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Updated: May 11, 2025
Going eight or nine knots an hour, we did not make much of the distance between Scotland and Norway. On the afternoon of Saturday, July 9, the wind dropped, and at the same time the lookout reported land in sight. This was Siggen on Bömmelö. In the course of the night we came under the coast, and on Sunday morning, July 10, we ran into Sælbjömsfjord.
There are, half way between Sand and Bergen and within sight of mighty Siggen, two small islands of rock, disunited by a narrow channel not three hundred yards broad, and between which the stream rushes from a northern to a southern direction with much fleetness and force.
They wore no covering to the feet or head, and their arms and shoulders were equally bare; and though naturally of a very fair complexion, their faces had, by constant exposure to the sun, been tanned; but, lo! when they smiled, their coral lips, curved like the bow that shot the arrow through the heart of Psyche, parted to show a row of teeth as smooth and pure as the snows of Siggen.
Siggen, the loftiest scion of Norwegian mountains, soon towered with conic form before and above us; and taking a shorter and different course than the one we had previously steered, we were spectators, as we proceeded, of the most magnificent scenery that the imagination could conceive.
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