at sea, and here we were able to take the rest we so much needed,
as the unabated violence of the wind in the open detained us
there two days. On 31st July the captain insisted on leaving,
despite the pilot's warning. We had been on board the Thetis a
few hours, and were in the act of eating a lobster for the first
time in our lives, when the captain and the sailors began to
swear violently at the pilot, whom I could see at the helm, rigid
with fear, striving to avoid a reef--barely visible above the
water--towards which our ship was being driven. Great was our
terror at this violent tumult, for we naturally thought ourselves
in the most extreme danger. The vessel did actually receive a
severe shock, which, to my vivid imagination, seemed like the
splitting up of the whole ship. Fortunately, however, it
transpired that only the side of our vessel had fouled the reef,
and there was no immediate danger. Nevertheless, the captain
deemed it necessary to steer for a harbour to have the vessel
examined, and we returned to the coast and anchored at another
point. The captain then offered to take us in a small boat with
two sailors to Tromsond, a town of some importance situated at a
few hours' distance, where he had to invite the harbour officials
to examine his ship. This again proved a most attractive and
impressive excursion. The view of one fjord in particular, which
extended far inland, worked on my imagination like some unknown,
awe-inspiring desert. This impression was intensified, during a
long walk from Tromsond up to the plateau, by the terribly
depressing effect of the dun moors, bare of tree or shrub,
boasting only a covering of scanty moss, which stretch away to
the horizon, and merge imperceptibly into the gloomy sky. It was
long after dark when we returned from this trip in our little
boat, and my wife was very anxious. The next morning (1st