifteen broad; and if his strength corresponded with his gigantic proportions, I fancy he could have knocked the gable-end off a house with a single blow of his fist, or kicked the head out of a puncheon of rum, and swallowed the contents at a single draught, without the least difficulty. His hat probably weighs a hundred pounds—enough to give any ordinary man a severe headache. Here it has stood for centuries, in commemoration of his last struggle. Besieged by an overwhelming force of his enemies, as the chronicle goes, he slew some thousands of them, but, being finally hard pressed, he lost his iron hat in the fight, and then plunged headlong into the lake. Some historians assert that he took to water to avoid capture; but I incline to the opinion myself that he did it to cool his head. At all events, the record ends at this point. We are unable to learn any thing more of his fate. These Northern races are strong believers in their own aboriginal history, and although there may be much in this that would require the very best kind of testimony before a California jury, the slightest hint of a doubt as to its truth would probably be taken as a personal offense by any public spirited Swede. In that respect, thank fortune, I am gifted with a most accommodating disposition. I can believe almost any thing under the sun. Giants and genii are nothing to what my credulity is capable of; and as for fairies and hobgoblins, I can swallow them by wholesale. There is only one thing in this world that I entertain the least doubt about—the title to my house and lot in Oakland. Upon that point I question if it ever will be possible for human evidence to satisfy me. Three times I paid for it, and each time every body considered it perfect except myself. I expect daily to hear of another title, of which I trust some enterprising gentleman in want of funds will advise me. It will be a source of consolation to know that I was not mistaken.

Situated near the entrance of the canal, on the left bank, is the beautiful little town of Soderkoping, celebrated for its mineral springs, to which the people of Stockholm resort in great numbers during the summer for health and recreation. The scene as we approached was very pretty. Pine and oak forests cover the granite hills for many miles around, relieved by occasional openings dotted with villas, gardens, and farms; and the dark red wooden houses of the town have a singularly pleasant effect glimmering in the sunbeams through the rich masses of foliage by which they are surrounded. Groups of visitors stood at the locks awaiting the news from the city, or anxiously looking out for the familiar faces of relatives and friends, while the lock-men slowly and methodically performed their accustomed routine of labors. Soderkoping is a very ancient town, and in former times enjoyed considerable importance as a mart of commerce. Passing through a narrow stretch of canal, some miles in length, overhung by trees and rocks on the right, and affording some pleasant views of the rich valley to the left, the banks gradually widened till we entered a beautiful little lake, leading, after a short passage, to the waters of the Roxen. The narrow parts of the canal are difficult of navigation, owing to the various turns and the solid masses of rock through which it is cut; and the steamer sometimes proceeds very slowly, carefully feeling her way along, till an open space affords an opportunity of going ahead at a more rapid rate. In the mean time the passengers are all out on the decks, shaded by an awning, enjoying themselves in the most unceremonious manner, laughing and talking in groups, sipping their coffee, or promenading up and down to enjoy the sweet-scented breeze from the neighboring hills. The Roxen Lake, through which we next passed, is some seventeen miles long by seven broad, and is justly regarded as one of the loveliest sheets of water in all Sweden. The shores are neither very high nor very grand, but it would be difficult to find any thing more charming than the rich coloring of the rocks, their varied outlines, the luxuriance of the forests, and the crystal clearness of the water. Villages and farms are seen at occasional intervals in the distance, and sloops, with their sails hanging idly against their masts, float upon the placid surface of the lake as upon a mirror. Indeed, so perfect is the inversion, that the eye can scarcely determine how much is real and how much the result of optical illusion. Passing in sight of the town of Linkoping, which lies to the left, we soon reached the entrance of the West Gotha Canal, which here makes a direct ascent from the waters of the Roxen of seventy-five feet. At this point there are eleven locks, seven of which are closely connected, and the remainder separated by short stretches of canal. Near at hand is a pretty little village to the left, famous for its church, the Vretakloster, built in the Gothic style in 1128, by Inge II., one of the early kings of Sweden. While the steamer was slowly toiling through the locks, a party of the passengers, including myself, paid a visit to the church, and, aided by a venerable sacristan, saw all that was to be seen in it, chief among which are the tombs of the kings and the arms of the Douglas family, those warlike Scots who took such an active part in the military exploits of Sweden during the Thirty Years’ War. The walk was a pleasant relief after our trip across the lake, and on our return by a short cut to the upper locks we had a splendid view of the wood-covered shore and glistening waters of the Roxen, now fading away in the rich twilight. The steamer occupies about an hour and a half in getting through the locks, and most of the passengers take advantage of the delay to stroll about among the neighboring cottages and gardens, and enjoy the various refreshments offered for sale at the pavilions and tents erected near the upper extremity for the accommodation of travelers. Fresh milk, raspberries, coffee, sweet cakes, and ale are the principal articles furnished at these places. Notwithstanding there was an abundant supply of luxuries on board, every body seemed to be hungry and thirsty on getting ashore. The rapidity with which the plates, cups, and glasses were emptied was really surprising, and would have done credit to a crowd of Californians, who, I think, can eat more and drink more in a given time than any race of men upon the earth.

The canal for some distance beyond the locks is quite narrow—often barely wide enough for two steamers to pass. On the left the banks rise to a considerable height, and then gradually decline till the canal passes along a ridge, high above the surrounding country. The effect in these places is very peculiar. The overhanging trees almost unite their branches over the chimney of the steamer as she wends her way slowly and steadily along; deep ravines extend downward into an impenetrable abyss on either side; the sky glimmers through the foliage in a horizontal line with the eye, and one can almost fancy the world has been left below somewhere, and that a new highway has been entered, upon which passengers steam their way to the stars. I am quite certain, if we had kept a direct course long enough, we would have reached the moon or some of the heavenly bodies.

It was late at night when we reached the Boren Lake, another of those natural highways that lie between the Baltic and the North Sea. This lake is comparatively small, but it abounds in rocky islands and shoals which render the navigation through it rather intricate. A pilot is taken on board at the entrance of each lake, and discharged upon reaching the next canal station.

I remained on deck until midnight, enjoying the strange and beautiful lights spread over the heavens in this latitude, and was reluctant even then to lose the views during any part of the journey. Nature, however, can not be defrauded of her legitimate demands even by the beauties of scenery, and I went below to sleep out the remainder of the night. My berth was in the forward cabin, where twenty or thirty passengers were already stretched out—some on the tables, some on the floor, and as many as could find room were snoring away in the temporary berths erected on the seats for their accommodation. Toward morning I was suddenly aroused by a strange and jarring motion of the boat, accompanied by a grating sound. It seemed as if an earthquake were throwing us up out of the water; yet the shocks were more sudden and violent than any I had ever before experienced. Many of the passengers were cast out of their berths, and the glass and crockery in the pantry went crashing over the floor. Scarcely conscious whether I was dreaming or awake, I grasped a post, and sprang out on a pile of baggage, but was immediately precipitated across the cabin. Fortunately I fell against the chambermaid, and suffered no injury. Amid the confusion worse confounded, the screams of the women down below, the crash of broken glasses, and the general struggle to get to the cabin door, a German Jew sprang from his berth, and in frantic accents begged that his life might be spared. “Take my money!” cried he; “take it all, but for God’s sake don’t murder me!” The poor fellow had evidently been aroused out of some horrible dream, and between actual and imaginary dangers was now quite bewildered with terror. I could not help but be amused at the grotesque expression of his face, even at such a moment. It would have provoked a smile had we been going to the bottom. There was no fear of that, however, as I quickly ascertained. We were already hard and fast on the bottom. We had run upon a sunken rock, and were so firmly wedged between its crevices that it seemed likely we should remain there some time. As soon as all was still, I quietly dressed myself and went on deck to take an observation. It was just daylight. We were in the middle of a lake, surrounded by small rocky islands. One of these was only a stone’s throw distant on our starboard. The stakes between which our course lay were close by on the larboard. We had missed the channel by some twenty or thirty yards, and run upon a bed of solid boulders. The pilot, it seemed, had been drinking a little too freely of schnapps, and had fallen asleep at the helm. It was a miracle that we were not all dashed to pieces. A few yards to the right stood a sharp rock, which, had we run against it, would have crushed in the entire bow of the boat, and probably many of us would have perished.

Although there was no fear of our sinking any deeper unless the bed of rocks gave way, it was not a pleasant prospect to be detained here, perhaps for several days. The main shore was some five or six miles distant, and presented an almost unbroken line of granite boulders and dense pine forests. Most of the passengers were on deck, in a state of high excitement; the gentlemen running about in their shirt sleeves and drawers, and the ladies in those indescribable costumes which ladies usually wear when they go to sleep. The captain was mounted on the poop-deck, with his pipe in his mouth, giving orders to the men, who were pulling and tugging at big ropes, and trying to be very busy knocking things about; the pilot stood a little apart from the captain, pale and moody, having in a single moment destroyed his prospects for life. I felt very sorry for the poor fellow, though there was really no excuse for him. Every now and then the captain turned to him and gave him a broadside of curses, which he bore very meekly.

In vain the engineer put on additional steam; in vain the captain shouted “Back!” “Ahead!” “Stop!” We did nothing but stop. It was stop all the time. As there is no tide in these inland waters, the prospect was that we would continue to stop as long as the rocks remained stationary.

All hope of progress being at an end, the engineer slackened down the fires; the deck-hands went to breakfast, and the passengers went down below to dress and talk over their misfortune. The sun rose as usual, and the sky was as clear and the lake as placid as if nothing had happened. I had been trying all my life to get shipwrecked on a desolate island; now there seemed a fair prospect of success. The only difficulty was, that there was no heavy sea to break the vessel to pieces, and she was too substantial to go to pieces of her own account. The nearest island was little more than a barren rock. A few birds wheeled about over it, or sat perched upon its rugged points, but with that exception I doubt if it furnished a foothold for a living creature.

After a good breakfast of sausages and veal cutlets, brown bread and coffee, we again turned out on deck. This time the joyful tidings reached us from aloft that a Gottenburg steamer was approaching. Soon the smoke of her chimneys was perceptible from the deck, and in an hour or so she was alongside. A stout hawser was bent on to her, and after another hour of pulling and tugging, backing and filling, we slipped off the rocks, and floated out into the channel. I was destined, after all, never to be decently shipwrecked. We had suffered but little injury, and proceeded on our way as quietly as if nothing had interrupted our course. On our arrival at the next pilot station the captain put the pilot ashore, with a parting malediction in the Swedish vernacular.