The Argosy — page 387: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

300 | Under Northern Skies. ruin upon ruin. Singular-looking minaret towers uprose above all else, like the towers of an Eastern mosque. The houses, built on slopes, appeared one above another. The whole was encircled by ancient massive walls, with towers and gateways at frequent intervals. We might have been approaching some Eastern city, and almost expected to be greeted by dark-skinned Moors in flowing garb. At the landing-place a small crowd of some twelve or fifteen peopie had assembled. No flashing Orientals draped in abbas; nothing at all half as picturesque ; only ordinary Northern folk, calm and quiet : half of them town boys, always first on the alert in scenes of excitement. The hotels—such as they are in Wisby—had not awakened, and there was no one in this small crowd to represent them. We felt adrift, until the skipper and his old chum recommended us to a house where we should be comfortable, if nothing more. There was no restaurant attached to it, said they, but everything of that sort would be found in the town. So we departed with a guide, who certainly was the very opposite to anything Eastern or interesting. He led the way up the quay, through narrow turnings, over the most horribly paved streets in the world. All houses and windows were closed, doors barred against invasion. We reached our quarters, at the foot of a eer ascent, paved, as usual in Wisby, with stones like petrified eggs, hard end upwards. The house was closed. We knocked for admission. Hollow sounds echoed through a long passage, but no other response. We repeated the summons. Presently, distant, shuffling footsteps, a growl like the first roll of thunder, bolts impatiently undrawn, accompanied by what sounded like strong language, but was probably only a Wisby form of welcome and benediction. The door half opened, and a startling head of hair appeared, as if its owner had also supped all night upon horrors. This was the general factotum of the house; a man who would do everything or nothing for you, according as you made it worth his while. Our guide took up the tale. He was really a decent specimen, though not outwardly favoured, and in an unknown tongue soundly rebuked our lazy doorkeeper for his sluggard ways. He talked with such good effect that the sleepy eyelids opened their widest, the affrighted door did likewise ; we were admitted and escorted to rooms above, neat, clean and satisfactory. Our foothold in Wisby was secured. Gotland, it may at once be remarked, is the exact opposite to Bornholm. ‘The interest of the latter lies not in its capital, but is spread over the whole island. ‘The interest of Gotland, on the contrary, centres in Wisby, and the remainder of the island is comparatively uninteresting, barren, dreary and unproductive ; given over to great stretches of moorland, to peat fields, dark and gloomy, yet with a certain fine tone about them reminding one of the Shetland CORMICMOOOKS.(E©) m