chap, ii THE ARCTIC CIRCLE 17 



cod, and plucked them about with horny fingers, standing 

 by and laughing as knives were skilfully plunged into the 

 heads of their selections and each throat was cut, and 

 backbone broken near the tail. 



One afternoon or evening some of us walked up the 

 northern hill to the lower edge of the soft cloud-blanket, 

 where a long traversing road, commanding wide views, led 

 to a pretty restaurant. The meal was served on a terrace, 

 whilst Norse airs were played by a rudimentary band. The 

 evening seemed never to come, till we looked at a clock 

 and found that the hour was midnight. 



Another evening I climbed to the top of the Floi hill,, 

 and then wound away by a track leading to lonely uplands, 

 remote from the very memory of man. Everywhere was the 

 writing of the icy hand. All rocks were rounded. Thin 

 carpets of earth or bog filled little hollows or held on to 

 ledges. Patches of snow lingered in sheltered spots. From 

 the top was a notable view all around, the pale sun setting 

 amongst north-western clouds, and casting a glamour upon 

 a network of sounds, where sea and land mingled in intricate 

 interlocking, whilst promontories and islands became lower 

 and more suave of outline as they lost themselves in the 

 damp atmosphere of the mysterious sea. 



A little village, immediately beneath, dipped its feet in 

 the fjord, some of its houses rising plumb on all sides from 

 the water. Ships of antique type, such as Vikings used, 

 lay becalmed upon the near expanse, whose bright surface 

 was broken by reticulating systems of ripples covering 

 a wide area with formal decoration. Inland were blue 

 hills, rising from a bluer and transparent sea, whose level 

 surface was the top of a layer of smoke that had drifted 

 from Bergen, and, by losing its grosser particles, had 

 become thus endued with the rich glories of a counterfeit 

 sky. Through the still air came no sound that the ear 



