Up, up, up, we went until we had risen over twenty feet, which dwindled to nothing when the door opened at the end of the waterfall and we glided out into the world of sunshine, to see our friend the old castle before us again, the pine-trees on the banks, and the funny little wooden town on our right. Verily a transformation scene – a return to life and light and air, after water and darkness.
Before us was a small rapid, and, having rowed up under the lee of the land, it was perfectly marvellous to see how the boat was suddenly turned right across the bubbling water, and steered like a gliding eel in and out of waves and spray to the other side, which we reached by means of hard pulling, without losing more than thirty or forty feet by the strong current. Here came another lock, and several minutes were again spent in rising another twenty feet, before we were at a level to continue our course. Then came a stretch which could be rowed, although, of course, the stream was always against us; but two stalwart Finns sitting side by side pulled well, and on we sped until the next rapid was reached, when out we all had to bundle, and the fragile craft had to be towed, as the strength of the water made it impossible to row against it. There was a path of rocky boulders, uneven and somewhat primitive, such a towing path being always found beside the rapids, as the oarsmen have to get out and tow at all such places. Therefore, when returning home from Uleåborg, the sailors have to row either against the stream (one long tract, however, being across a lake where it is possible to sail), or else they have to walk and pull. No wonder it takes them three weeks to make the voyage.
Having landed us, the two oarsmen pulled with a rope, but as the boat would have been torn to pieces on the rocks beside the bubbling water, the steersman had to keep her off by means of a long pole; and hard work he evidently found it, bending the whole weight of his body in the process, straining every nerve at times. It is terrific exertion to get even such a light thing as a tar-boat over such places, and in a mile and a half we had to get out four times as well as pass through the two locks (there are but four on the whole river), and we only reached the pilot station after working a whole hour and a half, which gave us a good idea of the weariness of toiling up stream, and the wonders of coming down, for we retraced the same route in exactly fourteen minutes.
We crossed the famous rapid, described in Kalevala as the scene where one of the heroes went swirling round and round; we watched women steering with marvellous agility and skill, and there, on the bank, we saw a stalwart Finn, with an artistic pink shirt, awaiting our arrival to pilot us down again, our host preferring to employ a pilot for the descent when he had any one on board besides himself.
The pilot was a splendidly made young fellow of twenty-four; a very picture, with his tan trousers, and long brown leather boots doubled back under the knee like a brigand, but ready to pull up to the thigh when necessary. On his felt cap he wore a silver badge with the letters L.M. clearly stamped. "What do they mean?" we asked.
"L.M. is an abbreviation for laskumies or pilot – it means that he is a certified pilot for this stream," replied Herr Renfors, "and as there are ladies here I am going to get him to take the boat down – ladies are such a responsibility," he laughed, "I dare not undertake the task."
We soon entered into conversation with this picturesque Finn, and found his father was also a laskumies, and that as a boy he always went with him, steering the boat down when he was fourteen, although he did not get his badge till he was eighteen years of age. As soon as he got it he married, and now had two children. These pilots only receive their badges after careful examination from the government, and, the pay being good, and the position considered a post of honour, they are eagerly-sought-for appointments.
"How wildly exciting it is," we exclaimed, as we whirled round corners, waves dashing into our boat only to be baled out with a sort of wooden spoon.
"I make this little journey sometimes twenty times in a day," he replied; "but I can't say I find it very entertaining."
Sometimes we simply gasped – especially when nearing Kajana, and we knew we had to go under the bridge before us, while the youth was steering apparently straight for the rocks on the shore. Destruction seemed imminent, the water was tearing along under the bridge at an awful rate, but he still steered on for the rocks; we held our breath – till, at the eleventh and three-quarter hour, so to speak, the pink-shirted Finn quietly twisted his steering pole, and under the bridge we shot and out at the other side quite safely.
We breathed again!
Pilots are only necessary for the rapids, and they receive one mark for the shorter and two marks for the longer stretches, one of which is thirteen miles in length, so that a boat between Kajana and Uleåborg has to pay ten marks for its pilots, which they are bound by law to carry. On some of the stretches there are as many as twenty-four pilots to each rapid.
Our experience of a tar-boat but whetted our appetite, and we looked forward, all pleasurable anticipation, to our descent to the coast.
The next morning at seven A.M. we left Kajana in a very small steamboat to cross the great Oulujärvi lake, and arrived about twelve at Waala, where our own tar-boat was awaiting us. We were struck, as we passed over the lake, to see a veritable flower-garden upon the surface of the water. The lake is so wide that at times we quite lost sight of one shore; yet these small flowers, something like primroses, only white, with their floating roots, were everywhere, looking almost like snow upon the water! We passed boats sailing down with tar, the wind being with them, and we passed empty boats rowing up. They never go home the entire way under three weeks, and even coming down the rapids, if the wind is against them, they may take several days to reach Uleåborg. Whereas, with wind to help them across the lake, they can go down laden in a little over two days all the way from Russia. Once started on the downward route they seldom rest until their journey is completed, for it is important for each boat to do three voyages from Russia during the season, if possible, and more, of course, from shorter distances.
We were horrified to find that a large number of women and children were employed on the water. Rowing or towing such heavy boats is a serious matter; and to see a couple of women, or a woman and a child, doing the work, the husband, brother, or other male relative steering where no professional pilot is necessary, made us feel sick at heart. Such work is not fit for them, and in the case of young girls and boys must surely be most injurious. When returning home the poor creatures often pull their boat out of the water and, turning her on one side, spend the night under her sheltering cover.
The tar-boats ply a dangerous trade; but our own experiences must be described in another chapter.
CHAPTER XVIII
DESCENDING THE RAPIDS
In our case it took twenty-nine hours without sleep to descend the rapids, for we left Kajana at seven A.M. on Thursday morning, and only reached Uleåborg at mid-day on Friday. The journey is perfectly wonderful, but should only be undertaken by people blessed with strong nerves and possessed of iron constitutions. From Kajana to Uleåborg one travels down the splendid Oulu river and across the Oulujärvi lake, joining the river again on the other side of Waala.
It was indeed an experience, in more ways than one. The first hours we spent in a small steamer, too small to carry a restaurant, so, let it be understood at once, provisions must be taken for the whole journey, unless the traveller wishes starvation to be added to his other hardships.
The Oulujärvi lake is a terror to the tar-boats, for it is one of the largest lakes in Finland, and when there is a storm the fragile tar-boat is forced to hug the land for safety, or draw up altogether and lie-to until the storm has spent itself. Many of these small craft have been taken unawares when out in the middle of the lake, and come to signal grief accordingly. Then again, in times of dead calm, the heavily-laden boat does not even have the benefit of the quickly-running water to bear her on her way, and the three occupants of the vessel have to row the entire distance, for the steersman, no longer requiring to guide her with his enormous pole, ships it and rows at the side with one oar, – with which at the same time he guides. These steering poles are really remarkable; they are about twelve or fifteen feet long, and are simply a solid trunk of a pine tree as wide as a man's hand can grasp at the thinnest end, broadening out, and trimmed in such a way that they form a kind of flat solid paddle at the other end. The weight of these poles is overpowering, even when slipped through the ring of plaited tree branches which keeps them in place, and makes them easier to hold securely. When the cataracts are reached, even these strong poles shiver with the force of the water, and the steersman has all his work to do to combat the rushing waters; his whole bodily weight must be brought to bear in order to fight those waves and steer his craft safely through them. Every muscle is strained to meet the power of those swirling waters.
No praise we can give is too high for the skill of the pilot of the rapids, no admiration too great, for it is to that and his physical strength, to his power and calmness, to his dexterity and boundless knowledge of hidden dangers and unexpected horrors, that the safety of our lives is due, and, when we peeped occasionally at our steersman as we flew over the great rapid, where for over an hour every nerve, every fibre of his body was strung to agonising pitch, we looked and wondered. His eyes were fixed steadfastly before him, and as he flung all the weight of his body on to his pole, the whole boat trembled, but in a second obeyed his bidding and twisted whither he wished. Second, did we say? half-second, quarter-second, would be more accurate, for the bow of the boat was guided at giddy speed to within a few feet of a rock, and just as she was about to touch, twisted off again for us to ride over some crested wave, or fly down some channel which just cleared the death-trap.
By such means we zig-zagged from side to side of the river, which at the cataracts is generally nearly a quarter of a mile broad, and in the calmer stretches widens out to half a mile and more.
Speaking of pilots and their wondrous skill, in the autumn of 1912, by Imperial decrees, the Finnish Pilot Department was transferred to the Russian Ministry of Marine. So marvellous, so dexterous has been the work of the Finnish pilots for generations of inherited knowledge, that an Englishman can but quake at the advisability of such a change. Finland was so indignant that half the pilots stationed on the coast and the islands – about five hundred men – resigned en bloc. The famous pilot school at Helsingfors no longer exists.
These pilots used to mark out the ship routes every spring so cleverly that shipwrecks were rare; but in the summer of 1912 the new Russian staff made such endless mistakes and omitted so many risky channels that a great many disasters followed on the coast, though not serious ones. Luckily, the regular Finnish passenger steamers have not suffered, as they all carry their own pilots.
Strategical considerations have been officially adduced for the Russification of the Finnish pilot service; but the wisdom of this strategy may be open to doubt. In time of war the passages nearer the coast will naturally be of the greatest strategic importance, and it would seem highly unsafe to confide the navigation of war-vessels to the new Caspian pilots, who cannot possibly in a few years acquire an intimate knowledge of these extremely difficult waters. The new measure dispenses with the services of those men who, born and bred on the spot, and having the advantage of generations of traditional knowledge, can alone with safety do pilot service, especially in time of war, when guiding beacons and rock-marking poles and buoys are removed, and there is nothing to guide the navigator except that knowledge which has become second nature to the pilot trained to do service in his own home waters.
But we are digressing.
We arrived at Waala– a cluster of small houses – about 11.30, and, landing from our little steamer, found that although our tar-boat had been ordered and everything was ready owing to the kindness of the inspector of the district, who himself came to see us off, we could not get really under way before one o'clock. All the luggage had to be packed into the boat, – not much luggage, be it said, for, beyond the reach of the railways, one bag or suit-case per person is all that is possible (less is preferable), as that can go into one of the little kärra (carts), or can be carried by a peasant when necessary. Travelling through the interior and northern parts of Finland is roughing it indeed, and when it comes to being away from the post-stations (where carriages and horses are procurable, and generally fairly good), and sleeping in a real peasant's house, then one realises what discomfort means, and for cleanliness prefers to sit on a hard wooden chair all night for safety's sake.
At last we were, all six (for this number composed our party), seated, some on Gladstones, some on an enormous rug case, some on nothing, or something equally uncomfortable, but all of us as low down as possible, such being the inspector's orders, as our weight steadied the boat, and, being below the water's level, kept us from getting wet from the spray, although we found, by experience, it did not prevent our shipping whole seas, and getting thoroughly soaked.
"The wind is against you," remarked the inspector, "which is a pity, as it will occupy much longer time, and you will get more wet, but by three A.M. (fourteen hours) you ought to reach Muhos, where you can snatch a few hours' sleep before going on in the little steamer that will take you down the last stretch of the river to Uleåborg."
It was bad enough, in theory, to sit fourteen hours within the cramped precincts of a tar-boat with one's knees up to one's chin, like an Eastern mummy, but it was nothing to what in practice we really endured. However, we luckily cannot foresee the future, and with light hearts, under a blazing sun, we started, a man at the stern to steer, a woman and a boy in the bow to row, and ourselves and our goods securely stowed away – packed almost as closely as herrings in a barrel.
Directly after leaving Waala, within a few minutes in fact, we came to the Niska Koski rapid. Six miles at flying speed; six miles tearing over huge waves at break-neck pace; six miles with a new experience every second; six miles feeling that every turn, every moment must be our last.
No one could dream of the excitements of speeding six miles in such a long fragile craft, in which we crouched so low our faces were almost level with the seething surface of the rapid. Turning here and twisting there between rocks or piled-up walls of stone, absolutely seeing and feeling the drop of the water, as one bounded over a fall – such an experience cannot be described. As those massive waves struck the boat, and threw volumes of water into our laps, we felt inclined to shriek at the speed at which we were flying. Wildly we were tearing past the banks, when, lo! – what was that? A broken tar-boat; a mere scattered mass of wooden beams, which only a few hours before had been a boat like our own.
In spite of the marvellous dexterity of the pilots, accidents happen sometimes; and that very morning, the wind being strongly against the boats descending, a steersman venturing a little too near a hidden rock, his frail craft was instantly shattered to pieces. The tar-barrels, bubbling over the water like Indian corn over a fire, were picked up many miles below; but, as the accident happened near the water's edge, the crew were luckily saved.
That journey was a marvellous experience; one of the most exciting and interesting of the writer's life; not only did it represent a wonderful force of nature, but an example of what skill and a cool head can do; for what man without both could steer a boat through such rapids – such cataracts? Those rapids at Montreal seemed far less imposing to me afterwards.
At times the waves looked as if they were really returning upon us, yet in reality we were going with the stream, but the rocks below made them curl back again. Along the stream several crews were toiling and straining at their towing ropes to get their empty boats to Kajana. Oh, what work in that heat! No wonder they all dreaded that return journey. Toiling along the bank were the wretched men and women making their way back towards Russia. The strangely uneven stone wall along which they pulled their tar-boat looked as if it would cut their poor bare feet to pieces. Two generally tugged at the rope, a third keeping the boat off the wall by means of a long pole; and for a fortnight or three weeks they tugged and pulled their empty boat, or in calmer stretches sailed or rowed back the route along which we were now flying at such lightning speed.
Then came two hours of calm rowing along a beautiful stretch of river, where rocks and pine-trees rose straight from the water's edge, and queer little gray houses denoted peasants' homesteads, peeping out among the almost yellow rye-fields, or the newly gathered hay crops. Small black and white curly sheep gambolled in the meadows – those very sheep whose coats are so famous as Kajana Lambs, rivalling even Russian Astrakhan.
Imagine a fall of two hundred feet of water in a long, thin, fragile boat; yet such is possible at Pyhäkoski, another of the rapids, during a stretch of cataract about thirteen miles long – as an average, these wondrous falls are about a quarter of a mile broad, sometimes more, sometimes less. They are indeed most truly marvellous.
It was a perfect evening as we neared Pyhäkoski. The wind had fallen, and when, after passing a rapid, we drew up by the bank to enjoy our evening meal, the sun at 9.30 was just beginning its long set. We had left Waala at 1.30, and been travelling in the boat cramped by the position all the time, so were beginning to feel the pleasant pangs of hunger. With a pine wood behind us, where bilberries, just ripening among the ferns, covered the ground, we six friends – four Finlanders and two English – made a very happy party. Oh, the joy of stretching our limbs and standing erect once more. We cooked our tea by the aid of a spirit-lamp, ate hard-boiled eggs and some most delicious cold trout, devoured whole loaves of white bread and butter, and were feeling as happy as possible – when suddenly the glorious golden orb shining through the skies of evening, was reflected in flaming colour nearer home, for, lo! the lamp in the tea-basket exploded with a terrific bang and a tongue of flame which brought us all to our feet in an instant. Here was a calamity to occur on such a dry night, in a long rainless summer, and in a pine forest, too, where if the trees once ignited, flames might spread for miles and miles, causing incalculable damage. We all knew the danger, and each prepared to assist in putting out the fire. Grandpapa, with the agility of a cat, seized the burning basket and threw it and its contents bodily into the river – great was the frizzle as it touched the water, and greater the noise as plates and spoons clattered into the stream. They were of little value in comparison to the prevention of a forest fire.
Poor man, he was wet to his knees standing in the water, and he looked almost as if he had been taking a mud bath by the time he succeeded in rescuing what was possible of our crockery and plate. But, undoubtedly, he prevented much serious damage of valuable property by his prompt action. The remainder of our meal was lost, and our delightful basket, that had travelled in many lands, destroyed. It had never failed before – but we afterwards unravelled the mystery. The Apothek, whom we asked to supply us with some methylated spirit, not understanding our request, had substituted something which did not suit the lamp.
"All's well that ends well," however, so we will say no more about his mistake, save that we lost our second cup of tea, and went hungry to bed.
Never, never did any one behold more wonderful reflections than were to be seen that night on the Uleå river. As the empty boats passed up a quiet reach sufficiently shallow to permit of punting, the reflections of the coloured shirts and poles, of the old brown boats and the cheery faces on board, were as distinct in the water as the things themselves. Every blade of grass found its double in that mirror-like stream, every rock appeared darker and larger below than it did above the water; but our admiration was distracted by mosquitoes, – when we drew up at a small torp to take up a fresh pilot, who was to steer us safely over the famous Pyhäkoski rapids. By this time it was 10.30 on an August night, and the sun just above the pine tops, which seemed striving to soar high enough to warm themselves in its glorious rich colourings, and we feared it might be too late, and the mist too dense, to attempt such a dangerous passage. Half a dozen pilots assembled on the bank – their day's work being over – declared it was perfectly safe, as safe at least as it ever can be, therefore, after shipping our man, away we rowed – the river having broadened again to three-quarters of a mile, so that it looked like a lake.
A small child offered us a little wooden tub of luscious yellow berries, suomuurain (Finnish), Hjortron (Swedish), for a mark – the same would have cost about eight marks at Helsingfors– which we gladly bought and ate as we drifted along. Those delicious northern delicacies, with a taste of the pine-tree, greatly refreshed us. We had made up our minds early in the day, that as we could not take more than four or five hours' rest, to sleep on the bank, and make a large fire to keep away the mosquitoes. The weather was all that could be wished; indeed, the heat of the day had been so great we had all sat with white pocket-handkerchiefs hanging from under our hats and down our necks to keep off the blazing sun, no parasols being possible when correct steering meant life or death. In fact, we had decided to manage the best sort of "camp out" we could with a coat each and a couple of Scotch plaid rugs among us all. The prospect seemed more pleasant than a one or two-roomed torp shared with the torppari's family; for we had suffered so much in strange beds already, and had woefully regretted many times not having brought hammocks, which we might have slung out of doors on those splendid June and July nights, and slept in peace under the daylight canopy of heaven. Accordingly, a camp on the bank had been voted and passed by unanimous acclamation.
No artist's brush could reproduce such a scene. In the foreground a roaring seething mass of water denoted strength and power, beyond lay a strange hazy mist, like a soft gauze film, rising in the sudden chill of evening from the warmed water, and the whole landscape was rendered more weird and unreal in places by the wild white spray which ascended, as the waves lapped some hidden or visible rock lying right across our course. Farther on, the river was bordered by pine and fir-trees, through the stems of which the departing sun shone, glinting here and there upon the bark; the warm shades of the sky dappled with red and yellow, painted by a Mighty Hand, were well in keeping with the "Holy Stream," as this rapid is called by the peasants living along its shores.
A mystic scene of wondrous beauty; more and more the vapours rose, until a great soft barrier seemed erected before us, almost as high as the trees; dense at their roots, tapering away to indistinctness at their tops, where the sunset glow lay warm and bright upon their prickly branches.
It reminded one of glorious evenings in Switzerland, where snow-clad peaks soar above the clouds, their majestic heads rising as it were from nothingness. That night on the Uleå river, this strong, strange, misty fog was very remarkable – such a contrast to the intense heat of the day, so great a contrast to the marvellous clearness which had preceded it, so mystic after the photographic distinctness of a few hours before.
A shriek from our steersman, and we found we were flying madly towards a sort of wooden pier; we held our breath, it seemed so close. In the mist we were almost upon it before we saw our danger; but when the pilot shouted, the oarsmen instantly shipped. Even when going through the rapids it should be explained that two men in the bows keep rowing continuously to help to steady the boat; but on the occasion in question, just when the agony point was reached, they lifted their oars, and we swung round a corner – not to sudden death as we fully expected, but into a comparatively calm stretch of water; where, lo! we found before us a white bank. It was vapour, mist, fog, what you will; but a cold evening, after a day of intense heat, had clothed the river in thick white clouds, impenetrable to the sight – cold, clammy, terrifying to a stranger.
"It is impossible," exclaimed the oarsman to our Finnish-speaking friends; "I thought I could get you to Muhos to-night, but until that fog lifts we can go no farther, it is not safe. I can do no more. It would mean death."
Here was a prospect. We had been eleven hours in the boat, for it was now midnight. We had been grilled all day and burnt with the heat, and now we were perished with wet from the wash of the waves, and cold from the damp chill air. We could not lie on the ground – no fire would ignite amid such soaking grass; what was to become of us we did not know.
We wanted experiences, and we had got them, more than we bargained for. Who could have imagined such a day would turn to such a night? Who indeed!
We all looked at each other, we all sighed. One suggested sitting as we were all bolt upright, with the boat moored to some bank – others thought a walk might prove an agreeable change – the wisest held their tongues, thought much, and said little.
We were in the middle of the stream, when, without a word of explanation, our steersman suddenly turned the bow of our frail bark right across the water, and with one rush her nose hit the bank; our speed was so great that we were all shaken from our seats, as the boat bounded off again, but the pilot was an old experienced hand, and, by some wondrous gymnastic feat, he got her side sufficiently near the bank for our boy, with a rope in his hand, to spring upon terra firma and hold us fast, without shattering our bark completely to pieces with the force of our sudden arrival.
"Is this fog usual?" we asked the pilot.
"No, very unusual, only after such intense heat as we have had to-day. If I had not landed you at this spot and now, another yard would have made doing so impossible, for this is the top of the Pyhäkoski rapid, the most dangerous of all, and it is thirteen miles long."
What a plight! Hungry, tired, miserable, cold, to be suddenly turned, whether we wished it or not, out of our only refuge and home.
"Close by here," he continued, "is a peasant's house – you must go there for some hours."
We looked; but the fog was so thick we could see nothing, therefore, without a word of remonstrance, we followed our pilot, plodding through grass soaked in moisture which reached to our knees, feeling very chilled, wet, and weary, but all trying to keep stout hearts and turn cheery faces to misfortune.
Yes, there – as if sent as a blessing from heaven – we saw a little house peeping through the fog.
We went to the door; we knocked, we knocked again. No answer. We shook the door; it was locked. We called; no one replied. We walked round the house and tried the windows – all closed, securely closed. We knocked and called louder than before. Still no answer.
What disappointment! The house was deserted. On the very eve of shelter we were baffled. Was it not enough to fill our hearts with despair? We could not go back, for we had nowhere to go; we could not sit on the bank, for that fog brooded evil. Some one suggested bursting open the door, for shelter we must have, and began rattling away with that purpose, when, lo! a voice, an awful voice called "Hulloa!"
"It is haunted," exclaimed some one; "it is a ghost, or a spirit or something. Do let us go away – what a horrible place."
"It is a phantom house," cried another, "this is not real – come, come – come away."
But the voice again called "Hulloa!"
The sound seemed nearer, and looking round we saw a white apparition standing in a darkened doorway on the other side of the garden, a figure clad in white approached through the mist; it was very ghostly. Was it hallucination, the result of exhausted minds and bodies, weak from want of food, and perished with wet and cold, or was it – yes, it was– a man.
We could have hugged that delightful Finn, our joy was so great at his appearance, key in hand ready to open the door. He did so; a delicious hot air rushed upon us – it seemed like entering a Turkish bath; but when a second door was opened the heat became even more intense, for the kitchen fire was still alight, and, as if sent as an extra blessing from above, the coffee-pot was actually on the hob, filled and ready for the peasants' early morning meal. Could anything be more providential – warmth and succour – food, beds, and comfort!
Like savages we rushed upon the coffee-pot, blew the dying embers into flame, took off our soaking shoes and stockings and placed them beside the oven, pattering barefoot over the boards; we boiled milk, which was standing near, and drank the warming, soothing beverage.