CHAPTER III

BOHUSLÄN

A more weather-worn and scarred coast than Bohuslän is difficult to find, for the waves have cut so deeply into its shore that it presents the appearance of a huge and abnormally uneven comb with countless jagged teeth or “Naess”, between whose steep and precipitous banks equally innumerable and winding fjords have eaten deeply into the land. In winter, when both sky and rock are bleakly grey and repellent, it brings suggestions of desolateness and strife, and affords foreboding vistas of innumerable clusters of bare rock often separated by the narrowest of channels, which some primordial giant of fable has scattered all along the coast to protect the mainland from the onslaughts of tide and breakers, and so maintain the integrity of the rugged country over which Beowulf once held sway. This forbidding coast has, however, many compensating advantages, and if only you explore it during the summer months with a certain amount of thoroughness it will never fail to appeal to any one who loves wild scenery. To see it at its best you should of course visit it when the sky is azure blue and the waves are beating against the rocky red granite islands of the Skärgård, encircling them with snow-white foam, while the sun is transfiguring even their most forbidding boulder into a dream of beauty. But even if conditions are not as favourable, you may, if you wander a little far afield, find concealed here and there among the fjords and skerries many enchanting valleys and little coves where trees grow luxuriantly and which are so protected from wind and storm that even the most exacting lover of warmth and sunshine will in summer imagine he has been transported to a more southern clime, without too much stretching of his imagination. Arid and grey-looking as the greater part of the mountain landscape may be, the restful green of pine and fir is never entirely absent; and while there is also the cool grey of crag and peak to delight the eye, even the wildest and most rugged mountain feature feels ever companionably close—not immeasurably distant and unattainable as the desert.

Of all the provinces of Sweden, Bohuslän is perhaps one of the earliest inhabited, while the entire coast is stamped with memories, memories of Viking days when in the fjords of the coast the Sea Kings fitted out their fleets for voyages across the North Sea, or legends concerning the great Beowulf, King of the Western Goths, whose name is so bound up with Bohuslän that I cannot refrain from describing his most legendary exploit more or less fully.

For many years Bohuslän had been looted and ravaged by Grendel the sea monster without being able to retaliate, when very unexpectedly there arrived in the land a strange boat full of armed men whose tall and fair leader was brought before Hrothgar, the King of the Danes (who was then ruling Bohuslän), and asked to account for his visit.

“We are of the Goths kin,” he replied, “Hygelac’s hearth sharers; my father is widely known; he is the high-born lord Eogtheow.” Hrothgar recognised him as Beowulf, and bidding him warmly welcome, escorted him to his castle. That same night, as the King was sleeping, the sea monster crept into the palace and seizing one of the sleeping knights, “bit him through the body, drank his blood, and tore off his flesh in great strips”. Then he advanced towards Beowulf, and would have treated him in similar fashion if that knight had not forestalled him by immediately attacking. Seizing the monster with his two hands, Beowulf tore his shoulder open with a superhuman effort, and breaking his sinews rendered him powerless. Grendel limped away mortally wounded and made for the cavern at the bottom of the lake which acted as his lair, leaving a trail of blood behind him, but succumbed to his injuries while seeking to reach the bottom of the water. Next night his infuriated mother left the cavern to avenge her son, and creeping surreptitiously into the palace succeeded in killing one of the Danes before Beowulf could prevent her. The sea monster then fled back to her lair, with Beowulf following hard upon her. Reaching the lake he dived to the bottom, and though seized by the monster as he reached it, was able to draw his magic sword and slay his opponent. He then cut off Grendel’s head, and returning to the surface took the trophy back to the palace and laid it at the King’s feet. Some say that this legendary hero is buried on a headland at Hronesnass near Gothenburg; others that Upland was his last resting-place, while objects similar to those that are depicted in the Beowulf Anglo-Saxon epic are shown to this day in both places purporting to have been discovered in the near vicinity.

We should be too obviously departing from the legitimate scope of this volume were we to enter upon any detailed account of the many other legends which deal with Beowulf and his exploits. They are legion. It must suffice to say that the student of folklore and mythology will find in Bohuslän an almost inexhaustible fund of old legends at his disposal, as well as an unusually rich store of relics from even the earliest period of antiquity. I have been shown burial chambers and vaults that were 4000 years old, and also inscriptions on slabs of rocks dating from 1500 B.C. which purported to reproduce human forms or animals, while the whole district also abounds in cairns and grave finds of stone, bronze, and iron, many of these dating from the Stone, Bronze, and Iron epochs, as well as numerous caverns and islands that are popularly supposed to have been the favourite resorts of sea monsters akin to Grendel.

As for the people of Bohuslän, they are in every respect worthy descendants of their Viking ancestors, and while their lives are not as equally colourful and picturesque, they are almost as constantly exposed to danger both on land and sea. A hardy and energetic race that turns to a seafaring life as by a natural instinct, they make ideal sailors, deep-sea fishing with its accompanying sister industries of salting and canning being one of their principal and most productive occupations, while those who are not employed in fishing earn their living quarrying granite, of which there are enormous quantities all along the coast, and shipping it to foreign countries. This occupation, though even more remunerative than that of herring fishing, entails even more risks, owing to the unfortunate tendency that charges of dynamite occasionally manifest of exploding at the wrong moment, large blocks of stone having frequently been known to crash down on groups of unfortunate workmen at the most unexpected moments.

While there are many pleasant excursions that can be made along the coast of Bohuslän and among the islands of the Skärgård, there are none which will give the visitor a more comprehensive idea of the coast in as short a time as that which may be made by taking one of those many small steamers that ply regularly from Gothenburg to Marstrand and Lysekil, and then returning on the following day by the Uddevalla route.

Leaving Gothenburg, the steamer turns sharply northward, and after passing a lighthouse enters the archipelago of the Skärgård, through which it now proceeds to thread its way, stopping occasionally in front of islands on which you see grouped near a landing-stage a number of fishermen’s wooden houses, all painted red. Nothing very distinctive about the scenery apart from its almost entire lack of trees or vegetation, but many of the skerries are so protected from the wind, and they evidently offer such remarkable facilities for boating, yachting, and swimming, that you soon begin to realise the cause of their popularity during the summer months, while the scenery and conditions which they present are of so novel a character that you find yourself enjoying every minute of your leisurely progress through the channels and straits that separate them.

[Illustration: MARSTRAND]

After about two hours’ journey you arrive at Marstrand, one of the most popular bathing resorts of the whole coast, and further meditations are cut short by the captain’s announcement that you have barely three hours for obtaining some food and also for seeing the town.

Marstrand is a city of great antiquity, perhaps the oldest in the province after Kungälv (a town with which we will make acquaintance as we proceed on our way to Stockholm by the Göta Canal route), and like many towns that have enjoyed great prosperity, has little to suggest its former greatness, apart from a few old seals and documents. Two centuries ago it was one of the richest cities in Sweden, owing to its thriving herring fishing industry, though an old writer informs us that “the herrings suddenly began to disappear owing to the ungodly ways of the fisherfolk, after which it rapidly declined and sank into poverty and oblivion”. It has recovered, however, much of its former prosperity, and in the summer months is thronged with visitors, mostly Swedes and Swedish-Americans, who delight in its excellent boating and yachting.

Built on a small island that is separated from another called Koön that immediately faces it by a narrow strait, it is dominated by an old dismantled fortress with a massive circular granite tower which dates from the seventeenth century and affords a splendid view of the skerries and surrounding country. As it entirely lacks even the most conventional form of amusement, it will hardly appeal, I fancy, to that class of tourist whose only conception of a seaside resort is based on their experience of English or French watering-places, and should therefore be avoided by any visitor who does not consider a bracing air, excellent bathing, yachting, and camping-out facilities as indispensable adjuncts to a holiday. In these respects, at any rate, few seaside resorts excel Marstrand, which incidentally possesses the additional inducement of a scenery that is almost unique in character, while its hotels are comfortable and their proprietors so up-to-date in their methods that almost before I had set foot on the island I found myself being rushed off to a particular hostelry (the Grand) and induced to order the most expensive and elaborate of meals. As Swedish hotel managers all appear to possess an equally ingratiating manner, I strongly advise people travelling with a light purse to fight shy of any but the cheaper hotels. In justice to the particular restaurant in which I was so dexterously inveigled I must add that, expensive as was the bill with which I was presented, the luncheon which I consumed was so excellently cooked as to almost justify the expenditure that it incurred, the genial manager informing me that he had served a long apprenticeship in France before the War, and that nowhere in Sweden except at the Royal Hotel in Stockholm would I find a more delectable and recherché cuisine. Judging from the many restaurants whose food I subsequently sampled during my stay in this country, I rather fancy he was right.

Passing on our way we then come to Lysekil, a busy little fishing town whose herring industry ranks next to that of Marstrand in importance. Like most Swedish cities of this part of Sweden its red-tiled houses are nearly all built of wood, but it is picturesquely situated at the mouth of the Gullmar Fjord and is not devoid of a certain charm, while it is equally celebrated for the efficacy of its medicinal waters and the excellence of its boating and bathing. Near the quays are innumerable sailing boats specially built to accommodate parties of twelve or more, in which one can comfortably cruise about the adjacent fjords for the whole or part of a day at a price that is obtainable nowhere in England, while the lover of sea-bathing will find every facility that he can desire, not only in the octagonal wooden bathing establishments that are to be found near the quays, but in the many clear pools that abound among the rocks, the Swedish Mrs. Grundy being very tolerant with regard to the costume that may be worn on these occasions. But Lysekil possesses many other attractions, and is not only an ideal place for fishing whether out at sea or in the fjords, but the centre for many interesting excursions in the neighbourhood. Over across the bay is the picturesque little village of Fiskebäckskil, while further north is the seaside resort of Strömstad, quite near to the Norwegian frontier, and beyond it the fortress of Frederikshald, where Charles XII. was killed as he was attempting to invade Norway. Near this fort, incidentally, is a small cove where this Swedish king launched his galleys “after having had them dragged twelve English miles across the land from Strömstad”, a feat which, according to Emerson, was only rendered possible by the material help and advice of Swedenborg.

The first part of the excursion being now completed, we then take the train for Uddevalla, and after a short journey, during which the scenery gradually loses its barren character, soon arrive at our destination.

Delightfully situated at the foot of wooded hills and in a countryside whose luxuriant fertility is a pleasant contrast to the barren wildness of other parts of Bohuslän, Uddevalla is a busy little place with a large paper-mill and other industries that was originally founded by Dutch settlers. And like Marstrand and Lysekil, it is thronged in summer by Swedish holiday-makers, its principal appeal, apart from its pretty setting, lying in the splendid opportunities for open-air life that, like other Swedish summer resorts, it is able to offer to the visitor. Boarding the Gothenburg steamer, we then pass through the Byfjord and begin a journey that if taken so as to include a sunset will often present you with entrancing vistas of promontories and rocky islands that appear to have been especially designed as settings for the sun. And plodding our way among islands that by this time have lost all sign of vegetation we deposit portions of our cargo at various ports and pass countless granite boulders strewn along the coast that, seen in a fading light, look like huge sea monsters on whose bare backs the waves are beating in vain. Slowly the darkness deepens, and as the sky assumes its many shifting colours the beams from the lighthouses of Gothenburg come into view and very soon we reach our moorings in the harbour.