Out of this large bare chamber led a dear little kitchen, and farther along a passage and up some stairs we came to the old church—capable of seating a couple of hundred persons, although it did not really possess a single seat—which was to serve as Grandpapa's bedroom. Churches invariably do service for sleepers even to-day in Iceland, where hotels are practically non-existent, except in two or three instances, and even habitations are few and far between.[C]
So this was to be for a brief space our home; a real, wild, weird, romantic home, seated on its rocky island away from the world, away from every sign of life save pigeons or bats; full of grim spirits—if tradition were to be believed—and nightly walked by strange women and blood-stained men—for stories there are in plenty concerning the great Castle of Olavin Linna as the Finns call it, at Savonlinna, the Finnish name for Nyslott.
We wandered everywhere: we peered into all the mysteries. Verily a ruin. Mounting to an upper floor by the solid stone steps outside, we found ourselves in another chamber, the roof of which was supported by rafters, through the thick walls of which a long dark passage led us round two sides of the courtyard, passing a small tower by the way from which we could see yet another court, whose wide grass-grown ramparts overhung the rapidly-flowing current of the lake.
Here was the hall of the knights, a long and dark chamber—so dark, in fact, that we wondered how any one had ever been able to see clearly in it. On all sides were rooms and pitch-black dungeons, for at the time the Castle was built (1475) the powers-that-were thought nothing of shutting people up in dark little holes, where they left them to die, and the Olavin Linna seems to have been particularly rich in such choice chambers. From where we stood, a few steps up a winding staircase led us to a big tower containing a large round room, called the ladies' drawing-room. The dames of that period certainly had a glorious view all round for miles and miles, although they were far removed from the life going on below. From this point of vantage we saw how the Castle literally covered the whole of the rock, and occupied a most commanding position where three lakes met. As we wandered down again, we chanced into a queer sort of chamber, wherein half a dozen weird straggling trees struggled to exist. It was almost dark; the storms of winter could rustle through those blank windows, and the trees were white, and gray, and sickly—more like phantoms than real trees—so queer and withered and pale and anæmic were their leaves, and yet they stood eight or ten feet high, showing they had boldly struggled for life.
After having thus gained a general idea, snatched a sort of bird's-eye view of this strange Castle, we returned to our room and investigated its capabilities.
There was one small bed, already honourably mentioned, and a garden seat—one of those well-known benches made of thin wooden laths, with a rounded uncomfortable seat and back.
"Could we manage with such meagre accommodation?" Grandpapa asked timorously, "or must another bed be hired; that is to say, if another bed can be hired, or bought, in a town already overcrowded."
We looked at our friend's troubled face, and, feeling we had already caused him a sad amount of inconvenience, valiantly replied, "We will manage." And manage we did.
To the "elderly scribe" was allotted the bed, a very finely carved wooden erection; but let me at once own that, although I had slept on hay in a tent in other lands, passed a night on a dining-room table, several on the floor, and in deck-chairs, I never slept in anything quite so "knobby" as that extraordinary bed. A lump here, and a lump there, always seemed to select the most inconvenient part of one's frame to stick in, and sometimes getting on a nerve quite numbed the spot. After the first night I asked the Vahtimestari to turn and knead the mattress, which he cheerfully promised to do, and no doubt did. But all his turning and pounding was perfectly useless, so after a second restless night, which left me beautifully black and blue from head to foot, I determined to investigate the mysteries of that bed for myself.
When I removed the under-sheet a bewildering problem was solved. On the top of the mattress lay an enormous coat, lined throughout with black sheepskin. Its double-rolled collar had made a huge ridge down the middle of my back, across which a thick waist-belt had not unsuccessfully tried to form a bridge—the sleeves could only be accounted mountains, while innumerable buttons had left their impress on every inch of my body! I felt very sorry for my flesh that morning!