A Summer Holiday in Scandinavia

ON a July day, which gave fair but faithless promise of fine weather, we left London for Hull, en route to Christiania and Norway. Our journey to Yorkshire was, naturally, not eventful; and, when near Doncaster, our hopes of a quiet night at sea were rudely dashed by the sudden appearance of a severe storm driving up from the eastward. Certain misgivings as to the ability of some among us to stand the rolling of the North Sea made us particularly keen in detecting such signs; but in the present case we had barely seen the storm approach before it burst over the country through which we travelled. One minute all around was bright and sunny, and in another the willow trees bent and shivered; the standing corn sighed and rustled in an ominous manner; while the sky overhead became leaden-colored. It began to rain, too; and altogether there seemed very little prospect of a good voyage: however, some chance lingered that we might run out of the storm-belt as we had run into it. But this was not to be, and at Goole, where we first caught a glance of the mouth of the Humber, those of us who felt least sure about their sea-legs noticed with anxiety the white-crested waves that were fast rolling in from the open water.

Arriving at Hull, we found we had an hour and a half to wait before the departure of the steamer on which we had previously secured berths. This interval was spent partly in seeing our numerous packages put on board the Hero, and partly in getting a good "square" dinner, which we feared must fortify some of us until we reached Norway -- and so it did.

The Hero was one of the Wilson line of steamers appointed to sail for Christiania every Friday in the year, except during the three winter months, when I believe direct communication by sea between England and Scandinavia is often cut off.

At eight o'clock we went resignedly on board, and descended to secure and prepare our berths, etc.; and let me advise those who travel by water to unpack and arrange all that is necessary for the voyage before starting. Nothing, I think, is so unpleasant as to have to grapple with obstinate straps and grope for all the numerous small impedimenta of which you stand in need when repairing to your berth in the "dark, unhappy midnight," and you are just beginning to feel -- well! say uncomfortable. Our things prudently pre-arranged, we repaired to the bustling deck, and took a more contemplative look around than we had hitherto been able to afford.

The Hero struck me as a fair, average steamer of about eight hundred tons burden; somewhat long and narrow, perhaps, but with excellent and powerful engines, which was considered a great point of merit, as we were eager to get across, and consequently pardoned the ship's narrowness on account of the greater speed it would give her. The cabin accommodation for those who had booked in time was also good; the main saloon being surrounded by about a dozen private cabins, fairly comfortable. But these were all occupied; consequently, I was forced to content myself with sleeping accommodation on the stern-sofa, while J. climbed to an upper sofa where there was an unoccupied berth. This, however, turned out to be placed directly over the tank or well wherein the steward kept much of the beer and wine; consequently, every demand on the part of a passenger for the extra drinkables stored therein necessitated (if at night) the awaking of J., "just for half a minute," a proceeding he strongly objected to, but for which there was no remedy.

Soon after eight o'clock, the Hero commenced warping out of the docks. Drawbridges were opened and traffic stopped on both sides of the dockgate, as the pea-green ship slowly and carefully worked her way through. All her passengers were on deck taking a last look at the town and their countrymen. I fancied I noticed a secret look of complacency on the faces of many of the people at land -- a ray of self-satisfaction at the thought that they were not going to be sea-sick for three days.