Through Arctic Lapland by Cutcliffe Hyne — Read

One of the most looked-forward-to items of our original programme had been to see the _Windward_ pull her anchors out of European mud for the last time before she went to wrestle with the Arctic floe. But the ship's carpenter ashore who had in charge that new main-topsail yard was slow even in his sober moments; and although every one in authority raged at the delay, not even statements in Anglo-Saxon (or Scottish) as to his personal worthiness could bustle him out of his dawdling gait. So in the end the _Windwards_ saw us off, instead of our doing the like by them.

We took passage across the broad Varanger fjord to Jarfjord in a little coaster, and as she steamed out between the harbour walls and met the roll outside, all hands on the _Windward_, both forward and aft, yelled themselves hoarse, and we sent back our voices in reply. Then up and down from their peak went the blue ensign, as the big expedition wished the little one luck, and we found a Norwegian flag stopped on the rail, and hoisted that up to the head of the poop-staff (which was as high as my chin), and dipped it with all goodwill in reply. There were Norwegians, and Finns, and Russians, and Lapps on the coaster, come from the villages on the Varanger to do their marketing at the big town, and at first I fancy they thought us Englishmen mad, but after half an hour or so they most of them retired to the 'tween decks very sea-sick, and after that they ceased to give us any thought at all.