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The steam whistle was blown again at
Sverholtklubben, and the sky was darkened as before. This
second display appeared even more wondrous than
the first, and exalted our first impressions of the
vastness of the living multitude.
At Kistrand we pick up some of our fellow
passengers, who had made an excursion to Magero
from Hammerfest; twelve hours in a boat, and
fourteen hours on horseback. They obtained better
food and sleeping quarters than they expected to
find, but were intolerably tortured by musquitoes.
They told us that during one portion of their horse
journey the cloud around their heads was so thick
that they “inhaled” musquitoes, and had to spit
them out of their mouths. One of the Germans, a
sturdy veteran Uhlan officer, accustomed to the
roughest of rough riding, especially during the
French war, was unhorsed by these small creatures;
i. e. in struggling against them he fell from his
horse and sprained his hand rather severely.
We were teased by them even on board the
packet, which they invaded at every station where
we halted, but they were blown away when we
steamed out to sea again. Why are musquitoes
so abundant in these latitudes? This question
puzzled me for a long time as it has puzzled others,
but I think I have at last discovered the answer.
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