Chapter IX: The Arctic Wilderness

Leaving the Varangerfjord just before darkness set in, the travellers struck across the wide, rolling tundra, and for many hours went forward, until about two o’clock in the morning they drove into an enclosure in the centre of which stood a small wooden hut, together with several other ramshackle out-buildings.

It was the last resthouse on the road. Indeed, the road, or rather the track, ended there, for before it lay the broad, swift-flowing Tana river. The stockade kept out the wolves in winter, and the house itself, raised several feet from the ground, showed the depth of the snows which lay there for several months each year.

Henkela banged loudly upon the wooden door, shouting something in Lappish, while Dick and Owen descended from the cart, cold and cramped, stamping their feet upon the frozen ground to promote the circulation.

A deep, guttural response came from within, and after the lapse of five minutes or so, the door opened, and upon the threshold before the lamplight stood a tall, fair-haired Finnish Lapp, in his blouse of dark blue cloth heavily embroidered with red, and long fur boots with upturned toes.

With a broad grin of amusement upon his fat face, he stretched out both his big hands to wish the travellers welcome, and a few moments later Dick and his friend found themselves inside a good-sized wooden room, bare and carpetless, of course, save for four truckle beds, an old couch, some chairs, and a stove, the warmth of which was indeed gratifying after the frosty night.

“Senko, our host, asks whether the gentlemen would like some coffee?” asked Henkela in his very indifferent English, and at the same time there appeared a good-looking Finnish girl of fourteen, who was introduced as Senko’s daughter, and who busied herself in piling driftwood into the stove.

She was a fresh-looking, blue-eyed girl, all smiles and bows. Her dress was typical of the civilised Lapp, fur boots like her father’s, a short homespun skirt with heavy blue ornamentation, and a Russian shawl of scarlet and white plaid around her shoulders.

Dick replied that coffee would be welcome; therefore the girl at once retired into the back premises to prepare it. Coffee is a speciality with the Lapps, and wherever one may go, even among the half-civilised aborigines like Henkela, it is always quite drinkable.

“By Jove!” remarked Owen, spreading his hands to the stove. “This is a weird place, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” his friend answered. “We’re getting beyond civilisation now. This is the last resthouse.”

Henkela explained that for the next seven days or so they would be compelled to throw themselves upon the hospitality of the nomad Lapps for shelter in their huts, while Senko, his big face beaming with pleasure at entertaining strangers from that almost legendary land, England—the first he had ever had—came forward and through the guide, answered their eager interrogations.

He was a fine specimen of a man, six feet two in height, a perfect type of stalwart northerner. His blouse was held by a wonderful girdle of chased brass, and in a repousse sheath reposed the usual long knife used by the Lapp for the slaughter of reindeer.

Henkela and Senko were in deep consultation, speaking in Lappic, of course. The subject of their conversation was the best means of getting up the river to Karasjok, and presently Henkela turned to the pair, saying:

“Senko has a boat which will just suit us. We shall want three rowers, and he will get them from the encampment down in the ravine, two miles away. He will send there in the morning.”

“Let us go, too,” suggested Owen. “We’ll then see the kind of men we are getting.”

So that was arranged. Coffee was brought by the blue-eyed girl, who also bent and unlaced Dick’s boots, and the whole party sat down to sip the comforting beverage.

“Well,” declared Owen, laughing, as he looked around, “this is really most quaint!”

True, it was a curious experience. But curious experiences are of every day occurrence when one is travelling beyond the zone of our modern civilisation. Those people whom they were among were a race who fought the elements every day in order to live; a race who had never seen a tree or flower as we know them, who knew nothing of trains, tramways, or modern locomotion, and who cared not a jot how the world lived so long as they themselves obtained sufficient for their daily wants.

While the coffee was being drunk and all smoked the cigarettes which Dick offered from his case, Senko entertained them with an account of how a bear had been killed close by on the previous day, concluding his narrative by showing them the skin.

All the while he slapped his leg and laughed merrily, as though the arrival of two wandering Englishmen in the middle of the night at that outpost of civilisation was the greatest joke he could conceive.

At last, however, tired out, Dick, Owen and Henkela, dressed just as they were, threw themselves down on the beds, blew out the smoking lamp, and all slept soundly until the dawn.

After more coffee, and some ship-biscuits and ham from their stores, the humorous giant, who at every turn slapped the travellers heavily upon the back as a sign of good-fellowship, conducted them to the Lapp encampment.

It consisted, they found, of a dozen or so roughly constructed conical-shaped huts covered with turf, a hole being left in the roof to allow the egress of the smoke. Beside each hut was a framework of sticks, upon which were stretched reindeer skins in process of drying, antlers, salmon from the river, and pieces of reindeer meat awaiting consumption, all placed high out of the reach of the many grey, wolf-like, Arctic dogs which barked vociferously and snapped viciously at their approach.

Senko stooped, and pretended to take up a stone, whereupon the animals slunk away. It is the only method of quieting the ever-barking dog of the Laplander.

A shout from Senko, and a little undersized native in ragged furs, wearing a cap similar to that worn by Henkela, emerged from one of the huts and shouted back what was evidently a welcome. Then the party entered the encampment, Henkela explaining that to enter without permission was, by his people, considered the gravest form of insult.

To receive assistance or hospitality from the Lapp the traveller must always place himself in the position of being helpless. He will then be most kindly and considerately treated.

They approached the hut of the head-man who had greeted Senko, and as they entered the narrow but not uncomfortable little dwelling, Henkela exclaimed:

“_Rafthe vissui_” (Peace to your house).

“_Ibmel addi_” (God grant it) was the man’s reply as, by dumb signs, he motioned the two Englishmen to a heap of furs placed on the right of the smouldering fire, the place of honour.

In a Lapp hut the master and his family sleep on the skins spread on the right of the fire, and the servants on the left.

A wizened, brown-faced little woman in furs, wearing a cap similar to the man, and dressed like him, was cleaning a cooking-pot, quite undisturbed by the intrusion, while the interior, with the suffocating smoke curling through the hole in the roof, dimly lit by the light from the doorway, presented a strange, unusual scene. Around the place were heaps of reindeer and fox skins, in one spot the cooking utensils, in another a heap of fur clothing, while close to where Owen sat lay a child of six or seven, calmly sleeping.

A sharp-nosed dog rose, sniffed the two strangers inquisitively, and then, satisfied with his investigations, curled himself again before the fire.

Henkela, a minute later, explained in his broken English that the head-man, having heard what the pair required, bade them welcome, and promised to let them have three of his best men as rowers to Karasjok.

Then Dick handed round his cigarette-case, and all smoked, including the old woman. Presently the two Englishmen were taken to the stockade, where a herd of about eight hundred reindeer was enclosed against that arch-enemy of the Lapp, the wolf.

Upon his reindeer the lonely Laplander practically subsists. He lives upon the flesh, he makes his tent and his clothing of its skin, his thread of its sinews, his cheese of its milk, his implements of its bones, and often his fire of its offal. All this Henkela explained.

Dick, student that he was, soon discovered Henkela to be a man of more than average intelligence. In his youth he had been for some years at the government school at Vadso, and, possessing a rather musical voice, he had, he said, learned many of those ancient songs which for centuries past have been produced and orally spread among the Lapps—including many of the runes of the “Kalevala.”

In a moment Dick Jervoise became interested. He had long ago closely studied the various works of Russian and Norwegian writers upon the traditional poetry of the Lapps and Finns, and here was an opportunity to gather much information at first hand which hitherto he had not been able to obtain.

Henkela’s English was, of course, not very clear, but it was quite sufficient to act as a channel through which he could obtain knowledge.

He had gone deeply into the subject. In the cosy comfort of his little flat at Barnes he had studied many translations of the Finnish and Lappish runes, those heroic or magic songs which have been handed down from the remote ages. The song of the “Origin of the Kantele,” those of the “Journey to Vipunen,” “Vainamoinen’s Wound,” and the “Expedition for the Sampo” were all well known to him; therefore, with much gesticulation and not without difficulty, he discussed them with the black-eyed little man in furs and knitted cap, as, after making final arrangements with the three Lapps who came forward as rowers, they walked back side by side to Senko’s house.

At last Dick Jervoise seemed to take a keen interest in the journey; therefore Owen was gratified. Though the story of the ancient runes or of the “Kalevala” did not interest the doctor, yet he was delighted to see that in his friend, student that he always was, a new interest had been aroused.