The Land of Thor
TextCHAPTER XXVI.
THE GOTHA CANAL
On a pleasant morning in August I called for my bill at the “Stadt Frankfort.” The landlady, a blooming young woman of rather vivacious and persuasive manners, wished me such a delightful journey, and looked so sorry I was going, that I could not muster resolution enough to complain of the various candles that were never burnt, and the numerous services that were never rendered, except in the bill; and had she charged me for washing my own face and putting on my own boots, I fear the result would have been the same. Wishing her a happy future, I shouldered my knapsack, which by this time contained only two shirts, an old pair of stockings, and some few flowers and stones from celebrated places, and, thus accoutred for the journey, made my way down to Riddarholm Quay. In a dingy old office, abounding in cobwebs, a dingy old gentleman, who spoke English, sold me a second-class ticket for Gottenburg. The little steamer upon which I had the good fortune to secure a passage was called the Admiral Von Platten, a name famous in the history of Swedish enterprise. It was Von Platten who, in 1808, took charge of the great work of internal improvement known as the West Gotha Canal, and by the aid of Telford, the celebrated English engineer, carried it into successful operation in 1822. The project of connecting the lakes of Wenern and Wettern, and forming a water communication all the way between Stockholm and Gottenburg, was entertained at a very early day by the different sovereigns and scientific men of Sweden. Bishop Brask in 1516, Gustavus I., Charles IX., Swedenborg, Gustavus Adolphus, and others, took particular interest in it, and some progress was made in the building of locks and opening of short passages up to the beginning of the present century. Daniel Thunberg contributed materially to the opening of the route between Wenern and the Baltic; and Colonel N. Eriksson, the celebrated engineer whose reputation stands so high in the United States, had the direction of the work for many years. It was not, however, till 1844 that the entire work was fully completed, although some years prior to that time the two seas were connected and open to navigation. The immense expense of this enterprise; the extraordinary natural obstacles that have been overcome; the patience and perseverance with which it has been carried into practical operation; the magnitude and durability of the work, can only be appreciated by one who has made the trip through Sweden by this route. It is certainly the grandest triumph recorded in Swedish history. It will exist and benefit generations to come, when the names of her kings, warriors, and statesmen shall be known only to antiquarians.
The steamers now plying on this route are small, but well arranged for the accommodation of passengers. There is a first and second cabin, and a restaurant at which the traveler can call for what he desires, and, provided his tastes are not eccentric, generally get what he calls for. The waiters are simple-minded, kind-hearted, and sociable; sit down and gossip with the passengers (at least those of the second class), and, what seems rather novel and amusing to a stranger, leave the bill to be made out and summed up by the passengers themselves. A general account-book is left open in the cabin, in which it is expected every traveler will set down his name and keep his own account. At the end of the trip, the head waiter goes the rounds of the cabin and deck, book in hand, and asks the passengers to designate their names and sum up their accounts. Nobody seems to think of cheating or being cheated. There is something so primitive in this way of dealing on a public highway between two commercial cities, that I was quite charmed with it, and have some thoughts of recommending it to the California Steam Navigation Company. Just think what a pleasure it would be to travel from San Francisco to Sacramento, and keep the record of your own bitters and cigars, to say nothing of your supper and berth! I am certain the plan would be approved by a majority of the traveling public throughout the state.
The company on board these little Swedish steamers is generally plain, sociable, and intelligent. Among the passengers I met many who spoke English and German, and few who did not speak at least one language in addition to their own. In midsummer the trip from Stockholm to Gottenburg usually takes three days, though it is sometimes accomplished in two. The distance is about three hundred and seventy miles by the shortest route, through the Wettern and Wenern lakes. Time, however, is no great object in Sweden, and a day or two more or less makes no great difference. The beauty of the scenery, and the diversity of land and water, render the trip one of the most agreeable in Northern Europe, and for one I can safely say it would have pleased me all the better had it lasted longer.
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.
The next place of importance on our route was the pretty little town of Motala, at which we stopped for some hours to take in freight and passengers. The neighborhood is undulating and picturesque, and abounds in rich farms. Motala is an old-fashioned place, with paved streets and wooden houses, much like the suburbs of Stockholm. It is celebrated chiefly for its manufactures of iron. The founderies are numerous, and cutlery of a very good quality is manufactured here. Besides these, it possesses many other objects of interest. The churches are well worth visiting, and the ruins of the fortifications erected in 1567, to resist the Danes, are among the finest in Sweden. From Motala, after another narrow stretch of canal, we soon reached the Wettern Lake, the next largest to the Wenern, and the waters of which are three hundred and four feet above the level of the sea.
In my recollections of travel I can scarcely call to mind any experience more pleasant than I enjoyed during this part of the trip. The lake scenery of Sweden, although not very grand compared with that of the Norwegian fjords, is certainly unsurpassed in the softness and beauty of its coloring, the crystal clearness of the water, the luxuriance of the surrounding forests, the varied labyrinths of charming little islands through which the channel winds, and the delicate atmospheric tints cast on the distant shores. By this time, too, the passengers have become better acquainted. The wonderful sights that we have seen together; the perils and dangers through which we have passed; the breakfasts, dinners, and suppers that we have eaten at the same board; the amount of solid sleeping that we have done in the same little cabin; the promenades we have had up and down the decks, and the rambles we have enjoyed together, have bound us together as one family, and now we come out with our individual histories and experiences, our accomplishments and humors. We (the gentlemen) drink schnapps together, smoke cigars, talk all the languages under the sun, tell our best anecdotes, and sing glees under the awning. The ladies look more beautiful than ever, and although they are still a little shy of us, as ladies in Europe generally are of the male sex, they sometimes favor us with a smile or a pleasant word, and thus contribute to our happiness. I don’t know, for the life of me, what dire offense the man who founded European society was guilty of; but it is certain his successors, from Algeria to the North Pole, are sadly mistrusted by the unmarried ladies. This, I regret to say, is the case in Sweden, as well as in Germany and France. A gentleman is generally regarded as a ferocious cannibal, ready without the slightest provocation to devour and swallow up defenseless maidens. The married ladies are free and easy enough, having discovered probably that men are not half so dangerous as they are reported to be. But, all things considered, the Swedish ladies are exceedingly polite and affable, and on occasions of this kind seem well disposed toward our rapacious sex.
The next important point in our route was the fortress of Wanas, which commands the channel entering the lake on the eastern side. This is considered a work of great importance in view of invasion by any foreign power. We did not stop long enough to examine it in detail, merely touching to put the mail ashore and take in a few passengers. Leaving the Wettern Lake, our route lay through a series of smaller lakes, beautifully diversified with wood-covered islands, till we entered the Viken, another magnificent stretch of water of less extent than the Wettern, but still more beautiful than any we had yet seen. Here the rocks and islands are innumerable, rising from the water in every direction; the smaller ones covered with moss, lichens, shrubbery, and flowers; and the larger darkened with a dense growth of fir, pine, and other evergreens, while the oak, elm, and ash occasionally enliven the masses of shade with their more lively foliage.
At the end of the Viken, which is some fifteen miles in length, the West Gotha Canal commences, and continues through a rich and beautiful farming country to the waters of the great Wenern Lake, some twenty miles distant. The passage through this portion of the route is less interesting than others through which we had passed – so far, at least, as the scenery is concerned. The country is undulating, but not sufficiently diversified for fine scenic effects. Farms and meadows extend nearly all the way to the shores of the Wenern; and the canal passes at frequent intervals through farming districts, which, in point of cultivation, are quite equal to any thing I had seen in more southern parts of Europe. The peasants’ houses along the route are neat and comfortable, and reminded me occasionally of our New England farm-houses. Villages enliven the route at intervals of a few miles, but generally they are of inconsiderable size, and may properly be regarded as mere gatherings of farm-houses around the nucleus of a church or post station. In this respect, I was struck with the difference between Sweden and Germany. The German peasantry, as a general thing, live in villages, and carry on their farming outside, sometimes at a distance of several miles. In the Thuringenwald, the Schwartzwald, the Spessart, and some other mountainous districts, it is true, exceptions may be found to this rule; but throughout the best cultivated districts of Germany there are but comparatively few farm-houses in which isolated families live. Hence villages, and, in many cases, large towns, form the head-quarters of each agricultural parish. The pedestrian, in traveling through Germany, is scarcely ever more than a “halp-stund” from one town or village to another. I think the longest stretch I ever made between two villages was two hours, or six and a half miles. In Sweden (and the same may be said of Norway) the farming districts have more of an American aspect. The houses are scattered about on the different farms, and the peasants do not seem to be so gregarious in their habits as those of Germany. This arises in part from the fact that the population is not so dense in Sweden as in the more central parts of Europe, and in part from the greater abundance of wood and pasture, and the predominance of the lumbering, mining, and stock-raising interests. Many of the farmers are also lumbermen and miners, and nearly all have a good supply of blood cattle. The extent of arable land in Sweden is comparatively small. It presents few attractions as an agricultural country. Its chief wealth consists in its vast forests and mines. The climate is too severe and the production of cereal crops too uncertain to render farming on a large scale a profitable pursuit. This is especially the case in the northern parts. South of Stockholm, between the lakes of Wettern and Wenern, and along the banks of the Gota River, farming is carried to considerable perfection; but with this exception, and some small and sheltered valleys to the north, in which the peasants manage with great care and labor to raise a sufficient supply of grain and potatoes for domestic consumption, but little is produced for exportation. The land generally throughout Sweden is barren and rocky, and it is only by great labor and constant manuring that fair crops can be produced. In the populous districts, where the soil possesses some natural advantages, the farms are mostly small, averaging from ten to seventy-five acres. A tract of forest is usually attached to these farming-lands, from which the peasants derive their supplies of lumber and fuel. Saw-mills are numerous on all the rivers, and a large trade in lumber is carried on in the lake regions. The main lumber region lies north of Stockholm, on the various small rivers emptying into the Gulf of Bothnia. Sundswall, Umea, Lulea, and Haparanda are the principal places of exportation on the eastern shore, and Gottenburg on the west. The fisheries are also an important branch of industry, and large quantities of stromung and herrings are exported. Salmon abound in the rivers, and the lakes and mountain streams furnish a very fine quality of trout. Game is more abundant in the densely wooded regions of Sweden than in Norway, being less accessible to English sportsmen. Of late years Norway has become the favorite hunting and fishing ground of the English, and every summer they swarm all over the country with their guns and fishing-rods. In Sweden, however, comparatively few have yet made their appearance. Bear, elk, red deer, ptarmigan, and wild-fowl abound in the forests and along the shores of the lakes. The Swedes themselves are not so much given to this kind of recreation as the English. Their chief amusements consist in Sunday afternoon recreations, such as theatrical representations, dancing, singing, drinking, and carousing. In their religious observances they are very strict, but after church they consider themselves privileged to enjoy a little dissipation in the Continental style. It too often happens that their frolics are carried to an excess. More brandy and other strong liquors are consumed in Sweden, according to the population, than in New Orleans or San Francisco, which is saying a good deal for the civilization of the people. Another good sign is that they chew tobacco. The better classes usually smoke this delightful weed, but the peasants both smoke it and chew it, showing conclusively that they are advancing rapidly toward emancipation from the narrow prejudices of European society. I saw drunken men and tobacco-chewers in Sweden who would have done credit to any little mining district in California. The habit of drinking is almost universal. The peasants drink to get drunk, the better classes drink for excitement, and all drink because they like it. At the principal restaurants in Stockholm and Gottenburg there is usually an anteroom opening into the main saloon. Here every gentleman who enters deposits his hat and cane. In the centre of the room stands a small table, upon which are several decanters containing “schnapps,” a pile of brown bread sliced, various plates of biscuit and thin flour-cake, butter, and pickled fish. Around this the customers gather to acquire an appetite, which they accomplish by drinking one or two glasses of schnapps, eating a few small fish (stromung) spread upon their bread and butter, and then drinking some schnapps. They then go in to dinner, and call for what they want, including the various wines necessary for the process of digestion. Having eaten heartily and emptied a few bottles of wine, they wind up with coffee and cognac or maraschino. One would think such a process every day would burn the lining off the best stomach in the world; but the Swedes, like the Russians, have gutta-percha stomachs. The same system, it is true, prevails in San Francisco, only in a different form, and the same consequences generally ensue. People are very apt to get up from the table with a rush of blood to the head, a general obliquity of vision, and a peculiar weakness in the knees. I tried it myself by way of experiment, and was sick of a headache for three days after. Somehow I can travel a long distance on foot without getting tired, but my stomach is not lined with sheet iron. I have seen women and children drink at a single sitting enough of intoxicating beverages, since my arrival in Europe, to have capsized me for a month. This, I think, will account for the prevalence of bloated bodies and red noses in these highly civilized countries.