Heroes of science

by P. Martin Duncan

Being anxious to proceed with all haste, in order if possible to reach the Alps of Lulean Lapland, “in time to see the sun above the horizon at midnight, which is beheld then to the best advantage,” the traveller made no longer stay at Lulea than was needful for the purposes of exploring the neighbouring coast and islands. He has noted the various entomological and other specimens he observed, and, after admiring the beauty of some of them, exclaims, in a sort of rapture—“The observer of nature sees with admiration that the whole world is full of the glory of God.”

During this voyage, Swanberg, who has taken great delight in Linnæus’s conversation, offered to instruct him in the art of assaying within a very short time, if he would agree to visit Calix, on his way homeward. At Quickjock, the wife of the curate provided our traveller with stores sufficient for eight days, and procured him a Laplander, whose assistance as interpreter and servant was highly necessary.

“On my first ascending these wild Alps (he says), I felt as if in a new world. Here were no forests to be seen, but mountains upon mountains, larger and larger, as I advanced, all covered with snow; no road, no tracks, nor any sign of inhabitants were visible. The declining sun never disappeared sufficiently to allow any cooling shade, and by climbing to the more elevated parts of these lofty mountains, I could see it at midnight, above the horizon. This spectacle I considered as not one of the least of nature’s miracles, for what inhabitant of other countries would not wish to behold it? O Lord, how wonderful are thy works!”

In this frozen region there were no traces of verdure, save in the deep valleys between the mountains. Very few birds were visible, except some ptarmigans, those hardy inhabitants of the bleak mountain tops. A pretty little incident, recorded by Linnæus, shows so kind a heart that it must not be omitted here. “The little Alpine variety of the ptarmigan was now accompanied by its young. I caught one of these, upon which the hen ran so close to me that I could easily have taken her also. She kept continually jumping round and round me, but I thought it a pity to deprive the tender brood of their mother; neither would my compassion for the mother allow me long to detain her offspring, which I returned to her in safety.”

After a long and wearisome journey along these mountain passes, the traveller reached one of the cottages of the country. Here the inhabitants, sixteen in number, received him kindly, and gave him two reindeer skins to sleep between. In the morning some hundreds of reindeer came home to be milked, and it amazed the stranger to perceive that, although to his eyes they were all perfectly alike, yet each of the herd had its appropriate name, and was readily distinguished by the owners.

Steering his course south-west, Linnæus proceeded to the lofty ice mountains, or “main ridge of the country,” which he had no sooner reached, than a storm overtook him, accompanied by a shower of thin pieces of ice, which soon encrusted his garments. The cold was intense, and the whole country was one dazzling waste. No sooner, however, had he crossed the summit of the ridge than a change was perceptible, and soon, from the lofty heights, he beheld the ample forests of Norway lying far beneath. The whole appearance of the country was perfectly green, and, notwithstanding its vast extent, looked like a garden in miniature. The descent was slow and long protracted, but at length he reached the plains, of which he had enjoyed so glorious a prospect. “Nothing (he exclaims) could be more delightful to my feelings than this transition from all the severity of winter, to the warmth and beauty of summer. Oh! how most lovely of all is summer! The verdant herbage, the sweet-scented clover, the tall grass reaching up to my arms, the grateful flavour of the wild fruits, and the fine weather that welcomed me at the foot of these Alps, seemed to refresh me both in mind and body.”

Here Linnæus found himself close to the sea-coast, and he went to sea in a boat to search for the natural productions of that element. He would fain have approached the celebrated whirlpool, called the Maelstrom, but he found no one willing to venture it. On the 13th of July, he arrived at the parsonage house of Rorstadt, from the occupant of which, himself a traveller and a naturalist, Linnæus received a cordial welcome. A rather significant entry in Linnæus’ diary tells us that here, “in this far distant nook of the wide peopled earth,” the young enthusiast found an object of surpassing interest. “The pastor (he says) has a handsome daughter, named Sarah Rask, eighteen years of age; she seemed to me uncommonly beautiful.” The next morning, Linnæus took his leave of this elysium, and proceeded on his way. Climbing the mountains again, he found a work of “no small fatigue and exhaustion,” and he has given us a most painful account of the subsequent route he pursued towards the Alps of Tornea. “What I endured,” he concludes, “is hardly to be described; how many weary steps I had to set, the precipices that came in my way, and my excessive fatigue. Water was our only drink during the journey, and it never appeared so refreshing as when we sucked it out of the melting snow.” At length, tired of advancing further into this inhospitable country, he determined to return to Quickjock. In the course of his journey thither his life was twice endangered, but at length he reached the place of his destination, “having been four weeks without tasting bread.” After resting some days at Quickjock, Linnæus descended the river again to Lulea, where he “learned the art of assaying from the mine-master, Swanberg, at Calix, in two days and a night,” and thence his journey was continued through Tornea. He had intended to visit the mountains, but before he could get thither the winter set in, and he was obliged to return along the coast on the eastern side of the Bothnian Gulf. The last entry in his journal is dated October 10th, and is as follows: “About one o’clock, P.M., I arrived safe at Upsala. To the Maker and Preserver of all things be praise, honour, and glory for ever!”

At first, indeed, he seemed to reap but a humble reward for his toils. On his arrival at home, he presented to the Academy of Sciences an account of his expedition, which obtained their approbation, and they gave him 112 silver dollars (not more than £10)—his travelling expenses. In the following spring, he began a private course of lectures on the art of assaying (which he had learned so cleverly from his chance companion during the Lapland journey). This art had never been taught at Upsala before; and the novelty of the subject, the skilful manner in which he communicated instructions, and the reasonable terms he exacted, secured Linnæus a considerable number of pupils.