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Title: Three in Norway - by Two of Them
Author: Lees, James Arthur, Clutterbuck, Walter J.
Language: English
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NORWAY
‘_A man is at all times entitled, or even called upon by occasion,
to speak, and write, and in all fit ways utter, what he has himself
gone through, and known, and got the mastery of; and in truth, at
bottom, there is nothing else that any man has a right to write of.
For the rest, one principle, I think, in whatever farther you write,
may be enough to guide you: that of standing rigorously by the fact,
however naked it look. Fact is eternal; all fiction is very
transitory in comparison. All men are interested in any man if he
will speak the facts of his life for them; his authentic experience,
which corresponds, as face with face, to that of all other sons of
Adam._’
THOMAS CARLYLE
[Plate: RUNNING THE RAPIDS BELOW GJENDESHEIM.]
THREE IN NORWAY
_by_
_TWO OF THEM_
With Map and Fifty-Nine Illustrations on Wood
from Sketches by the Authors
[Illustration]
London
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1882
_All rights reserved_
London: Printed By
Spottiswoode And Co., New-Street Square
And Parliament Street
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION xi
CHAPTER
I. The Voyage 1
II. Christiania 6
III. By Rail and Lake 14
IV. By Road 21
V. The First Camp 28
VI. Misery 39
VII. Happiness 45
VIII. Fly Sæter 56
IX. Sikkildal 62
X. Besse Sæter 72
XI. Gjendin 82
XII. The Camp 89
XIII. Gjendesheim 98
XIV. John 105
XV. Back to Camp 115
XVI. Trout 120
XVII. Reindeer 127
XVIII. Success at last 137
XIX. Gjendeboden 146
XX. A Formal Call 153
XXI. Fishing 167
XXII. Memurudalen 180
XXIII. A Picnic 191
XXIV. The Skipper’s Return 200
XXV. The Gjende Fly 210
XXVI. Disaster 224
XXVII. A Change 230
XXVIII. Rapid Running 242
XXIX. Rus Vand 257
XXX. Luck 273
XXXI. Not lost, but gone before 286
XXXII. A Last Stalk 295
XXXIII. Homeward Bound 303
XXXIV. Bjölstad 315
XXXV. Down to Christiania 327
XXXVI. Home again 336
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
_PLATES_
PAGE
Running the Rapids below Gjendesheim _Frontispiece_
On the Track near Sikkildals Lake _to face_ 59
On the Top of Glopit. Returning from Rus Lake „ 172
Baking by Night in Memurudalen „ 178
The Camp in Memurudalen „ 182
Death of the ‘Stor Bock’ at the Iceberg Lake,
Tyknings Hö „ 267
Good Sport, Bad Weather. The Skipper’s two
‘Stor Bocks’ „ 279
Cheerful! The Huts at Rus Lake „ 289
_WOODCUTS IN TEXT._
Norwegian Arrangement of Dishes at Table 10
Midnight Study of Stockings at Dalbakken 26
The Start on Espedals Lake 29
The Skipper’s first Cast 30
Our Camp on Espedals 31
Black-throated Diver 36
View of Bredsjö by Night 40
Sunset at Fly Sæter 54
Desperate Conflict between Esau and the Mosquito 58
Sæter Girls in a Boat on Sikkildals Lake 65
Old Siva carrying a Canoe up the Sikkildals Pass 73
Greenshank 77
Ring Dotterel 78
Scaup 80
Our first View of Gjendin Lake 83
Two of our Retainers: Ivar and his Pony 87
The Skipper returns to Camp disgusted with life 93
Throwing for a Rise 99
The Skipper takes Miss Louise for a Cruise
at Gjendesheim 102
The Huts at Rusvasoset 109
John returns from fishing in Summer Costume 121
John and Esau: ‘How’s that for high?’ 122
The two ‘Meget Stor Bocks’ (very big Bucks)
on Memurutungen 128
Hot Soup and Northern Lights 134
Esau and Ola return in Triumph 141
A careful Finishing Shot 143
The Colony at Breakfast in Memurudalen 159
An Exciting Moment in Rus Lake Shallows 168
Esau’s Best Day among the Trout 170
Esau stalking near Hinaakjærnhullet 188
John diving for his knife in Rus Lake 198
The Skipper about to astonish the Reindeer 203
Öla performing the Funeral Rites 205
Canoeing after Duck in a Storm 236
Andreas: our Retriever 237
Ola and Andreas capturing a wounded Grouse 238
John and the Skipper upsetting in the Canoe 240
Making a Portage by the Sjoa River 244
A Norwegian Fire-place 246
Jens and his Pony on their way over Bes Fjeld 252
A Stormy Crossing at Rusvasoset 259
Gloptind Rock, at the Western End of Rus Lake 275
The old stone Hut near Gloptind 280
A Night at Rusvasoset, after a Day at Haircutting 284
Rus Lake from the Western End:
Nautgardstind in the Distance 290
Glissading home after a blank day 293
Rus Lake from the Eastern End:
Tyknings Hö and Memurutind in the distance 294
Off! A Reindeer recollecting an engagement 295
Old Buildings in the Courtyard at Bjölstad 316
Barley Sheaves: A Norwegian ‘Atrocity’ 323
Three at Home Again 341
_MAP._
The Jotun Fjeld _at end of volume._
INTRODUCTION.
HISTORY.
‘Canadian canoes are the only boats that will do’ was our conclusion
after a thorough inspection of every existing species of boat, and long
consultation with ‘Sambo’ of Eton about a totally new variety, invented
but fortunately _not_ patented by one of our number.
Our party consisted of three men, who shall be briefly described here.
First, ‘the Skipper,’ so called from his varied experience by land and
sea in all parts of the world, but especially in Norway, whither we were
now intending to go in search of trout, reindeer, and the picturesque.
The Skipper is lank and thin, looking as though he had outgrown his
strength in boyhood, and never summoned up pluck enough to recover it
again. His high cheek-bones and troubled expression give one the idea of
a man who cannot convince himself that life is a success, which is
perhaps pretty nearly the view he actually takes of existence.
Secondly, ‘Esau,’ who received this name in consequence of the many
points in which his character and history resemble that of the patriarch
who first rejoiced in it: for our Esau, like his prototype, is
‘a cunning hunter and man of the fjeld;’ and we are sure that if he ever
had such a thing as a birthright, he would willingly have sold it for a
mess of pottage. Esau is short and joyous, and is one of those people
who never indigest anything, but always look and always are in perfect
health and spirits. It is annoying to see a man eat things that his
fellow-creatures can not without suffering for it afterwards, but Esau
invariably does this at dinner, and comes down to breakfast next morning
with a provoking colour on his cheek and a hearty appetite. His office
in this expedition was that of Paymaster; not because he possessed any
qualifications for the post, but because the Skipper had conclusively
proved that such employment was too gross and mundane for _his_ ethereal
soul, by constantly leaving the purse which contained our united worldly
wealth on any spot where he chanced to rest himself, when he and Esau
went to spy out the land two years before this.
Lastly, ‘John,’ so called for no better reason than the fact that he had
been christened Charles: he had never yet visited the wilds of
Scandinavia. John is an Irishman, whose motto in life is ‘dum vivimus
vivamus:’ he is tall and straight, with a colossal light moustache. He
generally wears his hat slightly tilted forward over his forehead when
engaged in conversation; and the set of his clothes and whole deportment
convey an idea that he is longing to tell you the most amusing story in
the world in confidence. He is no gossip, and the anecdotes of his
countrymen, of which he has an inexhaustible supply always ready, are
merely imparted to his listeners from philanthropic motives, and because
he longs for others to share in the enjoyment which he gleans from their
mental dissection.
The general idea of the campaign was that the Skipper and Esau should
leave England in the early part of July; fish their way up a string of
lakes into the Jotunfjeld, getting there in time for the commencement of
the reindeer season; establish a camp somewhere; and then that John,
starting a month later, should join, and the three of us sojourn in that
land until we were tired thereof. How we accomplished this meritorious
design we have tried to relate in the following pages.
GEOGRAPHY.
The map of Norway, apart from Sweden, presents an outline something like
a tadpole with a crooked irregular tail. The Jotunfjeld is an extensive
range of the highest mountains which are to be found in Northern Europe:
before 1820 A.D. they were totally unexplored, and at the present time
they are still perfectly wild and desolate, their summits covered with
eternal ice and snow, and even their valleys uninhabited. That part of
the Jotunfjeld which we intended to make our goal and headquarters is
situated about the middle of the tadpole’s body, and nearly equidistant
from Throndhjem and Christiania.
LANGUAGES.
It is customary when writing a book on any foreign country to scatter
broadcast in your descriptions words and phrases in the language of that
country, in order to show that you really have been there. We propose to
depart from this usage in the course of this work; but if at any time
the exigencies of narrative seem to demand the use of the foreign
tongue, we have little doubt that the English language will provide an
equivalent, which shall be inserted for the benefit of the uninitiated.
MATHEMATICS.
Foreigners have a curious prejudice which leads them to adopt different
systems of coinage and measurement from those in favour in England.
But shall a Briton pander to this prejudice by making any use of their
ridiculous figures? Decidedly not. What matters it to us that a
Norwegian land-mile contains seven of our miles, and a sea-mile four? we
speak only of the British mile. What care we that the Norwegian kröne is
worth about 13½d.? Shall that prevent us from always calling it a
shilling? Never! And shall the fact that it is divided into ten 10-öre
pieces (which are little nickel coins worth about five farthings each)
restrain us from alluding to them as the ‘threepenny bits’ which they so
much resemble? Not while life remains.
EXTRA SUBJECTS.
Some of the statements that will be found in these pages may strike the
reader as being, to say the least of it, improbable. We therefore wish
to explain that all the incidents of sport and travel are simple facts,
but that here and there is introduced some slight fiction which is too
obviously exaggerated to require any comment.
THREE IN NORWAY.
CHAPTER I.
THE VOYAGE.
_July 8._--At ten P.M. on the platform of the Hull station might have
been seen the disconsolate form of Esau, who had arrived there a few
minutes before. To him entered suddenly an express train, with that
haste which seems to be inseparable from the movements of express
trains, adorned as to the roof of one of its carriages by a Canadian
canoe. From that carriage emerged the lanky body of the Skipper, and
general joy ensued.
Then in the hotel the Skipper related his perilous adventures; how he
had crossed London in a four-wheeler with the canoe on the quarter-deck,
and himself surrounded by rods, guns, rugs, tents, and ground-sheets in
the hold, amid the shouts of ‘boat ahoy!’ from the volatile populace,
and jeers from all the cabs that they met (there are many cabs in
London); how the station-master at King’s Cross--may his shadow never be
less!--had personally superintended the packing of the canoe on a low
carriage which he put on to the train specially; and how the G.W.
charged four times as much as the G.N. He had seen John the day before,
and on being asked to ‘wander about, and get some things with him,’ the
Skipper had replied that it was quite impossible, as his time was
occupied for the whole day: but when John said, ‘I wanted your advice
chiefly about flies, and a new rod that I am thinking of buying,’ he
replied, ‘Sir, I have nothing of the slightest importance to do; my time
is yours; name the moment, and place of meeting, and I will be there.’
Then they twain had spent a happy day; for decidedly the next best thing
to using your own rod is buying one for another man--at his expense.
Poor Esau had no charming experiences to relate: he was a little
depressed because an intelligent tyke at Doncaster had looked into the
horse-box in which his canoe was travelling, hoping no doubt to see some
high-mettled racer, and had asked if ‘yon thing were some new mak o’
a coffin.’
_July 9._--We walked about Hull and made a few last purchases. In the
course of our wanderings we chanced to come to a shop, in the window of
which many strawberries, large and luscious, were exposed for sale. We
immediately entered that shop without exchanging a word, and the Skipper
said to the proprietress, ‘This gentleman wants to buy a quantity of
strawberries for a school feast;’ while Esau remarked, as he fastened on
to the nearest and largest basket, ‘My friend has been ordered to eat
strawberries by his doctor.’ After this a scene ensued over which it
were best to draw a veil.
At six o’clock we were safely aboard the good ship ‘Angelo,’ and saw our
baggage stowed. It consisted of three huge boxes of provisions, weighing
more than 100 lbs. each, two portmanteaus, two smaller bags, a tent,
a large waggon-sheet intended to form another tent, a bundle of rugs and
blankets, a large can containing all cooking utensils, four gun-cases,
seven rods, a bundle of axes, a spade and other necessary tools, and the
canoes with small wheels for road transport. Those wheels were the only
things in the whole outfit that turned out to be not absolutely
necessary. We did use them, but only once, and might have managed
without them.
When the aforesaid was all on board, there did not appear to be much
room for anything else in the steamship ‘Angelo;’ registering 1,300
tons; yet this vast pile was destined to travel many miles over a
desperately rough country in the two little canoes.
We were warped out of dock about eight o’clock, and steamed down the
Humber with a west wind and a smooth sea. It was showery up to the
moment of our departure, but as Hull faded from our sight it became
fine, and with the shores of England we seemed to leave the cloud and
rain behind.
_July 10._--The day passed as days at sea do when the weather is all
that can be wished, and the treacherous ocean calmly sleeps. The
passengers were as sociable as any collection of English people ever
are, and we spent the time very pleasantly chatting, smoking, eating
enormously, and playing the ordinary sea games of quoits and
horse-billiards.
The Skipper was much exercised in spirit because Esau had told him that
he believed a certain passenger to be an acquaintance of a former
voyage, named, let us say, Jones, and that he was a capital fellow. So
the Skipper went and fraternised with Jones, and presently, trusting to
the ‘information received,’ remarked, ‘I believe your name is Jones?’
and was a little annoyed when Jones replied, ‘No, it’s not Jones; it’s
Blueit, and I never heard the name of Jones as a surname before.’ Then
the Skipper arose and remonstrated with his perfidious friend, who with
great good temper said, to make it all right, ‘You see that man by the
funnel? That is a Yankee going to see the midnight sun; go and talk to
him.’ Now the Skipper has been in America a good deal, and likes to talk
to the natives of those regions, so he sailed over to the funnel and
tackled the Yankee. Presently, with that admirable tact which is his
most enviable characteristic, he observed, ‘I understand that you have
come all the way from America to see the midnight sun: it is a very
extraordinary phenomenon. Imagine a glorious wealth of colour glowing
over an eternal sunlit sea, and endowing with a fairy glamour a scene
which Sappho might have burned to sing; where night is not, nor sleep,
but Odin’s eye looks calmly down, nor ever sinks in rest.’ As he paused
for breath the Yankee saw his opportunity, and said, ‘No, I was never in
America in my life. I am a Lincolnshire man, and am going over to
Arendahl to buy timber. I have seen the midnight sun some dozen times,
and I call it an infernal nuisance.’ Here the Skipper hastily left, and
came over and abused Esau until he made an enemy of him for life.
CHAPTER II.
CHRISTIANIA.
_Sunday, July 11._--We reached Christiansand about six, and set sail
again at eight. There was what the mariners called a nice breeze with
us. Esau declared it to be a storm, and was prostrate at lunch, owing as
he said to attending church service, which was conducted under
considerable difficulties, members of the congregation occasionally
shooting out of the saloon like Zazel out of her cannon, or assuming
recumbent postures when the rubric said, ‘Here all standing up.’
However, we came along at a great pace, and arrived at Christiania about
nine at night, after a first-rate passage.
The Fjord was not looking as beautiful as usual, as there had been a
great deal of rain, and the storm clouds and mist were still hovering
about the low hills, so that no glories of the northern sunset were
visible.
We arranged that the Skipper should go straight to the Victoria Hotel
for rooms, as we heard that the town was very full, and Esau was to
follow with the luggage. Now there was a young Englishman on board, very
talkative, extremely sociable, remarkably kind-hearted, and overflowing
with the best advice. He had gone round the whole ship entreating every
one to go to the ‘Grand,’ as he intended to do, because it was by far
the best hotel.
Just as the Skipper had engaged our rooms at the ‘Victoria,’ in rushed
this guileless child of nature, panting from the speed at which he had
come from the quay, and the Skipper had the gratification of witnessing
his discomfiture and listening to his apologies for having lied unto us,
which of course he had done in order to get rooms for his own party at
the ‘Victoria.’
We say nothing against the ‘Grand’ because we know it not, but any one
who has once tried the ‘Victoria’ will go there again: the man who is
not at home and happy there must be a very young traveller.
This hotel possesses a spacious courtyard, surrounded by galleries from
which bedrooms and passages open, very much like that historical
hostelry in the Borough at which Mr. Pickwick first encountered Sam
Weller.
These galleries, and indeed most portions of the hotel, are made of
wood, and the building is not of recent date, for now no houses in
Christiania are allowed to be constructed of timber only.
In the centre of the court is a fountain which keeps up a gentle
plashing, very pleasant to listen to on a day when the thermometer is at
90 in the shade, as it generally is about this time of year in
Christiania. All round the fountain are small tables and chairs, ready
for the little groups who will assemble at them after dinner for the cup
of coffee and glass of cognac which form an indispensable part of a
Norwegian dinner. The dinner itself is, during the summer months, always
served in a large oblong tent in the same courtyard at 2.30, and a very
pleasant meal it is, if you are not too much wedded to English habits to
be able to secure an appetite at that hour. At short intervals down the
table large blocks of ice are placed, which perform excellent service in
helping to keep the tent cool.
Then there is another delightful resort, the smoking-room, which is
upstairs on an extension of the gallery overlooking the courtyard. It
also is covered by a sort of tent, in the roof of which divers strange
and gruesome birds and beasts disport themselves, or seem to do so: we
have reason to believe that they are stuffed, as we notice that the
flying capercailzie never seems to ‘get any forrader;’ the fox stealing
with cautious tread upon the timid hare, unaccountably delays his final
spring, but perhaps he is right not to hurry, for the hare does not
appear to be taking any measures for her safety, but sits calmly
nibbling the deeply dyed moss which it were vain to inform her is not
good to eat. But there are other birds which we _know_ are stuffed, for
we helped to stuff them, and these are the sparrows, which come gaily
flying in at the open side of the smoking balcony; hopping on the chairs
and tables, pecking at the crumbs on your plate, and behaving generally
in that peculiarly insolent manner which can only be acquired, even by a
sparrow, after years of study, and the most complete familiarity with
the subject. These birds are a source of endless delight to Esau, who
certainly gives them more than can be good for them; they eat twice as
much as the capercailzies, though the latter are considerably larger.
And if the sparrows are not enough entertainment, there are tanks of
gold-fish and trees of unknown species in pots; but neither of these
perform very interesting feats.
In this room it is the custom of the ordinary traveller to have his
breakfast and supper. Breakfast is very much like a good English one,
except the coffee, which is not at all like English coffee, being
perfectly delicious; but the supper is a meal peculiar to Norway, and is
generally constructed more or less on the following principles:
Caviare, with a fresh lemon cut up on it.
Norwegian sardines, garnished with parsley and bay leaves.
Cray-fish boiled in salt water.
Prawns of appalling magnitude.
Bologna sausage in slices.
Chickens.
Slices of beef, tongue, and corned beef.
Reindeer tongue.
Brod Lax (spelling not guaranteed), meaning raw salmon smoked and cut in
thin slices.
Baked potatoes.
Good butter, and rolls which no man can resist, so fresh are they, and
light, and crisp.
Drink: ‘salon öl,’ which is the best Norwegian beer.
[Illustration: Norwegian Arrangement of Dishes at Table]
This supper does not come in in courses, but the whole of it is placed
on the table at once; not spread out all over the surface of the board
as at home, but arranged in small oval dishes all round the consumer,
and radiating within easy reach from his plate, making his watch-chain
the centre of a semicircle, and thus entirely dispensing with that
creaking-booted fidget, the waiter. Such an arrangement cannot fail to
coax the most delicate appetite. There is no coarse _pièce de
résistance_; no vast joint to disgust you; but like the bee, you flit
from dish to dish, toying, now with a prawn, now with a merry-thought,
till you suddenly discover that you are unconsciously replete, and you
rise from the table feeling that it was a good supper, and that
existence is not such a struggle after all.
Altogether the ‘Victoria’ is a most charming inn, either to the
wave-worn mariner wearied by the cruel buffetings of the North Sea,
or to the weather-beaten sportsman returning straight from the bleak
snow-fields of the interior of Norway. We never stayed there for more
than two days, but for that time it is an uninterrupted dream of
delight.
_July 12._--We had a very hard day, buying all sorts of things to make
our stores complete: jam, butter, whisky, soap, and matches, Tauchnitz
books, and several other necessaries. The butter is most important, as
the best variety that can be got up country is extremely nasty; the
worst is unutterably vile, though it is quite possible to acquire almost
a liking for the peculiarities of the better kind after starvation has
stared you in the face. We were much put out at not being able to get a
small keg of whisky, as we fear that the bottles will fare badly in the
rough travelling we shall have.
Accounts of Christiania may be found in many excellent guide-books, with
which this simple story cannot hope to compete, so we will not attempt
to describe the town, since, though our knowledge of all the grocers’
shops is voluminous and exhaustive, we are totally ignorant of the
interior arrangements of either the churches or police stations.
The Skipper was very anxious to get some violet ink, because he is
firmly convinced that it is the only sort fit for a gentleman to use.
‘A man,’ he said, ‘is known by his ink;’ so we went into many shops and
asked for that concoction, always in the English tongue. Then we arrived
at a shop where they did not speak our language; and here suddenly,
to the intense surprise of Esau, the Skipper broke forth into a long
harangue in Norse, concluding with an extremely neat peroration. The
shopkeeper listened with respectful admiration, and then said, ‘No,
this is a stationer’s shop, we do not keep it.’ Then Esau gave way
to irreverent laughter, and the shopkeeper concluded that we were
attempting a practical joke, and we had to fly. The Skipper was not
angry, but very much hurt. It afterwards transpired that he had got
up the whole of that magnificent burst of eloquence out of ‘Bennett’s
Phrase Book,’ and then it had failed for want of two or three right
words; truly very hard.
We took our canoes to the railway station, and despatched them to
Lillehammer this afternoon; they had been a source of great interest to
all beholders since our arrival, especially to the Norwegians, who have
all a sort of natural affinity with any kind of boat, and seem very much
pleased with the combined lightness and strength of their build. As far
as we can learn they are the first of the kind that have yet been
brought to this country.
At the station they were surrounded by a crowd of inquiring Norsemen,
all of them wondering much what the name of ‘Nettie’ on the bows of the
Skipper’s craft could mean, and spelling it over very slowly and
carefully aloud. When we came away, one of them, evidently a linguist,
had just translated it into his own language, and was proceeding to
conjugate it as an irregular verb.
CHAPTER III.
BY RAIL AND LAKE.
_July 13._--We were engaged till late at night putting the finishing
touches to our packing. The last thing we did was to put our most
gorgeous apparel, and any articles not likely to be needed during our
camp life, into two portmanteaus, with strict orders to the Boots to
keep the same until our return. This morning, after an early breakfast,
on descending to the courtyard we found these portmanteaus roped down on
the roof of the omnibus which was to take all the luggage to the station
_en route_ for Lillehammer. This we rectified, and then set off to walk
to the station ourselves.
Now Esau is possessed by an insensate craving for anchovy paste, which
he considers a necessity for camping; he said, ‘It imparts a certain
tone to the stomach, and aids digestion;’ and added that ‘no
well-appointed dinner-table should ever be without it,’ which sounds a
little like an advertisement, but which he asserted was a quotation from
the rules laid down for his diet by Dr. Andrew Clark. In Christiania
these rules are not strictly adhered to either by Esau or the
inhabitants of the place, for anchovy paste is not to be obtained there:
this we know, because we went into every shop in the town, and asked for
it without success. And in this supreme moment, when we were walking to
the station with only a few minutes before the train should start, he
insisted on diving into a wretched pokey little shop, which had escaped
our notice yesterday, and demanding ‘anchovy paste’ in a loud English
voice. The Skipper devoutly thanked Providence it could not be bought,
as he declared the smell of it alone was enough to put a man off his
breakfast, and that he had such a morbid longing for hair grease, that
he could not have prevented himself from putting it on his head.
We got our baggage safely booked, and ourselves also, after a scene of
riot that was nothing like a football match, but something like
Donnybrook fair, and at last found ourselves in a compartment with five
other passengers, all of whom had a most inconsiderate amount of luggage
with them in the carriage, while we contented ourselves with four guns,
seven fishing-rods, two axes, one spade, four hundred and fifty
cartridges, two fishing-bags, and a pair of glasses. We calculated that
we saved at least one and fourpence by taking these things with us; and
although our fellow-passengers were rather profane at first they soon
settled down, and we had time to digest the fact that we were one and
fourpence to the good. It was very warm in there; outside the
thermometer was 92° in the shade; but we survived it, and after that no
mere heat has any terrors for us.
Two of our fellow-passengers were an Englishman and his wife, who had a
maid travelling with them through to Throndhjem; and when getting the
tickets the booking clerk informed them that there were no second-class
through tickets issued, ‘but,’ he added, ‘this will do as well,’ and
handed them one first and one third through ticket, which we thought an
extremely ingenious way out of the difficulty.
A railway journey is not interesting anywhere, and less so in Norway
than other countries, as there is not even the sensation of speed to
divert your mind, and keep you excited in momentary expectation of a
smash. Uphill the pace is slow because it cannot be fast; downhill it is
slow for fear of the train running away.
There are only two trains a day, one very early, one rather late,
but timed to arrive at its destination before dark, for there is no
travelling by night. Directly darkness comes on the train is stopped,
and the passengers turned out into an hotel, where they remain to rest
till dawn. From Christiania to Eidsvold is about a three-hour journey,
and during that time the guard came to look at our tickets 425 times.
He wanted to incite us to commit a breach of the peace, or to catch us
offending against some of his by-laws, and was always appearing at a new
place; first at one door, then the other, anon peeping at us through the
hole for the lamp, and again blinking from the next carriage, through
the ice-water vessel. But we were aware of his intention, and did
nothing to annoy him, and always showed the same tickets till they were
worn out, and then we produced strawberry jam labels, which seemed to be
quite satisfactory.
We reached Eidsvold at twelve, and went aboard the steamer ‘Skiblädner,’
where we found the canoes already nicely placed, lashed on the
paddle-boxes.
We had a delightful voyage up the Mjösen, on the most beautiful of
Norwegian summer days, in the best of Norwegian steamers. The Mjösen is
the largest Norwegian lake, about fifty-five miles long, and the
guide-books say it is 1,440 feet deep, but we had not time to measure
it, as we were busy admiring the scenery on the saloon table most of the
way. This steaming up the Mjösen is a very pleasant way of spending a
fine day: the shores are nowhere strikingly beautiful, but always pretty
and charming; the steamer goes fast, so that there is a sensation of
getting on and not losing time. There are intervals of mild excitement
whenever we come to a village, and take up or disembark passengers;
generally speaking they come out in boats, but occasionally we come to a
larger and more important place where there is a pier, or even a
railway, and at these the excitement is greater and the crowd quite
worthy of the name. The folks all take off their hats directly we get
within sight, and continue to do so till they fade away or sink below
the horizon; and we in the steamer all do the same. But the great
attraction is undoubtedly dinner, which is uncommonly well served in the
saloon, every luxury that can be obtained being placed before us,
concluding with wild strawberries and cream of the frothiest and most
captivating appearance.
Both on this boat and her sister the ‘Kong Oscar’ they take great pride
in doing things well, very much as the old mail-coaches which occupied a
parallel position in England used to do. The ‘Kong Oscar’ is rather the
faster boat, but we consider the captain of the ‘Skiblädner’ to be
lengths ahead of his rival, being a first-rate old fellow; on the other
hand, the ‘Skiblädner’ handmaidens are not comely, whereas they of the
‘Kong Oscar’ are renowned for their beauty, not only in Norway, but in
certain stately homes of England that we wot of. Esau lost his heart to
one of them two years ago, and still raves about her, though the only
way in which he endeavoured to win her affection was by sitting on a
paddle-box with his slouch hat tilted over his eyes, gazing at her with
mute admiration from a respectful distance, while she, alas! was totally
unconscious of his passion. He never told his love, because he could not
speak Norse.
We arrived at Lillehammer about eight o’clock, and went to the Victoria
Hotel, from the flat roof of which, after an excellent dinner, we
enjoyed a pipe and one of the prettiest views, in a quiet homely style
of prettiness, that any one could wish to see: just at our feet the
wooden village, with its many-coloured houses and their red roofs; then
some green slopes, and 100 feet below the vast extent of the Mjösen
lying calm and still and looking very green and deep, with the
landing-stage and deserted steamers apparently quite close below us. On
the opposite side of the lake highish hills covered with fir trees, and
to the right the river Laagen with its green waters hurrying down from
the mountains in a broad and rapid stream as far as the eye could reach.
Just across the road in front of the hotel there is a nice little stream
which turns a saw, and rejoices in a cool splashing waterfall, the
soothing sound of which refreshes us by day and night. The same torrent
can be seen higher up the mountain in a place where it makes some rather
fine falls, which only look like a long white rag fluttering amongst the
trees at this distance. This was the view we had at midnight, when it
was, apparently, no darker than immediately after sunset, and a good
deal lighter than it generally is in London at midday; the while the sky
was covered with the rich glow of colouring which can only be seen in
the Northern summer.
There were two Englishmen with us on the roof, with whom, aided by
coffee, we roamed over the greater part of the civilised and uncivilised
world--Australia, Canada, Japan, Turkey, and Ceylon, and we all agreed
that none of them can ‘go one better’ than a summer night in Norway.
CHAPTER IV.
BY ROAD.
_July 14._--We arose pretty early, wishing to get over thirty-eight
miles of ground before evening, which with the canoes would be a long
day’s work; as we had the natives to contend with, who by reason of
their dreadfully lazy habits are most difficult to ‘bring to the
scratch.’
We have decided, after long experience, that nothing that you can do has
any effect in hurrying them; but that it is quite possible to make them
slower by losing your temper, or taking any vigorous measures of
acceleration. They seem to get more deliberate and aggravatingly slow as
they grow older.
Norwegian boys are distractingly restless and full of energy, and look
as if they have had nothing to eat, which is generally the actual fact,
judging by an English standard of what constitutes food. At the age of
fifteen they become better fed, and their energy departs altogether,
and after entirely disappearing it keeps getting less every year.
A full-grown man does not seem to need much food, certainly not as much
as an Englishman, and prefers that of the worst kind, conveyed to the
mouth at the end of a knife-blade. We have never noticed any description
of food which he does not make sour, rather than eat it when sweet.
Bread, milk, cream, and cheese, jam and cabbages, for instance, are
articles which he prefers fermented or sour. He reminds one of the
cockney who complained that the country eggs had no flavour, or of the
Scotchman who, replying to the apologies of a friend in whose house he
happened to get a bad egg, said, ‘Ma dear freend, ah _prefair_ ’em
rotten.’
But his laziness and love of nasty food are almost the only bad
qualities that we have discovered in him. He is ridiculously honest,[*]
and his kindness and hospitality are beyond praise. This morning,
however, the laziness was the quality chiefly conspicuous, and though we
ordered our conveyances last night and got up early (for us), we did not
succeed in starting till twelve o’clock.
[Footnote: Save, perhaps, on three points--fishing tackle,
strong drinks, and straps or pieces of cord, which may be
committed to memory as ‘a fly, a flask, and a fastener.’]
We first despatched the canoes and baggage packed on a kind of low
waggon, and then got into a double cariole (which is something like a
gig) ourselves, and drove gaily off along the Throndhjem road. We did
not, however, follow it far, but turning to the left down a steep hill,
we crossed the Laagen by a long and rather handsome bridge, and then up
a winding road on the further side, all looking very pretty on such a
glorious day. The road became more picturesque the further we got from
Lillehammer, every turn bringing us to some fresh combination of
mountain, pine-trees, rock, and waterfall--especially rock. There are so
many tracts of country in Norway entirely composed of rock, that, as
Esau remarked, ‘probably no one will ever find a use for it all.’
We lunched at a nice little station called ‘Neisteen;’ a delicious meal
off trout, strawberries and cream, and fladbrod, for which they charged
us a shilling each.
‘Fladbrod’ is the staple food of the country folk in Norway; they make
it of barley-meal, rye-meal, or pea-meal, but the best and commonest is
that composed of barley-meal. It is simply meal and water baked on a
large, flat, circular iron, and is about the thickness of cardboard, of
a brownish colour, and very crisp. The taste for it is easily acquired
in the absence of other food, and with butter it becomes quite
delicious--to a _very_ hungry man.
At Neisteen there was a little shop where the Skipper at last obtained
his violet ink, but Esau was foiled in his dastardly attempt at
retaliation with anchovy paste.
After this our road lay along a lovely river for fishing, and we were
much tempted to stop and try a cast in it, especially as we saw natives
luring fish from their rocky haunts by the time-honoured Norwegian
method. They first settle how far they want to cast--say thirty feet.
Then cut down a thirty-foot pine tree; take the bark off it; tie a
string to the thin end and a hook to the string; stick a worm on the
hook, and go forth to the strife. When the fish bites, they strike with
great rapidity and violence, and _something_ is bound to go; generally
it is the fish, which leaves its native element at a speed which must
astonish it; describes half of a sixty-foot circle at the same rate,
and lands either in a tree or on a rock with sufficient force to break
itself.
But we had no time to spare, especially as for this stage we had a bad,
shying, jibbing horse, and a perfect fool of a driver.
Near the last station we passed three English people on the road, who
our driver informed us lived near there. He told us their name was
Wunkle, but the man at the next station said it was Punkum, and we could
not decide which of these two common English names it was most likely
to be.
Kvisberg, the last station on this road, was reached at 9 P.M., but
before this the road, which had gradually got worse all the way from
Lillehammer, had faded away and disappeared: and as the road got worse,
so did the hired conveyances; so that we were gradually reduced from the
gorgeous double cariole with red cushions with which we started, and a
horse that could hardly be held in, to a springless, jolting stolkjær
(country cart), and a pony that required much persuasion to induce him
to boil up a trot.
Kvisberg is situated, with peculiar disregard for appropriateness of
position, on the side of an almost unclimbable hill, about a quarter of
a mile from the place where the road departs into the Hereafter. No
English horse would take a cart up such a hill, but Norwegian ponies are
like the Duke’s army, and ‘will go anywhere and do anything,’ only you
must give them plenty of time. We mounted to the station, a wretched
little place, and being hungry ordered coffee and eggs, for which repast
we paid twopence-halfpenny each, and then at ten o’clock got a man to
carry our few small things the last six miles to Dalbakken, where we
intended to sleep the night. The walk was delightful, through a
precipitous thickly wooded gorge, at the bottom of which the river which
we had followed all day went leaping and foaming along, though it was
now reduced to a mere mountain torrent.
About a mile from our journey’s end we were overtaken by a Norwegian
student on a walking tour, who spoke a little English and walked with us
the rest of the way, as he too was bound for Dalbakken.
[Illustration: Midnight Study of Stockings at Dalbakken]
We reached it at midnight, and were not much gratified to find that it
was a very small poor building, and that our luggage had not arrived. We
had been hoping against hope that it might have done so, as we had not
seen it anywhere on the road. The next pleasant discovery was that four
other travellers had arrived before us and taken all the rooms. This
fact was first conveyed to our minds by seeing four pairs of socks
hanging out of the upstair windows to dry; at which sight we began to
suspect that things were going to turn out unpleasant for us; but at
last we got a room with one very small bed between us. We tossed for
this bed, and the Skipper won; so Esau passed the night on the floor, on
a sheepskin, and was very comfortable--at least he said so next morning.
The natives here were much impressed by all our habits and belongings,
but especially by our sleeping with the window open; wherefore the old
woman of the Sæter[*] below kept bouncing into the room at intervals
during the night to see us perform that heroic feat; and though it was
flattering to be made so much of, still fame has its drawbacks.
[Footnote: A Sæter is a mountain farm, to which all the cattle
are driven during the summer, so that the lowland pastures can
be mown for hay.]
The general appearance of the place caused us to expect nightly
visitations from other foes, not human, but to our surprise there were
none.
Dalbakken is only three quarters of a mile from a lake called Espedals
Vand, where we propose to commence our cruise. It is beautifully
situated on a small flat bit of ground halfway up the north side of the
gorge: the hills on the south side not far away are so steep that they
could not be climbed by all the branded alpenstocks that Switzerland
ever produced. Looking to the east the gorge is very wild and grand,
covered with pine trees and steep crags, and no dwelling in sight; while
to the west, in which direction Espedals Vand lies, it is more level and
open, and slopes gradually downwards again, Dalbakken itself being the
highest point in the track.
CHAPTER V.
THE FIRST CAMP.
_July 15._--We slept well, and at eight o’clock the Skipper, always
first to wake, got up, and looking out of the window saw thence the four
bad men who had taken the rooms before us and hung their socks out of
the window, just starting on their journey, and looking as if they did
so with an easy conscience.
Some men can carry with a light heart and gay demeanour a weight of
crime that would wreck the happiness of less hardened ruffians.
Then he turned his gaze in the opposite direction, and oh, joy! our
luggage and boats were in sight, and arrived directly afterwards.
The man in charge said he had travelled all night with them without
sleeping, and to judge from his appearance we imagined that his
statement was correct. He had been sitting on the Skipper’s bag for
thirty-eight miles, and from the state of its interior we calculated his
weight to be about twenty-two stone. He was very ill-tempered after his
mere trifle of a journey and vigil, and asked for more money on hearing
that he had three quarters of a mile further to go. This was very sad,
and we thought showed an unchristian spirit; but we sternly urged him
forward, and all ended happily on our arrival at Espedals, when we paid
him his money and a shilling extra.
[Illustration: The Start on Espedals Lake]
It only took us a quarter of an hour to get to the lake, and after
unpacking there and dismissing the men we put the canoes into the water,
and then put water into the canoes until they sank; while we sat on the
shore watching the trout rising all over the rippled surface of the
lake, occasionally eyeing our sunken canoes in an impatient, longing
sort of way, but never attempting to start on our great voyage.
[Illustration: The Skipper’s first Cast]
These tactics to an inexperienced ‘voyageur’ might look like the acts of
an ordinary lunatic; but it should be explained that the long exposure
to the sun which the canoes had undergone had caused them to leak badly,
and they required soaking to swell up the joints, before they could be
intrusted with our valuable property and persons. Besides this we were
hungry, and thought it a good opportunity for lunch, and had to make
some previously arranged alterations in the baggage with a view to
lightening it. As long as the land journey lasted, strength was the
chief object to aim at, but now lightness was of more importance. About
one o’clock, when we had got all our things aboard and were just
starting, a strong head-wind arose. This was always our luck. We decided
to make only a short voyage. The waves were fairly big, but the canoes
weathered them bravely, though they were very low in the water, and we
had to keep the pumps going (_i.e._ mop them out with our sponges)
during the whole voyage.
[Illustration: Our Camp on Espedals]
We landed not more than a mile and a half from the end of the lake, and
found a very nice camping-ground about ten yards from the shore on the
south bank, with what the poets call ‘a babbling brook’ close to it;
pitched the tent, and had a simple dinner of bacon, eggs, and jam, the
last dinner during our trip at which trout did not find a place. Then we
sallied forth in the canoes to fish. Esau was the last to leave the
shore, and as he paddled off he noticed the Skipper’s rod in the
familiar Norwegian shape of a bow, and found him struggling with two on
at the same time, both of which he landed, and found to be over 1 lb.
each. ‘First blood claimed and allowed,’ to quote the terse language of
the prize ring. Not a bad beginning, but we only got a few more about
the same weight. They came very short, but were remarkably game fish
when hooked, and in first-rate condition. We turned in about eleven,
when it began to rain a little, and slept with our heads under the
blankets, the mosquitoes being in countless multitudes.
_July 16._--It was a lovely morning, and the lake looked its best, but
it is not strikingly beautiful compared with many that we have seen. It
has high rugged hills on both sides, and pine woods down to the water’s
edge, and some small islands dotted about the upper end of it; but the
lake is rather shallow, the pine trees rather stunted, and there are a
good many wooden huts and sæters on the hill-sides, which, although they
appear to be mostly uninhabited, detract from the wildness of the
scenery.
The natives have one or two boats on the lake, and do some fishing on
their own account. To-day we saw a man engaged in the atrocious
employment of fishing with an ‘otter.’
Any natives who see our camp when rowing past come to shore to inspect
us and our belongings. They all adopt the same course of procedure. They
land, and stare, and say nothing; then they pull up their boat and make
it safe, and advancing close to the tent stare, and say nothing either
to each other or us. Then Esau says confidentially, as if it was a new
and brilliant idea (he has done exactly the same thing some scores of
times), ‘We’d better be civil to these fellows; perhaps they could bring
us some eggs, and they look pretty friendly.’ The natives are all the
time staring and saying nothing. Then Esau remarks in Norwegian, ‘It is
fine weather to-day; have you any eggs?’ To this the chief native
replies at great length in his own barbarous jargon, and Esau not having
understood a single syllable answers, ‘Ja! ja! (yes), but have you any
eggs?’ Then aside to the Skipper, ‘Wonder what the deuce the fool was
talking about?’ Soon the natives perceive that their words are wasted,
and relapse into the silent staring condition again, and after a time
and a half, or two times, they depart as they came. Sometimes they
return again with eggs in a basket, when we pay them well and give them
some fish; at other times they look upon us as dangerous lunatics, and
avoid us like the plague.
Esau learnt this habit of asking for eggs when we were on a fishing
expedition near the south coast of Norway. On one occasion there we
arrived at a small village, with an enormous quantity of trout that we
had caught in the adjoining fjord; and found a small crowd of about
fourteen or fifteen seafaring men, idly lounging round an open space
between the cottages. He first went round and presented each of those
men with two trout solemnly, without a word, as though it were a
religious ceremony. Then he began at the first man again and said, ‘Have
you eggs?’ and receiving a reply in the negative, he went on to the
next, and to each one of the group asking the same weird question.
The men, who had been chatting busily amongst themselves up to the
moment of our arrival, became silent; they did not laugh, but only
looked at one another; and one of them shyly felt in his pocket to see
if there were any eggs there whose existence he might have chanced to
forget.
Presently, as we could get no eggs, we moved off sorrowfully but not
discouraged; and the men remained looking after us silent and uncertain.
Thus the interview ended, and we regained our boat.
The beach here was capital for bathing, and we enjoyed a delightful tub
this morning, the more pleasant indeed because at Dalbakken we slept in
our clothes, and only had a soap-dish to wash in next morning.
Immediately after bathing we lit a fire, and the cook commenced
operations; the office of cook being held alternately by each of us for
one day. The man from Dalbakken brought us some milk, so we indulged in
coffee. When we have only ‘tin milk’ we drink tea; for though tin milk
will do fairly with tea, we think it wretched with coffee. After
breakfast we each took our canoe, and went fishing wherever the spirit
moved us, taking lunch with us. On a day of this sort, if the fish are
rising we have a great time, and if they won’t rise, we lie on the bank
in the sun and smoke, or sketch, or kill mosquitoes, and have a great
time in that case also, so that the hours pass in a blissful round of
enjoyment, and all is peace. Having each one his own ship we are quite
independent, only taking care to return to camp about six o’clock to get
dinner ready. After that there is nearly always a rise, and we fish till
about eleven, when we generally turn in, though it is by no means dark
by that time; and on a few occasions when the fish were rising very
well, we have fished on all through the night and into the next day,
losing count of the almanack, and conducting life on the principles of
going to bed when tired, and eating when hungry, so that, like the
Snark, we might be said to--
Frequently breakfast at five o’clock tea,
And dine on the following day.
There was very little wind to-day, and these fish being very shy, and
apt to come short, it was almost impossible to get them without a ripple
until evening, when large white moths began to show on the water, and
the trout became bolder; consequently we did not make great bags, though
the fish caught were very good ones.
At night there was one of the most lovely sunsets ever seen. The sun
went down right at the other end of the lake, so that we had an
uninterrupted view, with all the glorious colours of the sky reflected
in the water; and we agreed that the effects about half-past ten this
evening formed as good a symphony in purple and orange as a man could
expect to find out of the Grosvenor Gallery.
_July 17._--The morning began with a dead calm, but this soon gave place
to such a wind down the lake that we were induced to strike the camp,
pack the canoes, and proceed on our voyage into the unknown.
[Illustration: Black-throated Diver]
We started soon after eleven, lunched near Megrunden,[*] and saw there
two black-throated divers on the lake, which Esau pursued for some time,
but of course never got near them. Some of the dives they made to avoid
his advancing canoe seemed to be about half a mile in length. Just below
Böle we caught several fish, but kept paddling on with our favourable
wind, casting every now and then in likely places, and soon came to a
rapid with a rough bridge thrown across its upper end. The rapid was
very shallow, so that we did not dare to attempt to run it with loaded
boats, and had to make a portage. Even then we got a few bumps in
running it, but arrived at the bottom all right. Now the scene changed;
we were in a smaller and narrower part of the valley; buildings had
entirely disappeared; there was nothing to be seen but gloomy pine
forests and black-looking mountains: the weather also was quickly
changing, and evidently intending to be wet and stormy; so we pushed on
rapidly, one coasting on each side of the lake till we reached its
further extremity, where Esau was nearly swamped crossing the waves, as
the wind began to blow harder every minute. Soon the rain was upon us,
while we looked for a camping-ground but found none, as the shores were
everywhere very swampy for a quarter of a mile inland. At length we came
to a second rapid, where the natives have thrown a clumsy weir across
for some unknown purpose, and here we found a fairly dry spot, made our
portage in heavy rain and wind, with a great deal of groaning, misery,
and brandy and water; pitched the tent, and after struggling for about
half an hour, got a dyspeptic fire to fizzle, and so cooked some fish
and eggs, and then had tea in the tent. After this we were a little more
comfortable, as it was very nice and dry inside; but it was midnight
before we had finished all our portage, got the canoes down into the
next lake, and made everything snug for the night, so that we were quite
exhausted, as our day had commenced at seven A.M. The mosquitoes were
more numerous here than at any place we have yet seen.
[Footnote: The various places mentioned on the voyage are not
villages, as one might imagine from the dot that marks them on
the Ordnance map, but generally only a single one-roomed log hut,
and for the most part not inhabited or habitable.]
_Sunday, July 18._--It rained all night, but as Tweedledum said of his
umbrella, ‘not under here,’ and a ditch we made last night kept our
floor quite dry. Lighting a fire for breakfast was a toilsome business,
but at last we found some wood dry enough to burn. It continued raining
in a nice keep-at-it-all-day-if-you-like kind of manner, so we resided
in the tent, and read, and indulged in whisky and water for lunch to
counteract any ill effects of the reading--for some of it was poetry.
Our tent was about three-quarters of a mile from the end of Bred Sjö,
and after lunch we both went in one canoe to reconnoitre the next rapid,
which is a long one down to Olstappen Vand. We found that it is quite
impracticable for canoes; the river simply running violently down a
steep place till it perishes in the lake; about a mile of rapid with
hardly enough decently behaved water in the whole of it to hold a dozen
trout. But there _were_ a dozen, for we caught them, one wherever there
was a little turnhole. How we were to get down that river was concealed
in the unfathomable depths of the mysterious Future.
CHAPTER VI.
MISERY.
_July 19._--It rained all night again and all day. This was dreadful,
and not at all like Norway.
We have always made a rule that we may fish on Sunday, but not shoot.
Some people draw an even finer distinction, and say it is allowable to
shoot with a rifle, but not with a gun: this we have always thought too
subtle. Now yesterday was Sunday, and Esau having observed two divers on
the lake while the Skipper was out fishing, went and secreted himself
with a gun where he expected them to come over, hoping that they would
be alarmed by the other canoe on its return. This soon happened, and
they flew within forty yards of him. Both barrels were discharged, and
Esau returned to camp, muttering something about ‘birds of that kind
having immortal bodies if they hadn’t immortal souls.’ The result of
Sabbath-breaking was no doubt this miserable weather.
The camp to-day presented a most cheerless prospect. The canoes were
drawn up on land and turned bottom upwards; the kitchen stowed away
under a soaked sack; a very third-rate camp fire smouldering before the
tent, surrounded by old egg-shells, backbones of fish, bacon-rind, and
some apology for firewood; our two rods standing up against the gloomy
sky with the wind whistling through their lines, and all the scenery
blotted out with rain and mist, and scudding, never-ending clouds that
drifted down the valley, and gave very occasional glimpses of extremely
wet mountains. The cook, clad in a macintosh with a spade in his hand,
watching a pot which was trying to boil on the spluttering fire, his
trousers tucked into his socks, and his boots shining with wet, would
have given any one a pretty good idea of the meaning of the expression
‘played out.’
[Illustration: View of Bredsjö by Night]
The mosquitoes were bad here, and we spent much of our leisure time
making war against them. Esau’s favourite way of ‘clearing the road’ was
to bring in a smoking log of pitch pine, close up the ventilation, and
fill the tent with smoke. It forced us to quit, but not the mosquitoes,
as they appeared to fall into a deep and tranquil sleep, from which they
awoke refreshed and ready to renew the attack just a few minutes before
the tent again became habitable for human beings. Prowling round the
tent and squashing them with our fingers was perhaps the best plan, but
we were obliged to sleep with a rug over our heads and covered up at
every point, to avoid their intrusion at night.
_July 20._--Still rain, and nothing but rain; it stopped for an hour or
two last night, and the lake looked uncommonly pretty among its dark
surroundings, but the downpour soon began again.
In our desperation yesterday afternoon we arranged with a native, whom
the Skipper discovered, to bring a horse and sleigh to-day to meet us at
the next rapid, and help us down with our baggage to Olstappen.
Therefore we got up early and were down at the rapid about ten o’clock,
where we found our man waiting. The rain at this period was the worst
variety we have yet seen, and it has tried all kinds during the last
four days. We packed everything on the sleigh, covered it with our
ground sheets, and then put the wheels on our canoes, and followed down
the track.
There is a saw-mill halfway down the river which is simply perfect.
It is perched on piles over the middle of the stream, where it dashes
through a rift in a huge black cliff, and the water goes tearing past
down a long shoot made of logs, and plunges down at the end churned into
a mass of white foam, with noise and spray that quite bewilder one.
We got down to Olstappen at last, not without a good deal of hard work,
and paid our man 4s. 6d. On our way we met a Norwegian tourist, who was
on a walking tour with his sister, and had left her rained up, so to
speak, in a Sæter, and was strolling about in the forest to wile away
the time: he spoke a very little English, and we had a long talk with
him; as he had a fellow-feeling for us, and was quite ready to curse the
rain with us or any one else.
The Norwegians, men and women, seem to go a good deal on walking tours,
and probably know infinitely more of their fatherland than does the
average Briton of this island, the superiority of which he seldom fails
to impress on the long-suffering foreigner.
At midday we launched our canoes on Olstappen, which is a fine wide
lake, and not so rainy as Bredsjö, being several hundred feet lower.
We paddled across to the mouth of the Vinstra River, a rather perilous
undertaking, for where the wind met the river there was a nasty sea on,
and we shipped some water, but got safe to land. We could not find a
decent camp till we had walked a quarter of a mile from the lake up the
river. There we found a nice sheltered place, pretty, and close to the
river, made our portage, and pitched the tent, and with tea our drooping
spirits began to revive (who is proof against a hot meal of trout and
bacon, buttered eggs, and tea?), even though our clothes and equipments
were all wet through, and we had a damp change of raiment, sleeping
rugs, and boots. But now the wind had changed, and we looked forward to
the morrow as the wearied traveller always _does_ look forward to the
morrow.
There were many sandpipers at the mouth of this river; we caught one
young one, and had serious thoughts of taking its innocent life for our
tea, but better feelings prevailed, and we released it as an offering
for fine weather, and caught four trout instead.
_July 21._--Hurrah! the rain stopped during the night, and this morning
actually the sun shone out now and then. We heaped up a huge fire and
dried all our belongings, and then had nearly a whole day before us free
for fishing.
A voyaging day is a big business. We calculate that it takes us two and
a half hours to pack up from an old camp, breakfast, and get aboard
ship; but to pitch the camp in a new place takes much longer. First you
have to find a suitable place, often a matter of great difficulty in a
country like this, where level spaces a yard square are very rare; dig a
trench; pitch the tent, and arrange everything in it; collect firewood,
and make a place for the fire; see that the boats and everything about
the tent are safe from harm should the stormy winds begin to blow; and
then cook dinner. All this cannot be done under three hours of hard
work; so that if in addition you propose getting over a considerable
amount of ground, it is sure to be a long and toilsome day. But the
following day you wake up with a glorious feeling of duty performed and
pleasure to look forward to.
The Skipper, with a hankering after cleanliness, washed a lot of
clothes, and himself, having left the rain to perform the latter
operation for the last two or three days; but Esau, not being troubled
with any such absurd remnants of civilisation, went up the river
reconnoitring in his natural condition. He came back to dinner in a
perfectly rapturous state, having caught a remarkably nice bag of fish,
got a beautiful view of the Jotunfjeld Mountains, and found a waterfall,
which he said was the best in Norway, and therefore in the world. The
Skipper had tried the lake in the afternoon without success, so after
dinner we both went out and soon discovered the reason. Seven boats full
of natives were out with a huge flue net, which they shot in a circle,
and then beat the water enclosed till all the wretched fish were in the
net. We saw them get thirty in one haul, and besides this there was a
boat ‘ottering;’ and although we captured a few fish, it was obvious
that with all this netting it would be impossible for the lake to be
good.
CHAPTER VII.
HAPPINESS.
_July 22._--This was a really fine day, such as we consider proper to
Norway; no uncertain half-and-halfness, but a day when an untiring sun
shone down from an immaculate sky; and everything looked lovely. Our
tent was on a nice bit of turf close to the Vinstra River, which is
about as broad as the Thames at Eton, but with probably twice the volume
of water, and certainly three times its rapidity; it rushed past our
door at such a pace that no boat could stem it; and as far as we could
see up the reach it came down in an equally swift torrent, so that all
day and all night there was a swilling, rushing sound very pleasant to
hear, and creating a sensation of coolness in warm weather. Esau
considered it just the _beau ideal_ of a trout stream, for any fish
hooked in it gave a lot of trouble before he was safe in the bag. It
ran into the lake about a quarter of a mile from our tent, forming a
good-sized delta at its mouth. At the further side of the delta there
were some fishermen’s huts (from which emanated the seven boat-loads of
natives whom we saw yesterday netting), and thence a track leads up the
banks of the river to a lake called Slangen, two miles away.
The inhabitants of these huts came in a boat this morning to see our
camp while we were at breakfast inside the tent. They poked their heads
in, grinning and staring, and saying nothing. Then we did the honours,
showed them our most interesting possessions--American axes, fly-books,
knives, rods, &c., with all of which they were greatly impressed; then
one picked up a bar of yellow soap that was lying on a box, and they all
‘wondered much at that;’ then we talked to them for a brief space,
chiefly out of ‘Bennett’s Phrase Book,’ and considered the interview at
an end, but they _would_ not go, and remained silently staring at all
our movements. So at last we ignored their presence altogether, which we
have found the most effectual way of getting rid of a Norwegian peasant,
and they gradually departed one by one till only one was left. To this
man we gave a cup of our now cold coffee, which was not at all good,
especially when compared with the delicious coffee which is always
forthcoming even in the meanest Norwegian hut. He drank this, for they
consider it a breach of etiquette to refuse proffered food; and
immediately left, as if he remembered an engagement, having first
thanked us in a rather constrained manner.
We were glad when our callers were gone, for we had found them
‘difficult,’ as the French say; but we took advantage of their arrival
to make arrangements with one of them to bring three ponies and sleighs
to the other side of the delta to-morrow morning, when we hope to renew
our journey.
After this we both went up the river on opposite sides; for the Skipper
had become inflamed by a wish to see the waterfall which Esau discovered
yesterday.
One of the great advantages of Norway consists in being able to leave
your tent and all other belongings quite to themselves, even when you
know that there are several people about, and shrewdly suspect that the
place where you have made your camp is a hay meadow belonging to one of
them. We had a dim idea that such was the case here, not because there
was any grass, but because there were very few stones, and a Norwegian
mows down everything for hay except the stones. The Skipper came back
with a very pretty bag of fish; he had been up to the fall, and thought
it quite deserved all Esau’s commendation; and his opinion is worth more
because he has seen many of the great American falls and other stock
sights of the world. It is not marked on the Ordnance map; there is no
path to it, or near it, but you come on it suddenly by following the
river up through the pine forest, and on turning a corner see the whole
body of the Vinstra shooting over a cliff in one mad leap of perhaps a
little more than a hundred feet. Of course the height and volume of
water are insignificant compared with many falls, but the beauty of its
situation can scarcely be excelled; and to us its greatest charm is its
solitude and freedom from paths, tourists, and all the other unpleasant
attributes of show places.
Esau following up the north bank of the river was not so successful
fishing, and after crossing the Slangen River (which joins the Vinstra
about a mile above our camp) he struck across the forest to see his
beloved fall again, and try to sketch it. He came back in a bad temper,
saying that he thought Ruysdael and Turner could make something of
it--the former to do the water, and the latter the spray, mist,
rainbows, and roar--and he wanted to write home and get them to come out
on purpose; and when the Skipper suggested that they had given up
painting, he said it was a great pity, for he had not time now to do it
himself.
There is a corduroy bridge over the Slangen River, close to its junction
with the Vinstra, and over this bridge we shall go to-morrow: we had
intended to cruise up the Slangen and fish Slangen Lake, but we found
that it would be impossible to continue our journey from the further end
of it if we did so, and therefore decided to omit that part of the
programme, though we are sorry to leave out Slangen, as it is a
beautiful lake.
We have probably been repaid for the miseries of the last week by the
beauty of our waterfall, the volume of which has doubtless been much
increased by the exceptional rain of the last few days.
Early to bed--
_July 23._--And early to rise. We breakfasted soon after seven, and then
packed everything, and crossed the mouth of the Vinstra in two Norse
boats, assisted by two or three men who had come to help our horses and
sleighs on the journey. We had terrible difficulty in getting the canoes
placed in what we considered a safe position on the sleighs, but it was
done at last, and the motley caravan started about 10.30.
First the noble owners; then a man who had got nothing on earth to do
with the affair, then two women laughing and yelling like lunatics, then
a sleigh drawn by a large pony, and carrying two boxes, cans, guns, and
canoe; next some boys urging the large pony to herculean exertions; then
the organiser of the transport department, who was apparently a
professional fool, by the inordinate laughter which his every action
caused; then some more women, and a smaller pony and sleigh, with the
other canoe and all the rest of the luggage excepting one bag; lastly,
another man leading an extremely small pony and sleigh with absolutely
nothing on it, the man carrying the remaining bag for fear of tiring the
pony. This mob of loafers had arrived in boats from Svatsum, which is a
small village five miles distant at the north end of Olstappen. But they
only accompanied us for a quarter of a mile, when they all departed
except the three men, who remained to manage the ponies.
The pace was not very great, about a mile an hour, for these little
ponies insisted on stopping to rest every hundred yards when the path
was good, and every twenty when it was bad.
We followed the river till we crossed the Slangen bridge; after that the
path began to rise and get rapidly worse. We strolled along very
leisurely, sitting down from time to time to rest and admire the view.
The scenery was occasionally very beautiful, with the Jotun Mountains
gleaming white in the background; and the forest itself was an endless
delight, with its hoary moss-covered pine trees, and many-coloured
carpet of berry-bearing plants, and the delicious odours with which a
Norwegian forest in summer always abounds. In a fir tree here Esau came
upon a family of cole titmice, and another of creepers, all very busy
swinging themselves about, and creeping up and down the tree in search
of dinner. They appeared to take a certain amount of interest in his
proceedings, but showed no fear, and after watching them a long time he
put the point of his rod up to one of the titmice, which actually pecked
it rather angrily, but seeing that it made no impression took no further
notice, but returned to its occupation of collecting food. In the next
tree was a little spotted woodpecker which they call a ‘Gertrude bird.’
The story is so prettily told in ‘Forest Life in Norway and Sweden,’
that it shall be inserted here.
‘This woodpecker--or an ancestor of hers--was once a woman, and one day
she was kneading bread in her trough, under the eaves of her house, when
our Lord passed by leaning on St. Peter. She did not know it was our
Lord and His apostle, for they looked like two poor men who were
travelling past her cottage door. “Give us of your dough for the love of
God,” said the Lord. “We have come far across the fjeld, and have fasted
long.”
‘Gertrude pinched off a small piece for them, but on rolling it in the
trough to get it into shape, it grew, and grew, and filled up the trough
completely. “No,” said she, “that is more than you want;” so she pinched
off a smaller piece and rolled it out as before, but the smaller piece
filled up the trough just as the other had done, and Gertrude put it
aside too, and pinched a smaller bit still. But the miracle was just the
same, the smaller bit filled up the trough as full as the largest sized
kneading that she had ever put into it.
‘Gertrude’s heart was hardened still more; she put that aside too,
resolving as soon as the stranger left her to divide all her dough into
little bits, and to roll it out into great loaves. “I cannot give you
any to-day,” said she. “Go on your journey; the Lord prosper you, but
you must not stop at my house.”
‘Then the Lord Christ was angry, and her eyes were opened, and she saw
whom she had forbidden to come into the house, and she fell down on her
knees. But the Lord said, “I gave you plenty, but that hardened your
heart, so plenty was not a blessing to you. I will try you now with the
blessing of poverty; you shall from henceforth seek your food day by
day, and always between the wood and the bark” (alluding to the custom
of mixing the inner rind of the birch with their rye-meal in times of
scarcity). “But forasmuch as I see your penitence is sincere, this shall
not be for ever; as soon as your back is entirely clothed with mourning
this shall cease, for by that time you will have learnt to use your
gifts rightly.”
‘Gertrude flew from the presence of the Lord, for she was already a
bird, but her feathers were even now blackened from her mourning, and
from that time forward she and her descendants have all the year round
sought their food between the wood and the bark; but the feathers of
their back and wings get more mottled with black as they grow older, and
when the white is quite covered the Lord takes them for His own again.
‘No Norwegian will ever hurt a Gertrude bird, for she is always under
the Lord’s protection, though He is punishing her for the time.’
Whether this is the true reason or not, the fact remains that the bird
is never harmed by any one, and is as tame as possible.
We continued climbing slowly up the hill till about one o’clock, when we
came out above the forest on an open plateau covered with rocks, grass,
and low scrub: this was the Fjeld. At Finböle Sæter we stopped to
refresh on milk. The road--which had gradually dwindled from a decent
path to a sleigh track, then a footpath, a cow-path, and a goat-path,
just sufficient to swear by, or at--now lost itself altogether. The men
had been complaining that it was a ‘dole vei’ (bad road) soon after the
start, now they said it was ‘schlamm’--a very expressive word; and Esau
agreed with them, and said it was ‘damm schlamm,’ which does not sound
like proper Norsk; but it was such heart-rending work to see our beloved
canoes bumping and jolting along, every moment in imminent danger of
getting staved in, that to indulge in a few such Norwegian idioms was
only human; and we decided to walk on and spare ourselves the agony of
the sight: so, taking the bearings of ‘Fly Sæter’--which was our
destination for the evening--we rambled on across the fjeld--a splendid
walk, with some of the most beautiful mountains in Norway all round us.
We got on very well with the assistance of an Ordnance map and compass,
till we came to the river Hinögle, after passing Hinögelid Sæter. The
bridge here was not in the place marked on the map, so that after
crossing it we had some trouble in finding Fly Sæter, and might perhaps
have perished miserably like the Babes in the wood, had we not
opportunely met a mediæval fisherman in a red night-cap, looking like
one of the demons in ‘Rip van Winkle,’ who was going thither and
conducted us. We arrived at seven o’clock, and appeased our hunger with
the usual meal of trout and coffee, and _such_ cream!
[Illustration: Sunset at Fly Sæter]
The sæter was a long low house, with three little rooms and only two
windows. Its legitimate tenants were a very nice man and his equally
nice wife and three children; but there were some occasional visitors
here to-night in the shape of ourselves, our three men, the mediæval
angler, and another traveller, twelve altogether to be apportioned among
four beds; and to make matters worse, the rooms were continually invaded
by sheep, pigs, and goats, of which there were a large stock.
The Norwegians are so uniformly kind to all their animals, that their
tameness is really troublesome; they insist on going where they like,
and following one about begging for food like dogs, causing the Skipper
to exclaim,--
‘Ite domum saturæ, venit Hesperus, ite capellæ;’ which he translated--
Out of the house in the evening! Get out, ye goats of the sæter!
We slept in the cheese-room very comfortably, one on the floor, the
other on a good hay bed, and were warm for the first time for several
nights, as we have not had sufficient blankets in the tent. Where the
other ten people slept we did not inquire, but hoped they were happy.
Our men and sleighs did not arrive till 10 P.M., at which time a most
glorious sunset was going on, so that we could not attend to them at
once. The sky, at first blue and yellow, gradually deepened into purple
and orange, and finally the most brilliant red and almost black clouds,
the hills all the time glowing with exquisite tints. After it was
concluded we turned to the men, and were much delighted to find that
nothing was smashed so far: the men had been very careful, and took
eleven hours to perform a journey of ten miles.
CHAPTER VIII.
FLY SÆTER.
_July 24._--The morning was again beautifully fine, and the coffee at
the sæter was passing delicious, even for this country, where coffee is
always good. No doubt the chief reason of this is that it is never
roasted and ground till just when it is wanted, not only at the hotels,
but at the smallest sæters. The grinding of coffee and the frying of
trout are grateful sounds to the wearied traveller, and if the walk
across the fjeld has failed to give him an appetite, he has still the
chance of obtaining one from the fragrant aroma of the roasting berry.
This sæter is in a most beautiful situation, perched on a little flat
bit of ground on the mountain side, and looking down on a
wide-stretching sea of grey undulating hills, with lakes lying among
them dotted about near and far, and all the lower ground covered with
the everlasting pine forest. To the south can be seen the river Hinögle,
which runs out of the Heimdal Lakes, threading its way with gleams of
white through the dark green and grey of the forest and fjeld. To the
north far below in the valley is Aakre Vand, a beautiful irregularly
shaped lake dotted with fir-clad islands; while beyond, high up, there
can be just distinguished Aakre Sæter, and frowning over it the dark
mass of Aakre Kampen, a mountain of considerable height. Aakre Vand is a
lake that we had intended to fish after Slangen Vand, but as there
seemed to be no possibility of getting our property from one to the
other we gave up the notion. According to all accounts it is a good lake
for fish, and its shores are untainted by the habitations of man.
We started about 9.30, having paid 5s. 6d. for the board and lodging of
ourselves and our numerous retinue, including the price of a sack-full
of hay for our beds, as this was the last place at which we expected we
could get any.
After watching for a short time our valuables jolting, plunging, and
splashing over the uneven ground, covered with rocks, junipers, and
occasional logs and brooks, the wear and tear on our heart-strings
became too severe, and we decided to walk on to Sikkildals Sæter, about
four miles, and leave the baggage to its fate under the guidance of our
three charioteers. It took us till eleven o’clock to get within half a
mile of the sæter, and there we sat down and watched the track intently
for two hours: then two hours more--and we began to lose patience; then
another hour--and we began to lose hope also. Something must have
happened; either a canoe was smashed, or washed away crossing a stream,
or one of the sleighs was upset and broken, or they were bogged, or the
man carrying the bag had fainted, or his pony become unmanageable and
dashed through a shop window; or, most dreadful thought, the men had got
at our whisky and become hopelessly drunk.
[Illustration: Desperate Conflict between Esau and the Mosquito]
Another hour passed, and our small remaining stock of good temper went:
we were very hungry, and all our food was on the sleighs, and the
mosquitoes seemed to be even more hungry than we were. Hope deferred,
with nothing but mosquitoes to distract one’s thoughts, maketh the heart
very sick indeed: and these were most annoyingly large mosquitoes; the
finest brand that we have yet inspected, and with more strength of
character than the ordinary kind. We were so much annoyed with the world
in general, and each other, that we were obliged to separate, and Esau
retired for a short time to attempt a sketch. He came back very angry,
because just at the critical moment a mosquito had knocked his hat off,
and he had had a desperate and perspiring conflict with it under a
tropical sun; but eventually the brute was vanquished and its head cut
off, which he said he would have stuffed, to hang up in his ancestral
halls. He certainly bore on his face the marks of the struggle, so that
there seemed to be no reason to doubt the story.
[Plate: ON THE TRACK NEAR SIKKILDALS LAKE.]
Our state of despondency waxed worse and worse; we had not the slightest
confidence in our head driver; he was undoubtedly the Svatsum village
fool, for he talked all day, and the other men went into roars of
laughter at whatever he said, though the Skipper said _he_ couldn’t see
anything funny in most of his remarks; but possibly the Skipper was
jealous because this man made better Norsk jokes than his own. Besides
this, the fact that neither of us understood the language, detracted
from the merits of the jests.
Years rolled away, and at six o’clock something came slowly into sight.
‘Out with the glass!’ (the spy-glass). ‘Yes, by George! it is the men
and sleighs at last. Out with the other glass!’ and we finish the ‘wee
drappie’ that we were saving to the last extremity. They soon arrived at
Sikkildal Sæter with us, and we found that nothing had gone wrong, but
the men had been _very_ careful, and so had taken nine hours to make a
journey of four miles. The track certainly would be a disgrace to a
Metropolitan Vestry, and they managed well to arrive with everything
uninjured. We consider the village fool to be a most painstaking and
praiseworthy idiot.
At Sikkildal Sæter we got some food and called at a small house close to
it, where a Mr. B., a Norwegian barrister, was staying for the summer.
He is the owner of the Sikkildal Lakes, and we wanted permission to camp
on his land and fish in his lakes. He understood English as well as all
the upper classes in Norway do; and was very civil, giving us the
permission most willingly.
We have heard from a good many people that the wealthier Norwegians do
not like the English, and will not do anything to oblige them; but in
all our wanderings we have met with nothing but the greatest kindness
and hospitality from all classes. Several people have gone out of their
way to voluntarily offer fishing and shooting, and in no instance has
the slightest incivility been shown. Certainly Norway will compare with
England very much to advantage in this respect, though of course we do
not mean to say that similar conduct would be possible in England.
At about seven in the evening we got all our cargo shipped again and
started up the lower Sikkildals lake--having first paid our charioteers
3_l._ for the trip from Olstappen, three men, horses and sleighs,
sixteen miles over the rockiest, brookiest, and juniperiest country in
this world; and offered them whisky and water all round, including two
men from the sæter who came to our assistance when the smallest pony,
not being accustomed to the deceitfulness and treacherous wiles of this
life, got up to its neck in a bog close to the lake, and the man with
the bag followed it. However, they were extricated with no damage done,
as our provisions were all securely soldered up in tins. Curious to
relate, our three men did not like whisky, but just sipped for
‘manners,’ and only the two old men from the sæter would drink it; but
these two old men liked it very much, and drank all they could get--that
is to say, their own glasses full, and the other fellows’ glasses full,
and just a drop after that, and then just a taste to top up with. Then
we shook hands all round, and feeling in charity with all men, sailed
joyously away up the lake.
It was a real Norwegian night, with the warmth and light of the departed
sun still lingering on the mountain tops, and a midnight twilight
glowing in the valleys. We had a beautiful full moon to help us on our
way, so we went right to the upper end of the first lake, and found a
camping-ground halfway between the two lakes, which are about a hundred
yards apart. The portage took us some time, but we were full of energy
from the cool night air, so refreshing after the long hot summer day. We
dug out a nice level place for the tent, and got everything settled and
ourselves in bed about midnight.
CHAPTER IX.
SIKKILDAL.
_Sunday, July 25._--We arose soon after seven; not because it is our
nature to get up at that time, still less because we think it our duty
to do so; but because the sun made the tent so intolerably hot that
there was no pleasure to be derived from staying in bed any longer.
Naturally after this we were very cross, which the Skipper says all
really pious people are on Sunday morning; and he abused Esau
shamefully, because the latter wanted the eggs buttered and the Skipper
wanted them fried. Esau laid down the axiom that ‘no gentleman ever eats
fried eggs,’ in a peculiarly offensive manner, and proceeded further to
make ill-natured remarks with reference to violet ink; and the Skipper
retorted with the observation, ‘Wish you’d brought that anchovy paste.’
Esau: ‘Why?’ Skipper: ‘Because it’s just the stuff to grease your boots
with in a place like this; smells strongish, and keeps the mosquitoes at
a distance.’ Altogether we made ourselves as disagreeable as possible to
each other--just as we do in our happy homes on the Sabbath morn in
England. Fortunately Sunday only comes once a week.
Breakfast over, the Skipper devoted himself to the occupation of
greasing his boots and shaving, which he seems to do at the same time,
so that one brush may be used for both the soap and the grease; while
Esau did some washing.
We had some trouble in getting good firewood, for Sikkildals Vand is
more than three thousand feet above sea level, and consequently we were
above the region of pine forests, and had only the stunted birch and
juniper from which to obtain our supply. We divide the altitudes rather
differently from the system adopted by other great explorers. The lowest
belt is that of pine forests and strawberries, then comes the zone of
stunted birches, above that only juniper and bitter willow are found;
and the highest belt of vegetation contains only rocks,
reindeer-flowers, and moss, and then eternal snow.
Now birch trees do not make good firewood, for when they die they appear
to get water-logged, and never burn well. The juniper is the most
invaluable of all trees, for it will burn quite green; but at Sikkildals
Vand it is very scarce, and so it took us quite a long time to collect
enough dry wood to last our stay out, but it was done at last. We
carried one canoe across the spit of land between the two lakes, and in
it the Skipper went forth to get fish for the larder, while Esau took
the other canoe down the lower lake to get some milk from Sikkildals
Sæter.
The scenery here is very fine. The lakes are narrow, and highish
mountains rise on each side: those on the south side had snow upon them,
though this would disappear before the end of the summer, as we are not
yet in the regions of perpetual snow; on the north side there is a very
remarkable mountain called Sikkildals Horn, with a perfectly
impracticable front of overhanging rock, very high and rugged. There was
a constant rumbling and booming proceeding from it, as rocks from time
to time broke off and came crashing down; but our tent--though seemingly
under this cliff--was well out of their reach. At the further end of the
upper lake we could see an apparently impassable mountain ridge. Beyond
this, about four miles further according to the maps, was Besse Sæter,
a farm, or ranch, only one day’s journey from our final resting-place.
How we were to cross that mountain with our canoes and baggage, was a
matter only to be determined by prophets and other beings of a higher
order of intelligence than ours. Our friend Mr. B. thought it was almost
impossible; the Skipper boldly asserted that it _was_ impossible, and
requested to be allowed to die here; while Esau, with the sanguine
joyousness begotten of total ignorance, said of course it could be
managed. We determined to move to the end of the lake the next day, and
try the pass on the one following--barring earthquakes.
Esau had a most interesting voyage. His fishing was not very successful
at first, and he paddled steadily on towards the Sæter, overtaking a
boat quite full of girls, dressed in the very picturesque native costume
which the people in these primitive regions still adhere to, especially
on Sundays. The girls about here are rather pretty than otherwise, and
these were a particularly good selection, and of course all in their
cleanest and smartest clothes for Sunday. They _would_ stop to watch him
fishing, till he got quite shy, and gave up throwing till they rowed on.
[Illustration: Sæter Girls in a Boat on Sikkildals Lake]
Soon he came to a brood of pochards under the leadership of the old
duck, and spent half an hour trying to capture one by rapid paddling, in
which endeavour he was nearly but not quite successful. There were a
good many teal and pochards on the lower lake, and plenty of sandpipers
on the shores of the upper one.
At last he reached the Sæter, and found there all the girls of the boat,
and at least another boat-load and five or six strangers--quite a crowd:
possibly they had been having a church service, but probably not, as
they all seemed in the best of tempers, and were most amiable.
He got the milk, and coming back tried a few casts, and found that the
fish were rising properly; the result was nineteen good trout in about
an hour and a half. We had not been catching many fish lately; so after
his return to camp we concluded that this was the hour and we were the
men to revel in a fiendish glut of capture. So there was a regular
stampede in that camp, and after dinner we _all_ went out armed to the
teeth with rods and fly-books, and clothed in landing nets and Freke
bags, with our teeth firmly set and a bloodthirsty look in our eyes,
intending to struggle with the great trout in his native element or
perish in the attempt. . . .
About ten o’clock that night there might have been seen toiling wearily
back to camp under a cloudy sky and with a chilly blast a-blowing, two
forlorn youths, ‘sans’ fish, ‘sans’ hope, but still armed to the teeth
with the weapons of the chase.
However, we had now tried both lakes, and got some knowledge of their
capabilities. The upper one is, we think, the better of the two, but
more difficult to catch fish in. The Skipper got some in it to-day, and
they were larger fish than those of the lower lake, and a different
sort, more like the silvery trout of the Jotunfjeld, whereas the others
are the ordinary brown or yellow trout.
This afternoon Mr. B. and his wife with a friend came up in a boat to
see our camp, at which they seemed much pleased. We took them short
cruises in the canoes, showed them our various arrangements, and
endeavoured to be agreeable.
The friend was the manager of the government stud for this district, and
spoke English fairly. He told us that the government provides a certain
number of good stallions, which are turned out on the fjeld and run with
the peasants’ mares, and that they take great trouble to provide the
best that can be got, so as to improve the breed. He considered that
there are very decidedly good results.
_July 26._--A beautiful fishing morning, just beginning to blow up for
rain. The Skipper fished his way down to the Sæter for more provisions,
and had first-rate sport, catching twenty-two beautiful fish, mostly
over a pound. He had such an exciting time of it that lunch was
forgotten till three o’clock, a fact which spoke volumes for the
excellence of the sport, for we generally acquire a very keen appetite
every three or four hours so long as the sun is performing his daily
duty (of standing still while we circulate feebly round ourselves). He
came back to the tent, presenting rather a distended appearance, having
stuffed most of his pockets full of potatoes, and a packet of salt in
his hat; and while with his right hand he folded to his bosom a bottle
of cream, and another of milk, in his left he grasped a rod, a landing
net and paddle, and the rest of him was hung with fish. The Skipper
objects to making two journeys where only one is necessary.
Esau thinks that ‘flesh-meat’ is a necessary of life, so he took his gun
up the upper lake, and returned with the noble spoil of five sandpipers
which he had shot out of the canoe by creeping along the edge of the
lake, a most entertaining pastime.
There is an old ruined fisherman’s hut at our end of the lake, and this
had apparently been taken as a habitation by a family of stoats, which
Esau espied at their gambols on his return. Cartridges are precious
here, but the instinct of destruction of a stoat was too much for him,
and having chirped till two of them stood close together and a third
just behind, he fired into the crowd and mortally injured the lot. Poor
little things! It is rather a shame to kill them, for there is so little
game that they cannot do much harm, probably feeding chiefly on mice and
lemmings, which are very numerous; and they always look uncommonly
pretty playing about the rocks. No more graceful animal exists than a
stoat.
After dinner had been cooked and despatched we went forth to fish again,
and had some good sport; but presently lowering clouds settled down over
the surface of the deep, mosquitoes gathered round us in swarms, and a
few spots of rain drove us home to the snug retreat of the tent, where
hidden away under the warmth of our bedding we smoked in thoughtful
silence, and gloated over the day’s doings and our larder stocked with
fishes.
_July 27._--The day commenced with showers, and as there are no
inhabitants here to whom we can give the surplus fish, we did not like
to catch any more--for it is against our principles to waste food
wilfully, woeful want being too near and probable a state to be trifled
with--consequently we determined to move on, but first to bake some
bread.
This, in a temporary camp, is done by putting the kneaded dough into a
tin pot made on purpose without solder; this pot is then placed in a
hole in the ground in which we have previously kept a good fire for
about half an hour; before putting the pot in, all the embers and ashes
are cleared out, and then raked back on to the top of the tin and all
round it, and a small fire is kept going on the top. If well managed
this bakes excellent bread in about twenty minutes, but of course it
requires considerable experience and care to turn out really
satisfactory bread. When we get to our permanent camp we shall make a
proper oven.
To-day, when we had baked successfully, packed up our things, and were
taking advantage of a break between the showers to start, we were hailed
from the bank, and saw there old Peter Tronhūus, the tenant of Besse
Sæter (whither we are going) and father of Jens Tronhūus, our former
hunter, who is now getting what we require in the shape of food, ponies,
and men, and whom we expect to meet at Besse Sæter. Peter had a great
deal to tell us about all our affairs, which seem to be prospering under
Jens’ auspices. He talks English very badly, so the interview lasted
some time, and then we pushed off and paddled straight away to the
extreme end of the lake, where we found an inferior place to pitch the
tent, very damp and unwholesome in appearance, sadly in need of sanitary
inspection, but no doubt good enough for one night. We fished with fly
and minnow all the way, but took nothing, there being a good deal of
thunder round about; but Esau shot some more sandpipers.
Our tent is pitched at the commencement of an extremely vague track,
which we believe to go over our mountain pass to Sjödals Vand
(pronounced Shoodals), and to-morrow we hope to follow its wanderings,
if two men and horses--with whom we have made an arrangement to
transport us--turn up. These two men and horses are the sole inhabitants
of this very thinly populated district, so that we are at their mercy,
and if they do not come we must inevitably die of starvation after we
have eaten all our provisions and candles.
Late in the evening Herr B---- and a scientific friend who had just come
to stay with him, came down the mountain to our tent. They had been for
a short walking tour to Lake Gjendin--our future goal--where it seems
that a tourist’s hut of a superior sort has lately been built, and at
this hut several kinds of food are kept, such as tinned meats and beer.
B---- and his friend have therefore been there shopping. The news of
this hut is rather unpleasant to us, for Gjendin was chosen chiefly for
its wildness and remoteness from civilisation, and now we are haunted
with the idea that there may be tourists, and consequently no fish or
reindeer. On the other hand, it has been erected so short a time that it
can hardly have affected the country round about yet, and it will
certainly be convenient for us from a commissariat point of view.
We were just beginning supper when they arrived, but they would not
stop, for which we were secretly glad, as there was only enough soup for
two; so we had a whisky ‘skaal’ (health-drinking) instead, and they went
on their way full of beans and benevolence, as Mr. Jorrocks hath it.
We ‘whisky’ every one who turns up at camp, and as a rule they like it.
We are not much of drunkards ourselves, so we can afford to give it to
other people.
CHAPTER X.
BESSE SÆTER.
_July 28._--Our two men arrived while we were at breakfast this morning,
and brought two sleighs in the boat with them; these they deposited on
the shore, and then one of them departed into some secret haunt of his
own in search of a horse. The last we saw of him was a wee dot
struggling up over the mountain crest; and we began to feel what a
hopeless sort of task was before us.
When we had finished our breakfast there were certain remnants of food,
and these we offered to the other man, because he seemed to want
something to do. We left him in the tent with a frying-pan containing
two trout fried in butter, and a tin pot nearly full of soup. Some time
afterwards we looked in, and saw him eating greedily off his
knife-blade, and after a further interval we noticed that he had
finished; then we examined the culinary utensils out of which he had
been feeding, and found he had left the trout untouched, but the butter
they were fried in he had utterly consumed off the blade of his knife,
and also all the soup through the same medium. But there was not more
than a gallon and a half of the latter, so we did not grudge it.
[Illustration: Old Siva carrying a Canoe up the Sikkildals Pass]
Apparently he was like a giant refreshed after his meal, and seizing one
canoe he carried it up to the top of the mountain, and then came back
for the other and did the same with it; after this he returned again and
borrowed our axe, saying he wanted to make the path better for the
sleigh. He disappeared among the stunted birches, and we heard him
chopping and slowly getting further up the track for about an hour. We
naturally supposed that he was clearing away trees that obstructed the
path, but when we came to traverse that path ourselves, soon afterwards,
we discovered that he had only been filling up holes in the road by
felling trees across it. Now a road that can be improved by this process
is in a very bad state and this one was decidedly improved.
Just before we started an English tourist came down the mountain and
arranged with Siva (one of our men) to go down the lake in his boat.
He was the first of our fellow-countrymen whom we have seen since
Lillehammer, and proved to be the only one we met all through our trip
in the mountains.
After some time we perceived three dots wending their way down the path
again, and presently they arrived, proving to be our other man and two
extremely shaggy ponies; and after the complicated Norwegian harness had
been put on we began the ascent. The path was as bad as bad could be for
a short distance, but when the level was reached it became much better
than we had had hitherto; it was only the first climb up from the lake
that presented any difficulty. The canoes could only have been
transported as they were, on a man’s back.
It continued showery, but we had a very pleasant walk, and launched our
canoes on Sjödals Vand at about three o’clock. A short paddle across the
lake, not more than three quarters of a mile, and we were at Besse
Sæter.
Sjödals Vand is a long straggling lake, very much exposed to the wind,
and not in any way beautiful except for its wildness, as its shores are
almost treeless and rather flat. Its most remarkable characteristic is
the colour of its water, which is a light greenish blue, like a
starling’s egg, and stands out in striking contrast against the yellow
shore and dark mountain heights which surround it.
Besse Sæter is only three miles from Gjendin Vand--the haven where we
would be; and the snow-capped mountains, which have been gradually
getting nearer all the way from Olstappen, are now magnificently
towering above us on three sides.
The Sæter is a hut, built as they all are, entirely of wood, and only
inhabited during the summer months. The hut in which we are living is
not strictly speaking a sæter at all, but has been built for the
convenience of travellers, and the Tronhūus family are entrusted with
the duty of taking care of those who come hither while wandering about
this, the wildest and grandest part of Norway. The real sæter is a
larger building about a quarter of a mile from this hut, and higher up
the mountain. And further away still there is yet another building, or
collection of buildings, also called Besse Sæter.
Our hut has three rooms, two of which--a bedroom and eating-room--are
occupied at present solely by us: in the other room dwell two girls,
apparently guests of the Tronhūus. Peter Tronhūus himself and his
numerous family live in a one-roomed hut just opposite this. At present
the family appears to consist of two men, five women, and two children,
relationship to each other unknown.
Peter and his son Jens--who was with us on a former expedition--are both
away at present; the latter engaged in procuring various articles for
us, such as potatoes, men, ponies, and dogs, about which we wrote to him
from England; and he is expected back to-morrow.
In spite of the crowd of people living here, everything is beautifully
clean and tidy, and our eating-room looks very nice, with its floor
always covered with fresh juniper sprays, and a cheerful fire burning in
that most charming of fireplaces, the primitive Norwegian corner-hearth,
which is being rapidly superseded everywhere by horrid tall, black, iron
stoves, that look like coffins set up on end, and smell like flat-irons
and rosin when they are lighted.
We shall have to make this place our home until Jens turns up; and we
are not at all sorry to do so, for they take the greatest trouble to
make us comfortable, and the trout, fladbrod, and coffee are simply
perfection. Besides, we are only a short day’s journey from Memurudalen,
where we intend to camp, and there is nothing to be gained by getting
there before August 1, the opening day of the reindeer season.
After supper we sallied out, the Skipper with rod, Esau with gun, to see
what we could catch. Esau landed on the marsh at the head of the lake,
to try and circumvent some duck he had descried; in this he failed, but
shot a greenshank, of which there were several flying about.
The Skipper fished the river without success. Sjödals Vand is a fine
lake, but not much good for fishing, because of the great amount of
netting that is carried on in the summer by the dwellers in the Sæter;
nevertheless there are good fish in it, as we have seen many of two and
three pounds weight, that they have caught in the nets.
[Illustration: Greenshank]
_July 29._--A friend of ours began the opening chapter of his virgin
novel with the words ‘It was a thoroughly cussèd morning towards the
latter end of July.’ The same applied exactly to this morning: but the
arrival of Jens encouraged us; and Esau walked outside to look at the
sky; where, thrusting his hands in his pockets and lodging an eye-glass
in his eye, he focussed the heavens generally, with a cruel, inquisitive
stare; and shaking his head knowingly, indulged in a prophecy concerning
the weather--‘that the wind now being in the west, there would be
continuous sunshine for three weeks at least.’ Then he walked in again,
and we all shivered over the fire.
Jens arrived at breakfast-time, and after greetings had been exchanged,
reported all his achievements on our behalf. He had secured for us a
stalker, one Öla, a hewer of wood and drawer of water, by name Ivar (his
last office seems likely to be a sinecure, but we can work him double at
the first-mentioned employment), a horse, and a sack of potatoes; all of
which will arrive at Memurudalen in time for August 1. We hoped for a
dog for Ryper, but he had not been able to get one.
[Illustration: Ring Dotterel]
Esau is always bemoaning the law which prohibits him bringing dogs from
England; it is suspected that he has a large collection of useless
animals there, that he wishes to import into Norway and sell to the
guileless and unreflecting native. Unassisted by any of the canine
tribe, however, we have now accumulated what we call ‘a good larder of
bird-meat;’ for certain wild fowl were observed to-day to secrete
themselves in the marsh at the head of the lake, whither we followed
them with all our dread artillery, and we now have a lot of teal,
greenshanks, sandpipers, and a ring dotterel stowed away and engaged in
preparing themselves by decomposition for our consumption. Some of these
birds are almost unknown to the table of the ordinary Briton; but if he
will consider that our daily food depends entirely on what we shoot or
catch, we hope, as the writers of books say, ‘the kind reader will
excuse’ the sandpipers and dotterel.
We were wet through on the marsh, and not at all sorry to return to a
comfortable fire in a warm room, instead of the streaming sides of a
cold and cheerless tent. Shooting as we did above our knees in water,
the rain did not make any appreciable difference in our great wetness.
After the point of saturation is past, we have discovered that the human
frame is as impervious to moisture (external) as a macintosh.
This summer so far has been remarkably wet and cold for Norway, but we
have now the inexpressible consolation of knowing that they are in worse
case at home; for we have received our first batch of letters and papers
from England, which have been a fortnight _en route_.
_July 30._--Prophets are without honour in these parts; they are also
without truth, honesty, or any good quality or proper feeling. This day
is worse than usual, and the good people here have been going about with
blanched cheeks, whispering with bated breath of a great flood which
occurred in the time of one Noah. We spent all the morning trying to
teach the cows, goats, and poultry to walk two and two in case of any
emergency arising, and the Skipper--who was engaged in building what he
called a Nark--was repeatedly coming into the Sæter to ask how many
yards there were in a cubit. However, at lunch-time the land was still
visible, so we sallied forth into the marsh again, and secured some more
teal; and then Esau went off in his canoe after some scaup ducks on the
lake; and brought home two, after following them--according to his
after-dinner account of the struggle--for about six hours, while they
swam, and flew, and dived; and he paddled, and swore, and shot. They
appear to have roamed over the whole extent of this vast lake, seeking
safety from his unerring barrels. And he now points to a little hill,
far below the distant horizon, beneath which he affirms that he brought
the last victim to bay and slew him. He was absent on the expedition an
hour and a quarter; a canoe will go about five miles an hour; and the
lake is seven miles long. But we did not come out here to do arithmetic.
[Illustration: Scaup]
We settled not to go to Gjendin ourselves to-day, as the weather was so
very unfavourable, but we packed and despatched some of our luggage this
evening, and purpose following it to-morrow.
Before doing this we had a long interview with Jens Tronhūus, with the
main object of settling all accounts. Now a long interview between three
men who cannot speak two words of each other’s languages is a somewhat
intricate business, and would be decidedly amusing to beholders. How we
got through it is beyond the wit of man, but nevertheless the fact
remains that everything is beautifully arranged; we thoroughly
understand each other; both sides are satisfied; and we concluded
everything without the aid of that potent mediator, Whisky, the Great
and Good.
Besse Sæter grows upon one: the people are all so simple and kind, and
cook our food so well, that we shall be quite sorry to leave, even
though trout and reindeer are in prospect.
CHAPTER XI.
GJENDIN.
_July 31._--The morning appeared rather fine, so we packed the rest of
our baggage, and climbed the track which leads over the shoulder of the
mountain between Sjödals Vand and Gjendin (pronounced ‘yendin’). It is
rather steep, but nothing approaching the villany of the tracks near
Sikkildals Sæter, so the transit did not take long, and we got to
Gjendesheim about twelve o’clock.
Gjendesheim is a very good two-storied wooden building, with a large
dining-room, and about eight tiny cupboards of bedrooms; it has been
erected just where the Sjoa River runs out at the eastern extremity of
the lake, for the benefit of travellers, who can get food and lodging of
a sort there, and generally boats to take them up the lake. Ragnild--the
woman who presides over it--is very nice, kind, and attentive, and talks
English well. Her latter qualification hardly gets fair play, as not
many English people come here; and indeed the Norwegians who visit the
lake are not very numerous. From the book we can only see two English
names before us this year; and yet Gjendin is perhaps the most
beautiful, certainly the wildest and grandest lake in Norway, and is
well worth a visit from any tourist who has time at his disposal.
[Illustration: Our first View of Gjendin Lake]
It is eleven miles long; very deep; very blue, and on all sides rising
sheer out of the water for from 1,000 to 4,000 feet are vast black
mountains with snow-clad summits; for it lies in the very heart of the
highest mountains in Norway. It may not unfairly be likened to an
unfrequented and awfully desolate Lake of Lucerne.
At 3,200 feet altitude it is of course above the fir trees, and only in
a few sunny nooks along its sides can even stunted birches, juniper, and
willow earn a precarious living. It is at these places alone that there
is any exit from the lake; for along the greater part of its length
there is no level place large enough to pitch a tent; no vegetation
except berries and moss; and no possibility of scaling the frowning
cliffs by which it is surrounded. But there is a great fascination in
such a scene; and although its first appearance is almost repellent,
every moment of gazing seems to increase its beauty and awe-inspiring
grandeur.
At lunch here a great event happened; we had Salon öl (bottled beer),
and immediately bought the whole remaining stock, consisting of six
bottles. These we degraded by packing with the inferior baggage in the
canoes, and commenced the final stage of our journey, or
voyage--whichever is the right term.
About two miles from Gjendesheim, on the south shore, we came to a
waterfall which runs out of a small lake lying a short distance away up
in the valley. At the mouth of this fall was a small neat hut in which a
Christiania professor had just taken up his abode for a few days’
stalking; we stopped a few minutes to talk to him, and then paddled on,
trying a few casts now and then until we came to Memurudalen--our
intended camp.
It is about halfway up the lake on the north shore, and is a very pretty
little valley, profusely supplied with edible berries, surrounded by
thick birch covert, and with more grass than we ever expected to find at
this altitude; but it is by far the most favourably situated bit of the
Gjendin shores, as it is sheltered from the cold winds and gets the sun
all day.
We found a remarkably nice level bit of grass, screened by a rocky bank,
and with what the Skipper called ‘a brattling brooklet’ in front, about
two hundred yards from the lake. There we pitched the tent and made
everything comfortable, but of course we shall not decide whether to
stay here or not until we have tested its capabilities as reindeer
ground.
Beyond the purling streamlet, and about thirty yards from our front
door, the Memurua River goes tearing down, the colour of dirty soap-suds
from the mud which is ground into it by the mighty Memuru Glacier,
whence it springs. This glacier is about three miles from us up the
valley, but not in sight from our tent; in fact, the hills are so steep
that we are quite shut in, and can see very little except the
snow-fjelds and peaks just opposite to us across the lake. These peaks
spring from the highest plateau in Norway, which has an altitude of
about 6,000 feet, and both the plateau and peaks are almost inaccessible
to the hunter, as it is a day’s work to climb them, and any one doing so
would probably have to pass the night on the top. This is annoying, for
it is a capital place for deer.
An ancient hunter, some years ago, spent a long time in conveying with
incredible exertions to the top of the central peak, materials out of
which he constructed a windmill; then he descended and never went near
the place again, and his windmill scared all the deer away from that
table-land, so that they frequented places where a man could get to
them; and the cunning hunter was rewarded by many ‘stor bocks’ (big
bucks). But now the windmill has been destroyed by time and weather, and
we fear that the deer again roam there unmolested and unscared.
_Sunday, August 1._--It is our custom to rise on this day singing,
‘Come, rouse ye, then, my merry, merry men, for it is our opening day,’
but on this occasion it would not have been appropriate. We were not at
all merry, because it was Sunday, and raining; we were frozen in the
night, our men and potatoes have not come, and altogether we could see
nothing to be merry about, especially as the opening day having fallen
on a Sunday, we did not feel justified in going out to pursue.
So we devoted ourselves to the pleasures of the table. Last night we had
dotterel and sandpipers for dinner, this morning greenshanks, which are
very good birds indeed. There was also a large brew of a meritorious
composition known as Skoggaggany soup; the name is a little difficult to
pronounce, but the soup does not taste anything like it; it is merely
the Norwegian for a scaup duck. In England people have been known to
call scaups unfit for food, but here, under the perfectly awful
appetites that we have developed, the Skoggaggany soup has very little
chance.
After trying unsuccessfully to catch fish, we walked up the valley after
lunch to look for a hut which is marked on the Ordnance map, and to see
if there were any better camping-ground than the place we chose
yesterday. We saw some beautiful reindeer ground, but could not find the
hut or a camp.
[Illustration: Two of our Retainers: Ivar and his Pony]
On our return we perceived two men loafing about the tent, who we
naturally concluded were thieves and murderers, and the Skipper hurried
on to do battle with them to the death for the possession of our
greatest treasure, the Salon öl. But on his arrival the robbers did not
fly, but stood and stared with their hands in their pockets; so he
lifted his hat and said, ‘Öla?’ (for of course he might have been a Dook
in disguise); and one of them replied, ‘Ja;’ and cordiality being thus
established, produced the sack of potatoes and the cook, like a
conjuring trick, from somewhere behind him, out of his hat or coat
tails.
Then we went into all kinds of details with him about his and Ivar’s
wages, which he did not understand, and he replied at great length in
Norsk, which we did not understand, and so the interview concluded to
the gratification of all concerned. Öla is a big good-looking man,
rather too much of a gentleman, we fear: but Ivar is without doubt a
perfect ass, and will never be able to do anything in the way of
cookery, except perhaps boil a potato, and even in that enterprise we
consider it would be six to four on the potato.
CHAPTER XII.
THE CAMP.
_August 2._--The Skipper won the toss (he always does, chiefly because
the device on Norwegian coins is ‘sorter indifferent like,’ and when
Esau has called heads or tails, he looks at it carefully, and gravely
declares it to be the opposite), and was away eight hours wandering
about the mountains without seeing a living creature except two
buzzards, and hardly any ‘spoor.’ He returned to camp very tired and
rather cross, to find a delicious meal nearly ready cooked by Esau, for
the man whom we ironically call the cook has gone to fetch his horse,
for which we are to pay 1s. 2d. a day as long as we have it. The cook’s
wages are to be 2s. 4d. a day, and those of the stalker 3s. 6d. We
consider the latter cheap at that rate. He is a very tall man; very big,
very heavy, and very bearded, and we hire the whole of him for the
trifling sum above stated.
Besides cooking the dinner, Esau had been employed in rigging up the
waggon-sheet as a continuation of the sleeping tent by planting an
upright pole securely in the ground in front of the door, and connecting
its top with the old tent by a birch tree ridge pole: it thus makes a
very convenient place for all our large stores, and gives us much more
room in the tent. We had expected the men to sleep in it, but they
prefer living in a wretched little stone dog-kennel, which looks as if
fleas would swarm in it, and has been built by drovers, or some other
dirty people, for their lodging when they chance to come here: it is
about 200 yards from our tent, and, as the men prefer it, it is very
convenient for us.
The ground that the Skipper tried to-day seemed a first-rate reindeer
fjeld; this means an uneven tract of mountain country, too high for
vegetation, except occasional reindeer flowers and patches of gentian,
but not high enough to be entirely covered with perpetual snow: this
fjeld--where it is not snow--is made of rocks large and small, from the
size of a haystack to that of road metal, some of them firm, but mostly
loose, jagged, and sharp; the winter snow and frost leave them in this
condition by continually splitting and re-splitting them: they are dark
grey in colour, and at a distance look almost black.
What the reindeer can find attractive in such a place, possibly some one
can tell; we cannot. There is apparently nothing for any beasts of the
field to eat up there; but if you do happen to find deer before they see
you, they are certain to be feeding, and Esau thinks they are eating the
rocks; but the Skipper says it cannot be so, and inclines more to the
theory that they feed on their ‘young,’ like tame rabbits, or possibly
on their own blood, like the pelican of the wilderness. As for the
reindeer flower, which is supposed to be their staff of life, it
averages about half a stalk to the square acre, but possibly it is
possessed of many highly nutritious qualities, and a little of it goes a
long way. Anyhow, they thrive on their food, whatever it may be; they
are always very fat, and uncommonly good to eat when you chance to slay
one.
After dinner we tried all this portion of the lake for fish without
success, and coming back received the awful intelligence from Öla that
there are no fish in any parts of Gjendin except the extreme ends, and
the waterfall where Professor N---- is living. This is a dreadful blow
to us, for we always count upon fishing as our main employment, and fish
as our staple food; and if we cannot get any here we shall have to
leave. At present we have some which we brought with us from Sjödals,
but when they are exhausted there will be a mutiny in this camp unless
sport of some kind presents itself.
_August 3._--A curious accident happened to-day; there was no rain. We
have in vain tried to account for this phenomenon, and can only fall
back on the somewhat unsatisfactory theory that it is all used up. Esau
went after deer on the Rus Vand side, and came back very tired to dinner
without having seen any, but reported fresh tracks; he was full of the
glorious view that the fine day had given him. He had been close above
the Memuru Glacier, which is a very large one, and stretching beyond it
as far as the eye can reach is a sea of snow mountains, most of them
peak-shaped, but some domes or irregular precipices with immense
glaciers lying between them, and here and there the greenish-blue waters
of a lake distantly gleaming in the sunlight.
It is curious to note how the north and east sides of every peak are
torn and ragged, with huge masses of rock riven from them by the action
of the weather, while on the south and west they are comparatively
regular.
The Skipper spent the day in camp, completing the erection of the
outside tent. Our abode is now sumptuous in the extreme, as the new wing
holds all the lumber which formerly blocked up our bedroom. There was
some discussion as to whether we should call it the ‘Criterion Annexe,’
until we remembered that there are always policemen about that
celebrated building, and this decided us not to do so.
_August 4._--The Skipper went on to Bes Hö stalking. This is a high
mountain 7,400 feet above sea level. It is close to us, between Gjendin
and Rus Vand, and is one of the dome-shaped species.
The Norwegians call their mountains either ‘Tind,’ which means a cone,
or ‘Hö,’ a round top; ‘Piggen,’ a peak rather more jagged than a Tind;
‘Horn,’ apparently one steep side and one more gradual; and ‘Kampen,’
apparently a rough hill with nothing striking about its shape. Most of
the mountains round here are Tinden, the finest being Memurutind,
Skagastolstind, and Glitretind, the last over 8,000 feet, only surpassed
in height by Galdopiggen, which, though in sight of us, is beyond our
reach.
[Illustration: The Skipper returns to Camp disgusted with life]
From Bes Hö the Skipper got a good view between the storms of Gjendin
lying encircled by its enormous steep black banks of snow-capped
mountains, the whole of its eleven miles of length being visible at
once. Its colour is a creamy greenish blue, caused by the snow-water
which comes straight into the lake by scores of torrents, which collect
it from the various glaciers. The Skipper, who is always bubbling over
with poetic similes, said it looked like a cupful of very blue milk in a
crease of brown paper; but, beautiful as this idea is, who can take any
pleasure in scenery without a little, ever so little, sport to flavour
it withal? Certainly not the Skipper; so he came back from his long
tramp disgusted with life, and longing to find that Esau had played the
fool in his absence, so that he might be able to pick a quarrel with
him. Unfortunately Esau was provokingly amiable, and had been performing
acts of virtue, such as making soup, improving the tent, and swearing at
the cook the whole day, so that the seething volcano of the Skipper’s
temper had to content itself without an eruption. We did manage to get
up an approach to a row about the Memuru Glacier, which the Skipper had
visited to-day: he described its beauty and the extraordinary blue of
the ice, where the large crevasses near its lower end gave glimpses of
its real formation--for of course it is covered thickly with snow except
just where it begins to break up. Then he went on to say how curious it
was to think that this huge mass, covering square miles of ground, is
always moving onwards, and that no more powerful agent exists for
altering the arrangement of the earth’s crust than that cold, placid
field of ice. Esau said it did _not_ move. He watched it for half an
hour yesterday and it never stirred, and he even pushed it with his
stick without the smallest effect.
It is impossible to argue with a man of that kind.
Tyndall and Geikie being disposed of, we had a discussion in the tent
over the map, with the result that we determined to leave the camp for
four days in charge of Ivar; and we and Öla would go to Gjendesheim, and
live there, and drink beer, and catch fish until the 8th, when we
calculated that John ought to arrive; and we hope by that time some
reindeer will have sought safety from other guns by flying to the
sheltering embrace of our fjeld.
We always do our baking just before bedtime, when the men have gone to
their hutch, and in a permanent camp it soon gets reduced to a
certainty. We prefer milk to water for mixing with the flour, as it
makes the bread crisper and shorter, and it does not matter how sour the
milk is. This is most providential, as we have generally plenty of sour
milk. We send twice a week to Besse Sæter, distant about eight miles,
and the long journey does not agree with the milk, so that it is
generally turned before it arrives here.
Another important article of food is soup, of which we have several
varieties. When made of scaup duck, it is--as already mentioned--called
Skoggaggany soup; but our present brew is ‘gipsy soup,’ which is made
from potatoes, fishes chopped into small lumps, a square of ‘Kopf’s
compressed vegetables’--a most invaluable article--and all the bones
from the birds that we happen to be using. We never empty the pot, but
keep adding water and bones as fast as we consume it, and it simmers by
the fire all day. But when times are very bad, and we have no meat, and
are living on fish, our soup is then called ‘prairie soup,’ and is
composed of every scrap that we can collect--fish-bones; bacon;
potatoes; milk; dandelion, and sorrel; bread, and biscuits: and whenever
it develops any unusual flavour, we look suspiciously round to see if
that boot-lace or candle-end is missing, or if any of the tent-pegs have
been newly whittled. It is always very good, and we call it ‘prairie’
because of the dandelion, which is a prairie flower.
There is yet one more kind, known as ‘Argonaut soup,’ the recipe of
which was introduced from America by the Skipper; but our resources have
never yet been so low that we could not make something better than this.
_Recipe for Argonaut Soup._
Take a pail of water and wash it clean. Then boil it till it is brown on
both sides. Pour in one bean. When the bean begins to worry, prepare it
to simmer. If the soup will not simmer it is too rich, and you must pour
in more water. Dry the water with a towel before you put it in. The
drier the water, the sooner it will brown. Serve hot.
CHAPTER XIII.
GJENDESHEIM.
_August 5._--Such a lovely morning at last that we were quite tempted to
stay, but nobly stuck to our resolve, heaped everything we possessed
except rods, guns, and a change of raiment, into the inner tent, and
covered them with a ground-sheet; then packed the selected weapons into
the canoes, and sailed from these inhospitable shores.
Not far from camp we saw some fish rising under a cliff, and though it
was a dead calm, and the sun as bright as sun could be, we stopped to
try for them.
Esau soon tired of casting, and mentioning that ‘if _he_ could not catch
those fish no one could,’ paddled off to make a formal call on the
Professor, and ask if he had got any deer.
The Skipper persevered, and was rewarded with two fish weighing about
three pounds, and the most perfect fish for shape and condition that we
have ever seen. This was an important event for us, for it entirely
demolished Öla’s theory of the non-existence of fish here, and gave us
new hope for the future, especially as the weather has been so bad all
the time until now, that we should hardly have caught any even if they
swarmed.
[Illustration: Throwing for a Rise]
The Skipper is devoted to the sport of ‘throwing for a rise,’ which he
thinks the perfection of fishing. It can hardly be pursued with success
anywhere but in Norway, for only there do fish seem to rise greedily
after a constant succession of fine, hot, sunny days, with never a drop
of rain or cat’s-paw of wind.
The great charm to him is the extreme delicacy required. You _must_ put
on your thinnest cast, your smallest fly, and throw your lightest; and
unless you throw a very long line you have not a chance for the beggar.
Then, if he comes at you, you can see him through the calm clear water,
and watch the whole performance. You get a rather better chance where
two fish are rising close together, as there is some jealousy and
competition between them, and each of them is likely to rush at your fly
without sufficient meditation, lest the other one may get it first.
The Skipper has studied fish from a moral point of view, and says that
they are very much like men: and he invariably turns his knowledge of
their habits to good account. Throwing for a rise--in a lake like this,
where the fish run large--on a calm bright day is decidedly his forte;
his motto in fishing being ‘far and fine.’ Whereas Esau shines more in a
rapid stream than elsewhere.
The latter had a great time with the Professor, who he said was a
capital fellow, and gave him whisky which they drank ‘to better sport;’
and they both agreed that there were no reindeer to be found in the
district at present, and the Professor said he was going further north
if matters did not mend speedily.
After the fishing and visiting were concluded, we hoisted sails of
primitive construction, formed of a rug and a landing net, which, with a
fair wind, soon brought us to Gjendesheim.
We think this wind is the chief cause of our misfortune. When we were in
these parts before, the wind was always against us whenever we
journeyed; and in that year we had first-rate sport, both in shooting
and fishing. But this time the wind has always been with us, and we pay
for the luxury by getting no shooting and not much fishing. ‘No
mahtterr--a time will come.’
After food the Skipper with Öla went over to Leirungen--a small lake
about three quarters of a mile distant. Öla carried his canoe, and did
not like the job. It gives us considerable satisfaction to make Öla do
any work, he is so abominably lazy.
It seemed that the tide of luck was already changing, as both he and
Esau--who was throwing a fly on the river nearer home--brought in a few
nice fish.
Just before bedtime there arrived at the rest-house three Norwegian
tourists of the sterner sex, and a young lady the daughter of one of
them. The father was a barrister, and the other two were the Lord Chief
Justice of what they imagine to be Common Pleas, and a very thin,
dried-up student of theology. They all talked English, and the young
lady seemed anxious to practise the language.
_August 6._--After a gay breakfast Esau went his way to fish, while the
Skipper--ever devoted to the fair sex--offered Miss Louise a cruise in
his canoe.
The sun shone brightly as they moved over the quiet waters, and the fish
were too lazy to rise, but lay idly thoughtful at the bottom of the
lake. The Skipper was very polite to his charming companion, as she sat
in a state of blissful comfort amongst the rugs which he had placed for
her in the bows of the boat; and no sound was heard but the gentle plash
of the paddle in the water, and in the distance the Sæter girl calling
home the grazing cows.
[Illustration: The Skipper takes Miss Louise for a Cruise at
Gjendesheim]
But presently a cloud gathered over the mountain tops, and thunder was
heard rolling among the distant hills; a gentle breeze stirred the
surface of the water, and every lazy fish woke up to seek his food. The
Skipper longed to go and fetch his rod. He hinted at this, and at last
became impatient; but, by Jove! Miss Louise would not go. There she sat
and prattled on, charming, pleased with herself, and utterly unmindful
of the rising fish and the fretting Skipper. Time kept passing on, till
at length her father brought relief by appearing on the shore to call
her in to dinner; but then the Skipper had to get his food too, and when
he had bolted the humble but indigestible crust and cheese, and rushed
out again to seize his rod, he found it too late, as the lake was now
dark with clouds, and the fish had left off rising.
Soon after lunch it began to rain like a waterfall, and Esau arrived
with a lot of fish--spoils from the Leirungen Ocean, and the result of
Spartan indifference to the attractions of woman. There is a shining
moral in this tale.
He also brought a romance about a rainbow, which had been so close to
him that the two ends met at his feet. The rain hereabouts is very
thick.
The evening proved too wet to fish, and this indefatigable young lady
captured Esau, and after exhausting all the ordinary topics of
conversation, began to show him every kind of puzzle that the mind of
man ever conceived, puzzles with coins and puzzles with string; and she
puzzled him with matches, and paper, and corks, till the poor young man
became perfectly dazzled, and only longed for bedtime to put an end to
his misery. Then she asked him riddles, first English and then French.
The Skipper, apparently deeply interested in a book at the further end
of the room, overheard Esau’s answer to the first French riddle; it was
‘Je le donne en haut.’
Presently, when they went up to bed, the Skipper said, ‘I didn’t quite
follow your answer to that first riddle of hers. You said, “Je le donne
en haut.”’ ‘Oh! ah!’ answered Esau. ‘That’s idiomatic French, and means
a good deal that you don’t understand; I always use it to gals,
especially when they’re pretty.’ The Skipper coughed, and turned into
his bedroom without saying ‘good night.’
We have always been told that the Norwegian aristocracy particularly
dislike the English sportsman in Norway. We think, therefore, that our
fair friend cannot have been of very noble lineage. But she was very
nice and rather pretty.
She left early next morning, and Esau said he was glad she was gone, as
the Skipper was getting entangled with her.
CHAPTER XIV.
JOHN.
_August 7._--We began another day by catching a beautiful bag of fish,
and about midday were just starting to shoot our way over to Besse
Sæter, when a man came in sight stumbling down the mountain track
towards the rest-house. He was red and sunburnt, with a beard of about
three days’ growth. He was coatless, collarless, and apparently
exhausted. On his nearer approach we saw he was an Englishman, and
presently when a few yards from us we recognised--John! Not the smart
young beau we have always seen him in London; no longer the devotee to
society and his club, but an almost unrecognizable John, so sunburnt and
hot and hungry. Formal greetings were exchanged: ‘Dr. Livingstone,
I presume?’ ‘Mr. Stanley, I believe?’ and we rushed into each other’s
embrace.
Then we besought him to refresh himself on fladbrod, milk, and coffee;
which he did, largely. After this he became calm enough to give us a
brief summary of his adventures since he left England.
He had done the journey from Christiania in very quick time, and had
left all his luggage twenty miles behind at Hind Sæter, which is the
nearest place to us to which wheeled vehicles can get. From thence he
had started at five o’clock this morning. How he found the way is a
marvel, but by great good fortune he met a man when he was about three
miles out of the track, who put him right; otherwise he would probably
never have arrived anywhere.
He has brought additional stores for the camp, as arranged before we
left England, and we had left a note in Christiania asking him to call
at the shop in Vaage, and try to get a small stove for the tent, or at
any rate find out the price of one. Vaage is our nearest village, about
fifty miles distant.
When John arrived there, seeing the shop as he drove past, he descended
from his cariole and entered. The shop was full of people buying all the
necessaries of life; for in these villages there is only one shop, which
is a general store for everything. John was a little confused at his
first experience of a Norwegian shop, but at last pulled himself
together, and seeing a stove standing in the middle of the room,
intended for heating the place, he walked up to it, and stroking it
gently with his hand, looked round at the people generally and remarked,
‘Hvor meget’ (How much)? Dead silence not unmingled with awe followed
this observation; for those simple rustics thought there was a maniac
among them. This perplexed John, and as everybody was staring at him,
and he began to find himself in a remarkably tight place, he concluded
to make another remark, so asked in Norsk, ‘Have you any whisky?’ The
storekeeper having no licence looked horrified, and said, ‘Nei.’ So John
pursued his advantage by inquiring, ‘Have you any aquavit?’ ‘Nei’ was
again the answer, and an ominous whisper of ‘landsmand’ (the policeman)
was plainly audible. John thought he had asked enough about stoves to
quiet his conscience, and guessed it was time to quit that shop. So
rapidly regaining his cariole, he vanished before any of the crowd had
made up their minds what to do.
We kept to our plan of going to Besse Sæter, starting as soon as John
had finished his lunch, and got several teal and a greenshank on the
way. On one little bit of water we spied three teal near the bank, and
having both together made a most skilful stalk, got them all.
Arriving at Besse Sæter we found one of the two rooms occupied by two
Swedish ladies, who were travelling about by themselves for the sake of
their health. One of them spoke English well, and told us they had been
up several of the high mountains round, and intended to wander about all
the summer.
We three had to be content with the other room, and two beds; odd man
out for the whole one. Those who only had half a bed reported it rather
a crowd in the morning.
_Sunday, August 8._--Our object in coming to Besse Sæter was to break
the journey to a place called Rus Vand, where a Norwegian owns a lake
and hut: it is distant about two hours’ walk from Besse Sæter, and we
had a letter of introduction to Mr. Thomas, the owner, which we were
anxious to deliver, so as to obtain leave to fish in the lake, the
western end of which comes to within walking distance of our camp in
Memurudalen; and the fishing is remarkably good.
Therefore this morning we started to clamber up the steep mountain side
that has to be crossed between Besse Sæter and Rus Vand, and skirting
the shores of Bes Vand--which lies on a small plateau at the summit--we
soon found ourselves scrambling down over the loose stones, and through
the willow scrub that covers the uneven slopes approaching the east end
of the lake.
From our side of the river--when we reached its banks, while a boat was
crossing to fetch us--we saw several men, and a couple of
English-looking setters, a pointer, and a target fixed up about 200
yards from the huts, so that the place presented a very sporting
appearance.
Mr. Thomas received us very kindly, and at once gave us permission to
fish in his lake. Both he and his wife spoke English perfectly, as did
another lady staying with them, and as most emphatically did _not_
another sportsman also living there.
These two ladies and two gentlemen were all living in a little
two-roomed hut, each room being about nine feet square, and the doorway
about five feet high and two wide; the gentlemen’s bedroom being also
the kitchen. How the ladies managed to turn themselves out in such
faultless apparel was a mystery, but it was done, for we saw it.
[Illustration: The Huts at Rusvasoset]
It is a very plucky thing for ladies to come up here and live for a
month, even now when there is a wheel-road (of a sort) to within fifteen
miles, but the same thing was done by English ladies ten years ago, when
there was no road nearer than forty miles. Are their names not written
in the chronicles which adorn the walls of the hut, and carved on the
profile fishes which decorate the floor?
In the other hut--which is little more than a boat--there are living
Jens Tronhūus, our old stalker; ‘Siva,’ the man who carried our canoes
up the mountain at Sikkildal, and another native, also the dogs; besides
bottles and churns, grindstones, pack-saddles, saws, axes, and all the
other heterogeneous articles which accumulate in a place of this kind.
It looked full.
We found the party just sitting down to breakfast after a rather
unsettled night, as they had been roused about half-past two in the
morning by some one hammering at the door, and found it was a young
Norwegian, named, let us say, Coutts, who was making a walking tour, and
was more or less lost. They succoured him with coffee and other
refreshments and sent him on his way with Jens to guide him. Coutts’s
intention was to struggle on to Besse Sæter, but we had seen nothing of
him there.
We stayed some time at the huts, talking and looking at all the
memorable objects that were there under our _régime_ (as we had occupied
these huts and had the fishing to ourselves two years previously). There
was Esau’s celebrated ‘biggest trout whatever was seen,’ carved on the
floor; the Skipper’s favourite cast, and the ice safe that we cunningly
devised and constructed in the lower hut. The Thomas’s are in even worse
case than we, for like us they have seen no deer, and they have so many
more mouths to feed. However, they have any quantity of fish, for
Rusvasoset is as good a place as the Sjoa at Gjendesheim, which is
saying a great deal.
About one we commenced the homeward journey. Two of Jens’ sisters had
come with us, nominally to see their brother, but really--John
asserted--for the purpose of flirting with _him_. He was extremely
polite to one of them--though of course he could not speak to her--and
would insist on carrying her shawl and other impediments; and he
confided to us afterwards that ‘women were generally a good deal taken
by that sort of mute homage.’ She was a dear little girl, and we called
her the ‘Sæter darlen;’ which we believe to be the only Norwegian pun we
ever attempted.[*]
[Footnote: John said this pun might be elucidated with advantage
to the British public, as he did not believe any one could
possibly see it. Who cares? Down it goes, and we can assure any
one who likes to wrestle with it that it is something very good
indeed.]
The walk home to Gjendesheim is a long one, and although it was Sunday
Esau insisted on making a détour over the marsh with his gun, as he said
he had lost his knife there yesterday and wanted to look for it. He
arrived late at Gjendesheim with a satisfied air on his face; without
his trusty steel, but with his pockets thrust full of too trustful teal,
that had adventured themselves within his reach.
At Gjendesheim we found the young Norwegian who had roused up the
Thomas’s at Rus Vand, and perceived that he was not without some
peculiarities of character. Although the weather was as wet and cold as
weather could be, he was attired in a suit of white duck clothes like an
English mechanic; even his hat was of white duck, and Esau declared
afterwards that his boots were made of the same material; that he had a
cigar-case and cigars of it, and ordered white ducks for his dinner. The
appearance of his head caused us to be very anxious about any little
articles of value that we had about us, for it looked as if it had been
shaved all over about two days previously to our making his
acquaintance. He looked very strong, tough, and active, and no doubt was
so, for he had just performed a most extraordinary walking feat. He is
going over all the Jotun Mountains by himself, and yesterday morning he
started from a place an unknown number of miles away at 6 A.M. He walked
all day and all night, till it got dark, at which time he was somewhere
near Glitretind, in a country he had never seen, with only a vague
notion of where he wanted to get to and a pocket compass to do it with.
The country about there is perfectly awful to walk over even by day; but
he kept at it through the dark, following a torrent up till he crossed
the watershed, and following another torrent down till he got to Rus
Vand, and staggered into the hut there at 2.30 A.M. almost fainting, for
he had had nothing to eat all day: true, he might have got fladbrod at
the sæters during the day, but he said he did not care for fladbrod:
certainly, he had plenty of chocolate in his knapsack, but he was tired
of chocolate. At Rus Vand he got some coffee, as Thomas told us; and
then he walked over the mountain with Jens to Besse Sæter, intending to
sleep there: but we were snoring at our ease in all the beds of Besse
Sæter, and he hated sleeping on floors, so he walked on again to
Gjendesheim, arriving there at half-past five this morning.
Then he produced his knapsack, which he said weighed twenty-five lbs.:
it seemed to be chiefly filled with packets of most delicious chocolate,
some of which he gave us.
We thought him a first-rate fellow, but certainly a little peculiar.
He has been all over the world, and is great at natural history, having
stuffed many birds in foreign countries for the museum at Christiania.
The Skipper had the next room to his, and told us that at bedtime he
washed himself all over, cleaned his teeth, and brushed his hair: he
then stayed in bed till eleven o’clock next morning, when he rose and
went through the whole performance again. Now we did not mind him
washing, or brushing his teeth; we even respect him for doing it; but
brushing his hair was a simple insult to common sense, and a wicked
waste of time; for not a bristle on his head--whether hair, moustache,
or beard--was more than an eighth of an inch long, and all of it was
much stiffer than any hair-brush yet made. It was suggested that perhaps
he was only combing his hair-brush with his head; and with this
explanation we had to rest content.
We luxuriated on meat to-night, for they have actually caught and killed
a sheep.
We fish with considerable success now at every odd moment of the day, as
the canoes are moored to the shore, not six yards from the house; and it
takes no time to get into them and push out into the deep lake, or hover
about the brink of the long rapids where the lake begins to be a river.
CHAPTER XV.
BACK TO CAMP.
_August 9._--The morning was again very wet, but we are men of great
decision and firmness; what our friends call ‘obstinate’ if they are
civil, and ‘pig-headed’ when they want to be disagreeable, as friends
usually do.
Therefore we started for the camp after lunch: that is to say, the
Skipper and Esau started, as John remained to await the arrival of his
baggage, for which Ivar had been despatched. At present his wardrobe is
not very extensive, and he will perhaps be more comfortably fixed after
the arrival of his valise. He has one coat, one flannel shirt without
collar, one pair of trousers, socks, and boots, one pipe, one cap; one
fishing rod, line, and fly-book; one watch-chain, and a newspaper of
July 23.
About two miles from Gjendesheim on the north side of the lake there is
an apparently perpendicular cliff, half a mile long and over 1,000 feet
high: this is called the Beseggen, and at the top of it lies Bes Vand,
so close to the edge of the cliff that it seems impossible to believe
that the lake is 1,000 feet above Gjendin, with nothing but a narrow
strip of rock to hold it within its bounds, and yet the books say it is
so, and we always believe anything we find in a book. The cliff looks
perfectly unscaleable, but we believe it has been descended twice by an
Englishman who used to live here, and once by a Norwegian youth.
Bes Vand is so high that fish will not live in it; the professional
liars of these parts say it freezes solid every winter, and kills any
that have been put into it. It is a little difficult to believe this
statement, as it is a large and deep lake; but John says that a man who
will believe a guide-book can believe anything; so we all do our best to
swallow it (the statement, not the lake; we have hardly enough whisky to
make the latter palatable).
Gjendin is liable like all mountain lakes to be suddenly visited by
squalls, so that we generally like to paddle pretty near the side, but
on this voyage it was not safe to do so; for under the influence of the
rain, which was coming down as if it had never done so before, stones
and boulders were rattling and crashing down the sides of the lake, and
plunging into it, in a most alarming manner; and as far as we could see,
the steep black rocks were thickly streaked with white lines, denoting
torrents rushing down in places where ordinarily none were to be seen.
Just as we were passing the Beseggen, a dull boom like that of a distant
cannon was heard, and looking up we could see far above our heads a huge
spout of muddy water shoot out from the cliff, carrying with it masses
of stone and _débris_ of all sorts; evidently some bank had given way
under the increased pressure of this enormous rainfall. We thought for
one brief moment that it might be Bes Vand let loose on us, for even in
fine weather it can always be seen leaking through fissures in the rock,
so narrow is the division between the two lakes; but we did not stop to
ascertain where it came from.
It soon became necessary to land and empty the canoes, by reason of the
heavy rain, the bottom boards being completely under water, though we
had only been afloat for half an hour.
Just before we got to Memurudalen the sun came out; Esau had a chase
after a black-throated diver that came up from a dive quite close to his
canoe, and then we both fell to fishing and got several good fish. This
is just our luck: we had left camp for the last few days on purpose to
get fish for food; we had caught many and salted them, and brought back
40 lbs. weight with us in a large tin can, and then, behold! we caught
fresh fish in a place where we were assured by Öla that there were none,
not even salted ones.
We found the camp looking uncommonly pretty and comfortable, and all our
things perfectly dry and nice. The sun shone, and blue sky appeared, so
that hope, contentment, and joy reigned supreme, for we knew that it
could not rain any more now for at least a month, from the way it
stopped quite with a jerk as the supply ceased.
John spent his day at Gjendesheim in eating, drinking, and fishing,
especially the two former amusements. Truly that is a glorious country
where a man can over-eat himself three times a day, and never have
indigestion!!
_August 10._--Esau stalked with the usual result, ‘Ingen dyr, ingen
fresk spör, ingen gammle spör,’ as the Norsk jäger would remark; which
means ‘no deer, no fresh tracks, no old tracks;’ and he returned to camp
to find the Skipper had erected a flagstaff on the little mound beside
our tent, and from this staff now floats proudly ‘the flag that braved
a thousand years &c.,’ which we brought with us for this purpose:
a smaller one always adorns the ridge of the tent. We do not know
exactly the use of this flag; we say it is hoisted to annoy the
Norwegians, but this reason will not bear criticism, for that is the
last thing we should think of doing, and it certainly never seems to
have that effect on any one who has yet seen it. But we think that no
gentleman’s residence is complete without a red ensign, therefore on
high days and holidays that rag will flaunt itself in the breeze; and
every day will now be a holiday, for the fine weather has begun at last.
The Skipper had made all sorts of improvements in our domestic
arrangements, and after tea we completed the alterations in the bedroom
which were necessary before John arrived. This he did in a boat with
Ivar about nine o’clock, pretty well tired with his row against a head
wind. He was received with much kindness by the barbarous islanders, but
it took us until late at night to get everything comfortably and
conveniently placed under canvas; for John made no slight addition to
our already ponderous stores, in the shape of two more boxes containing
tea, coffee, candles, sugar, jam, and at last Esau’s long-desired
anchovy paste.
We placed the three beds side by side in the inner tent, John being in
the middle for the sake of greater warmth, for the nights are very cold.
Among the things that we obtained through Jens were two sheepskin rugs,
invaluable for protection against cold. Till we got them we were more or
less wretched every night, but since they came our sleep has been
perfectly luxurious. John has only two ordinary Scotch rugs, and feels
the cold a good deal, so we, from our impervious sheepskins, give him
any coats, shirts, or trousers that we do not want.
CHAPTER XVI.
TROUT.
_August 11._--Last night at sunset we ‘could not see a cloud, because no
cloud was in the sky;’ the distant mountains looked as black as coal,
and the heavens were yellow-ochre colour; whereupon Öla committed
himself to the statement that the fine weather would now be a permanent
institution. Consequently our life has once more resumed its proper
phase of perpetual picnic, and we roam about without coats or
waistcoats, or any other garments that seem superfluous unto us; and to
John all garments except a landing-net and boots appear to be
unnecessary incumbrances. Reversing the natural order of things, we put
on all our available clothes when we go to bed, and peel for the day
when we get up.
It is difficult to believe that only two days ago we were shivering with
cold, wrapped in gloom and india-rubber clothing, and wet through all
day, when now the horizon is dancing with heat, the lake is perfectly
calm, with the high snow mountains mirrored in its blue depths, and we
are delighting in every little bit of shade, having pawned our
macintoshes and thrown the tickets into the glacier torrent.
[Illustration: John returns from fishing in Summer Costume]
That same stream has been a source of great annoyance to John during the
night. He wants to have it turned off, because its roaring kept him
awake, and he was going first thing after breakfast to see the turncock
about it; but, of course, it is hopeless. The municipal arrangements
here are much the same as in London, and that official cannot be found
when wanted; so he will have to content himself with damming it.
The hot sun has brought out flies in great profusion; the fish are
rising freely, and man goeth forth to his labour rejoicing, and cometh
home with a heavy bag and a light fly-book, for the fish here seem to be
all good-sized; and as we have to use the finest tackle and smallest
flies, the odds are rather in favour of the finny prey.
[Illustration: John and Esau: ‘How’s that for high?’]
We all went fishing, and made a very pretty catch among us, the Skipper
securing the greatest weight, and Esau the largest fish, weight 3½ lbs.
The Skipper also made some interesting notes on the moral and physical
characteristics of these Gjendin trout. He said there seemed to be three
methods of feeding in vogue among them. Some were moving in a large
circle about two hundred yards in diameter, and rising at very short
intervals as they went--these never came within ten yards of the shore.
Then there were some that were travelling along about a yard from the
shore, and these seemed to be rising even more frequently than the
others, as there were more flies close to the rocks than out in
mid-ocean; and there were a few cunning old beggars that had got a
comfortable hole under a rock which they did not like to leave, and only
rose at longer intervals, as especially tasty morsels floated by.
All the fish, to whichever class of risers they might belong, often took
the moving artificial fly in preference to real dead ones that were
lying on the surface of the water close by: from which we opine that
they resemble us to the extent of liking fresh food better than stale;
for our flies had no attractive tinsel to commend them to the notice of
an epicurean trout, being the best imitations we can manage of the
predominant fly, which is a small dark-coloured winged ant, with a
little reddish orange about the long black body.
These flies have but a brief and disastrous existence. They only flew
for the first time this morning, most of them had died by noon--for the
lake was strewn with their corpses--and the survivors were all worried
and consumed by fish before nightfall. Luckily there are plenty more
where they came from, and the process can be repeated on new flies
tomorrow.
It is very interesting to catch a fish off these rocks on a perfectly
calm day like this; for in the clear water you can see the whole of the
struggle, from the moment the fish rises till he is lying panting and
exhausted in the net. How beautiful a big fish looks when he first comes
ashore! How brightly he shines in the sunlight, and how sleek is his
portly person!
Even if you cannot see your fish rise and take the fly, you can soon
tell by his behaviour whereabouts the needle will come if you succeed in
getting him on to the weighing hook. A large fish very seldom rises with
any dash or swagger, but just a smothered ripple; perhaps a glimpse of
his nose as he sucks in the fly; and he moves as if he were a nobody:
then when he feels the hook, there is none of that dash and wriggle that
you find in a small fish, but generally a rush like a rocket towards the
middle of the lake, making you tremble for the safety of your reel line,
and after that a stately diving and calm, dignified resistance for five
or ten minutes till he has to give in. Sometimes, though not so often,
the rocket business will be repeated more than once, and a fish that
does this deserves to escape, and often gets his deserts. There is
something very fine about the proud bearing of a big trout in
difficulties; for here in the lake he has not the same chance as his
relations in the running water at Gjendesheim.
The largest fish seemed to be those feeding in a circle, and it was one
of these that Esau caught, which he said was the father of all fish. He
lost another much larger--no doubt the grandfather of all fish. He said
it weighed five pounds. It is an extraordinary piscatorial fact that the
largest fish always do get away.
In the afternoon Esau commenced excavating the long-promised oven from
the face of the little hill against which our tent is pitched. It stands
about a hundred yards from our hall door, and is constructed chiefly of
large stones and mud--clay not being obtainable--with a flue cut in the
hill-side: a single stone acts as the floor of the oven, under which the
wood furnace is kindled, and a sod of turf, from time to time renewed,
does duty as a door.
Dinner at seven.
John wishes that the _menu_ should be occasionally inserted for the
benefit of gastronomic readers:--
_Vins._ _Potage._ _Legumes._
Tea. Prairie. Potatoes,
Beer. Fried and Boiled.
_Poisson._
Fried Trout.
_Entrées._
Sardines.
_Gibier._
Teal. Greenshank.
_Entremets._
Compôte of Rice and Wimberries.
Jam. Marmalade.
Whisky.
After this Esau finished the oven, and accomplished a bake of bread
therein, which proved so successful that on returning from fishing at
about ten at night, we all turned our attention to the production of the
staff of life, nor desisted from our labours till eleven o’clock, by
which time there was a goodly show of rolls and loaves spread out, and
we went to bed feeling that we had spent a glorious day.
CHAPTER XVII.
REINDEER.
_August 12._--We wonder whether our friends in Scotland and Yorkshire
have such a day as this: if they have, it is rough on the grouse.
There is not a breath the bottle-green wave to curl, and the sun shines
as if Odin had redeemed his other eye.
The Skipper and Öla went forth to pursue, and walked over an enormous
distance into the previously unknown region of Memurutungen. Up on the
mountains life on a day of this kind is bliss; there is more air there
than in the valley, and it is delightful to be far away from the busy
world--consisting of your two pals and Ivar--below; surrounded by the
snowy peaks and sky, with not a living thing save perhaps an eagle in
sight.
[Illustration: The two ‘Meget Stor Bocks’ (very big Bucks) on
Memurutungen]
In the middle of the day they came on fresh deer tracks, at which of
course their flagging interest revived; and presently they descried on a
snow fjeld about a mile away, two deer ‘scooting’ over the opposite
mountain side. These they followed, and made a long détour to get the
right side of the breath of wind that occasionally made itself felt up
there, for the reindeer has probably the most acute scent of all the
deer tribe. In the midst of this détour they suddenly came in sight of
two other bucks, about 300 yards away, much finer animals than the first
two; in fact, they had the best heads the Skipper ever saw. But luck was
against him; they were wrong for the wind, and a puff came just at the
moment, which carried the unwelcome intelligence to those deer that
their hated enemy was upon them, and they departed round a corner at a
rapid trot, and were no more seen. Then Öla looked at the Skipper with a
sorrowful shake of the head, and said, ‘Meget store bocks!’ (very big
bucks), and the Skipper replied with a still more portentous shake,
‘Meget, meget.’ So they were left with their mouths wide open,
muttering, ‘Meget, meget store bocks.’ And after following the tracks
some time without seeing anything more of the deer, they gave up the
chase and returned to camp, getting home in a very exhausted state about
6.30.
During dinner old Peter Tronhūus arrived in camp with a packet of
letters and papers, and a fore-quarter of venison from Rus Vand. Mr.
Thomas had been like ourselves reindeer-less until yesterday, when he
found a large herd, and was lucky enough to get two out of them.
Peter also told us that two friends of Thomas’s who had been staying
with him were walking over the mountain to see our camp, and would then
go to Gjendesheim with him in the boat in which he had come.
Presently these two men arrived extremely hot, and looking as if they
would like beer; so we appeased them with one of our few remaining
bottles, and after showing them all the sights of the camp took them out
on the lake in the canoes. One of them spoke a little English, the other
only French and Norwegian. The latter asked the Skipper, in the Gallic
tongue, ‘if we had entrapped many fish?’ and ‘if we had not fear to
venture on the lake in such small boats?’ and informed him that ‘there
were many savage ducks about this year.’ The other one, regardless of
his own life and safety, and also of Esau’s--in whose canoe he was
sitting--_would_ keep throwing up his arms and exclaiming, ‘It gives us
moch playsure to make a travel in the Canadian căno.’ But we think they
were proud and thankful when the experiment was over, and they were safe
in Peter’s boat. These strangers displayed unwonted courage, for the
ordinary native has a wholesome dread of our frail craft. The hardy
Norseman’s house of yore was doubtless on the foaming wave, but that was
before the days of Canadian canoes.
At dinner John informed the company that his bath in the lake yesterday
was the third of a series the first of which took place in Montenegro,
the second in Algiers, and now this in Norway. He calls this a humble
tribute to the geniality of the English summer, and thinks that he may
be termed ‘a polyglot ablutionist.’ Some of the sojourners in this camp
say it may be so, but it does not speak highly for John’s love of water
when undiluted with whisky.
Subsequently we found that the bath which he swaggered about only
occurred because he fell off a rock into the lake, and so dabbled about
afterwards while his clothes were drying, which does not take long in
this weather. This also accounts for the condition in which he returned
to camp, ‘sans bags, sans shirt, sans everything,’--barring his boots.
Late at night Esau, who was up last, put his head into the tent to
remark that there was a first-rate comet on view, but he was received
with such execrations from the other two lazy people in bed that he
thought it prudent to say no more about it, and not to look at it any
more himself.
_August 13._--We spent the morning making a meat safe. This meat safe
consists of a hole in the ground, neatly flagged with flat stones, and
walled with the same, and furnished at the top with a wooden frame, into
which fits a lid with hooks underneath it for birds. The whole is
covered with a piece of muslin to keep off the villanous bluebottles.
The muslin was brought to make into mosquito nets inside the tent, but
in this happy spot the ‘skeeter’ is unknown, the sand-fly very rare, and
the great green-eyed Möge--which bites a lump out of your leg and then
flies to the nearest tree to eat it--is conspicuous by its absence.
We have always been very careful not to prepare in any way for game
before it is killed, but this usually successful plan has been a failure
this year, so now we are desperate, and have made a safe which will hold
a reindeer, and probably with a little more bad luck shall even go out
stalking with ropes in our pockets ready to tie up the animal when
killed. We caught Öla a week ago carving a piece of stick into the
double-ended thing that butchers put between the legs of sheep to keep
them apart (name unknown), but we promptly seized it, and made it into
the handle of a frying-pan. But who can escape his destiny? We hoped
that we had averted misfortune, but the deed was done, and no doubt it
was owing to this that the Skipper failed to get a shot at the ‘store
bocks.’
When John and Esau had finished the safe and succeeded in catching
enough nice fish for the requirements of the camp, they were seized with
the desire of making a good bath. We have no first-rate bathing-place
near the camp, as the glacier-river has made the lake too shallow round
its mouth, and it is some distance to where the shore becomes bold and
rocky.
They selected a nice little stream on the hill just above the tent, and
toiled like navvies there for about four hours under a blazing sun,
excavating and paving with flat stones, making a most palatial bath in
the bed of the stream; when behold! just as it was completed, to use the
graphic language of one of the constructors, ‘May I be dodderned, and
doggoned, and dingblamed by Pike, if the blooming stream didn’t cease to
run!’ It did just supply about a pint of water before it quite stopped,
into which Esau’s watch flew as he flung on his coat with some slight,
and perhaps excusable, show of temper. A pint of water is not enough for
a man to bathe in, but it is quite sufficient to saturate a watch,
especially if a stone obligingly smashes the glass and makes a hole in
its face obliterating the vii. viii. and ix. at the time of its
immersion. However, he dug the mud out of the works, filled them with
Rangoon oil, and is under the impression that that watch can be made to
go again, and that a new face and glass and silver case will make it
look all right. He is of a sanguine disposition.
They returned to camp saying that it would be all right as soon as the
first rain came, but they reckoned without their host; the stream came
from a little snowdrift on the mountain, and next time that Esau went up
there he found that the heat of the last few days had melted it all
away; hence its sudden stop. It never ran again. Perchance some future
traveller will find the bath ages hence, and rejoice in its luxurious
arrangements. In anticipation of this John wrote the following beautiful
lines on the most prominent rock:--
‘Stranger, pause and shed a tear:
There used to be a streamlet here;
But seeing Esau strip to lave
His sordid body ’neath its wave,
All filled with shame and blushing red,
The streamlet left its gravel bed;
Its only wish from him to flee,
It ran away and went to sea.’
The Skipper returned rather late with some very good fish from our old
lake Rus Vand, and dinner was consequently at the extremely fashionable
hour of 8.30.
MENU.
_Poisson._
Truite à la Norvège.
_Gibier._
Teal en matelote de Bacon.
Pommes de terre sautéd in a frying-pan.
_Potage._
Skoggaggany.
Potage is frequently eaten last, for it keeps hot longer than the other
dishes, and as we always feed in the open air in fine weather, they cool
more quickly than in civilisation.
[Illustration: Hot Soup and Northern Lights]
About nine o’clock a splendid display of northern lights was produced
for our benefit, and we stayed up till twelve o’clock baking bread and
gazing at the ever-changing beauties of this glorious sight. In the
course of conversation it transpired that the same thing happened last
night in a milder form, and it was this that Esau had announced as a
comet. To-night he was immensely delighted with the show, because he
says it will bring good luck; quoting ‘Aurora bright, dear harbinger of
dawn.’ He said this was Shakespeare, and if Shakespeare called Aurora a
‘deer harbinger,’ that ought to be enough for us. The other two agreed,
but did not believe Shakespeare ever wrote that, or anything like it.
‘What play was it in?’ ‘Play!’ said Esau, with the utmost contempt, ‘you
awful duffers, it’s in the sonnets; I dare say you never read all of
them.’ This was unanswerable, for of course no one ever did read all the
sonnets. But in revenge John composed some poetry about Esau, after the
manner of Walt Whitman, he said.
If Walt Whitman ever wrote anything like this, he ought to be made to
read it. We give a few lines:--
‘’Twas he who culled the bluest berry sweet,
And with his jodelling made the heights reply
To airs that oft have graced the music hall:
Anon when work or sport was put aside,
The fragrant omelette he would deftly roll;
No better man to fry the curling trout,
None with more appetite to make it scarce.
When tired nature seeks repose in bed,
To lie when others rise and calmly rest,
He most surpassed the seven Sleepers’ selves.
This is the sort of rubbish men can write
Who to inanity devote their minds;
But nought save great experience will suffice
To do the trick; no amateur can hope
To vie with those who’ve studied it from youth.’
And so on for pages.
On examining the diaries which we all keep, the following remarks on the
aurora were found:--
NO. 1.--BY THE SKIPPER.
‘The heavens were illuminated by most brilliant northern lights, which
flickered in a great arch over the starry sky.’
NO. 2.--BY ESAU.
‘A most glorious display of northern lights, huge bands of light across
the sky; waving, flickering, and disappearing, then suddenly shining out
again more brilliantly than before, while all the time straight
streamers of light were shooting upwards from the horizon.’
NO. 3.--BY JOHN.
‘The glow of a remarkably fine aurora borealis, whose silvery shimmering
shafts flickered incessantly all over the heavens in the most fantastic
shapes.’
It will be observed that we all agree in the flickering, consequently
you may bet it _did_ flicker. But for this fortunate fact it would be
hard to recognise the three descriptions as identical, and yet this is
the way history is written.
CHAPTER XVIII.
SUCCESS AT LAST.
_August 14._--This was a most eventful day in our quiet life, and one
fraught with episode. For the first time there was a breeze, so the
Skipper went out fishing, and John to practise canoeing in a wind, which
is an art requiring considerable dexterity in these Canadian canoes.
They are beautiful sea boats, and beat the ‘Rob Roy’ hollow for any
purposes where room for baggage is required. In our two, which are only
small, we have transported between 800 and 900 lbs.; but their worst
feature is decidedly exhibited in a wind, for the broad flat bottom and
absence of keel cause them to drift very fast, and make it difficult to
keep them straight. It can only be done by paddling from amidships
instead of from the stern.
Esau went out stalking, full of hope from the aurora and the favourable
wind.
The Skipper was lucky and caught some very good fish, and then returning
to camp constructed a most lovely wimberry tart. He had just finished
the enclosure of the same in the oven, and was proceeding to remove the
flour and ashes and other debris from his hands, while John reclined at
his ease under an awning with our latest ‘Field’--three weeks old--when
they heard a hail overhead, and behold a swarm of visitors from Rus
Vand! Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, Miss A----, and their friend F----, who is
the most celebrated deerstalker in the country. He is reported to never
miss a shot, and occasionally shoots flying ryper with a rifle.
They tumultuously demanded lunch, and the Skipper with John had a pretty
busy time of it for about twenty minutes, and the wimberry tart had to
be left to its fate in the sultry climate of the oven. Our larder just
now is not well supplied with anything except fish; so that the utmost
exertions could only produce a meal which to people who have had
reindeer for several days must have seemed poor indeed. Fried trout,
Skoggaggany soup, tea, beer, bread, biscuits, and marmalade, was the
bill of fare, for there was no time to do anything in the ‘gibier’ line,
birds taking some time to pluck and clean. However, to our guests there
were some points of this meal decidedly worthy of attention, viz. the
beer, marmalade, and bread: they have none of these at Rus Vand, as
their attempts at bread have hitherto been failures, while ours has been
very first-rate ever since the oven was built, and was much appreciated.
We have been informed that the proper thing in these days, when writing
a book, is to recommend some condiment or patent medicine to the notice
of the confiding public. As there is no chance of our meeting any Arab
sheiks in Memurudalen, we have to fall back on this episode of the
bread, and seize the opportunity to sing to the world the praises of
‘Yeatman’s Yeast Powder,’ by far the best that we have tried, and
invaluable on an expedition of this kind for bread, pastry, and
pancakes. Now let old Yeatman send his hundred guineas, care of Esau,
and we will see that they are devoted to a proper use.
To return to our guests. We made an awning on what we call the
lawn--size six feet by fourteen feet--out of two rugs and some birch
poles, and lunched under that, as the sun was cruelly hot. There was a
good deal of the ordinary picnic about the meal, as we have only four
plates, cups, knives, &c., and had to eat fish out of the frying-pan,
and drink beer out of a jam pot, and a condensed-milk tin with the top
cut off and the sharp edge turned down. But all these drawbacks were met
in the true picnic spirit, which ‘de minimis non curat’ so long as there
is something to eat. Our two last bottles of beer were sacrificed, and
it went to our hearts to have to pour away our beloved Skoggaggany soup
when the cups were wanted for tea, for our visitors did not ‘go for’ the
soup with the same alacrity that distinguishes us. Possibly it occurred
to them that the middle of a blazing hot August day was not the most
suitable time for highly seasoned, substantial, nearly boiling liquid to
be poured down their throats.
Mr. and Mrs. Thomas and Miss A---- all spoke English well, but their
friend young F---- could neither speak it nor understand it: however, he
wished to be genial and polite, and replied ‘Oh yase, tank you,’
whenever any remark was made to him. In consequence of this amiable
trait, John, who thought he could talk our language as well as the
others, supplied him with beer, whisky and water, tea, soup, and
marmalade all at the same time, to each of which articles when offered
he had replied ‘Oh yase, tank you.’ This made a sad run on our limited
supply of crockery.
Lunch ended, the Skipper volunteered as usual to take the party one by
one for a cruise in his canoe. This with the ordinary English lady would
be a matter of considerable risk, but all Norwegians--ladies as well as
men--are accustomed to boats, and very nearly all of them can swim. But
the trip was quite dangerous enough, for both the ladies insisted on
kneeling in the right position and paddling themselves, and there was a
good sea on, with a distant threatening storm. While Mrs. Thomas was
pursuing her adventurous career, her husband danced on the bank after
the manner of a hen with ducklings crying, ‘Come back! come back! you go
too far out!’ but we grieve to record that she did not care a little
bit, and was so delighted with the canoe that the Skipper had some
difficulty in persuading her to return. May she live long to paddle that
canoe, for it now belongs to her.
About four o’clock the call came to an end, and our friends departed
over the mountain to Rus Vand, at the west end of which they expected to
meet their boat. Before going they made us promise to go and see them
next Tuesday, and will send a boat to convey us down the lake.
[Illustration: Esau and Ola return in Triumph]
Soon after six Esau came into camp in an offensively jaunty manner,
followed by Öla with the heads and skins, and what the lawyers call the
appurts, to wit, the heart, kidneys, feet, and liver of two reindeer
bucks. Then was there great rejoicing in that little colony, and dinner
was served and disposed of with light hearts, even the neglected
wimberry tart being a complete success, for owing to its gigantic size,
its long baking in a cooling oven had not been too much for it, and it
was finished to the last crumb of paste and spoonful of juice.
Our custom is, when a man returns with deer, that he shall lie on the
sheepskin of indolence if so disposed, while the other fellows prepare
dinner; and after the meal is finished and men are beginning to lean
back and fill their pipes, he is expected to relate his adventures
without interruption; after this he is never to refer to them again
unless specially requested. Now for Esau’s story.
‘We went on to Memurutungen and began to find fresh tracks and signs of
deer almost directly, so were on the tiptoe of expectation all the
morning. About midday Öla found two deer on a small patch of snow, five
or six miles from camp, in a very favourable place for approaching them,
with the wind as right as it could be. We made a lovely stalk; but when
after an hour’s creeping we got to the spot, we were just in time to see
them disappear, slowly feeding over the hill. We followed as fast as
possible, and soon came in sight of them again, for as the deer always
feed against the wind there is no danger of alarming them by following
on their tracks. A few minutes of breathless crawling like serpents, and
we were within 100 yards, nearer than I ever got to reindeer before. One
of them soon gave me a nice side shot, and when I fired he almost fell,
but recovered himself, and they both ran down the hill towards a little
glacier. I fired again at him and missed; and then ran as hard as I
could towards the glacier, cramming in cartridges as I ran. They were
both out of sight for a moment behind some rocks, and then the unwounded
one came into view again, and I had a nice shot at him at about 150
yards, and was lucky enough to send a bullet just above his heart, which
killed him instantly at the edge of the glacier.
[Illustration: A careful Finishing Shot]
‘I ran straight on, and following round the shoulder of the hill, saw
the other one standing about 100 yards away, unable to go any further.
I was in about the same state myself, so sat down, took as careful an
aim as I could, and fired a shot which finished him. How he had ever got
so far is a mystery, as the first shot only missed his heart by about an
inch. The second went in touching the hole made by the first, and killed
him at once.
‘We gralloched them, and built the meat up with stones to preserve it
from ravens, and the great bugbear of hunters, the “jarraf,” as they
call it; filfras is its English name. I think it is identical with the
North American wolverine or glutton.’
The lecturer concluded his observations amid great applause.
Let it be understood that the running which is done in pursuit of deer
is a gymnastic performance of the utmost difficulty, for these mountains
are almost entirely composed of loose stones with sharp, clean edges.
These stones vary in size, but otherwise are all similar, and have no
more tendency to stick together and lie quiet than the lumps in a basin
of sugar. So that running over them means--for an extremely active
man--a pace of perhaps four miles an hour; for a deer about six or
seven. Consequently the deer always when disturbed try to get on to
snow, for there they can go a great, but unascertained pace--apparently
somewhere about eighty miles an hour.
We find that after all we were quite right to make the meat-safe before
killing the deer, for we only made it to hold one, and now we have
killed two, and so are quite properly behindhand with our arrangements,
and shall be obliged to make another.
After dinner Esau went down to the lake and tried a few casts from the
shore. He speedily hooked a fish, which he thought the biggest ever
made, and never got a sight of it for twenty minutes. He thought this a
grand top up for a truly successful day, but on landing it, it only
weighed a pound, but was hooked in the tail, hence the struggle.
CHAPTER XIX.
GJENDEBODEN.
_Sunday, August 15._--Still the same beautiful weather. We spent the
morning fishing and bathing. Esau distinguished himself by falling into
the lake off a cliff, just as he had finished dressing after a bath;
nearly swamping his canoe, full of fish, rugs, and other valuables.
There was such a sun that he merely hung his things on the rocks and
went on fishing without them until they were dry, which took a very
short time. He always had savage tendencies, and would like to live
without clothes, but we consider this is not dignified, and will not
tend to promote discipline among our retainers. The Skipper got the best
bag, as he generally does on a calm day.
After lunch we packed our rods, fowling-pieces, and change of raiment
into the canoes, and started on a voyage of discovery up the lake,
intending to spend the night at Gjendebod--a hut at the western end
somewhat similar to Gjendesheim at the eastern, though not so large or
so well built, for the upper end of the lake does not get as many
visitors as the lower.
The expedition commenced with a disaster, owing, no doubt, to its being
Sunday. As John and Esau in the larger canoe were crossing the glacier
stream, something caused the boat to almost swamp, but fortunately right
again with a good deal of water in it. Esau said it was John’s
clumsiness; John said it was Esau’s recklessness in crossing at such a
rapid place, and much recrimination ensued. They went to shore and
emptied the water out, and then continued the voyage, nothing being wet
except the rugs used to kneel on. Only the Skipper lingered on the
voyage to fish; the other two paddling against a heavy head wind
completed the journey of five miles in about an hour, and had dinner
cooked and ready by the time the Skipper made his appearance with a
beautiful basket of trout.
Our dinner was made from the shoulder of venison sent us by Mr. Thomas.
It was utterly ruined in the cooking, for we are getting fastidious
after our own luxurious meals, and think as poorly of Gjendebod cookery
as a certain friend of ours did of English, when he complained that ‘in
all the houses of the rich and great which he had ever known, he had
never seen a decent hot dinner served except when they had it cold for
lunch.’
We found here a young Norwegian who spoke English well, and gave us some
very interesting information, chiefly about the winter life in Norway;
also a very intelligible account of the land system of the country,
which we intend to send to Mr. Gladstone for use in his next Irish Land
Bill. We think it peculiarly adapted for Ireland, because, though we all
understood it perfectly at the time, we cannot agree about any of its
main features on comparing notes afterwards.
Presently there arrived here Coutts--our Gjendesheim acquaintance who
had made the extraordinary walk over the mountains. His hair had either
not grown since we last saw him, or else he had sand-papered it off
again. He had just achieved another remarkable feat. This was a climb to
the top of ‘Stor Skagastolstind,’ a mountain which has only been
ascended twice previously; first by an Englishman who spends most of his
time in doing such things, and afterwards by a Norwegian, the last time
being two years ago. Many others have tried and failed. The ordinary
traveller will find the feat of pronouncing its name fluently in the
course of conversation quite difficult enough; but it can be done by the
exercise of an iron will, and if not attempted more than once in a day,
no fatal effects need be apprehended. Once we met a very
careworn-looking man who told us he had been trying to make a pun on the
name, but we felt no pity for so foolhardy a wretch.
The authorized procedure for those who accomplish the ascent, is to
enclose their name and some coins in a bottle, and build a little cairn
round the bottle, leaving their handkerchief with it, and bringing down
the corresponding articles left by the last man. Coutts showed us the
handkerchief and bottle which he found on the top, but the coins he must
have spent in drinks on his way home, or else did not like to trust us
with them, as he could not produce them. He had, of course, left his own
handkerchief, and John, who is short of these useful though not
indispensable articles, was seized with a great longing to risk his life
and go to the summit of that mountain for Coutts’s. At least, he was
very keen about it immediately after the description of the ascent and
hiding of the treasure; but since he became calmer we almost persuaded
him not to go, as he hates walking, especially uphill walking; it takes
two days to ascend the peak, one to get down again; and the whole
performance is slightly more difficult and hazardous than the ascent of
the Matterhorn.
It will probably be unnecessary to remark that Coutts did not for a
moment condescend to follow the path chosen by former climbers, but
having after considerable search found one at least twice as dangerous,
he chose that, as he had not time to look for a worse one.
_August 16._--After breakfast we found a drover, who was living in a hut
here, and impressed him to come out with us after Ryper--his function
being that of the dog. There are many of these drovers in the mountains
during the summer. They get cattle--how, we do not know; whether they
buy them, or merely drive them on commission for the owners; then they
feed them on the common lands, and drive them to some town at the end of
the summer. The huts that they live in are wretched little places. There
is one about two miles from our camp, built of rough stones against a
rock which forms two of the sides, without any door or window, and only
a hole to creep in at. No Englishman would keep his dog in such a place,
unless it were dead; but we are told that a drover lived there for a
month this year before we came, and it is considered of sufficient
importance to be marked on the Ordnance map, otherwise we should never
have seen it.
Our drover, however, was rather a great man, living in a hut with a real
door and a window, and a live woman inside to cook for him and iron his
shirt--at least, we imagined she must be doing this, as he had not got
one on.
Ryper shooting began by law yesterday, but our Sabbatarian proclivities
prevented us from going forth to the chase. The true reason is that we
superstitiously believe it will rain again if we shoot on Sunday, though
no one will confess that this is the feeling by which we are possessed.
We crossed the lake in the canoes--the Skipper and Esau to shoot, John
and Herr Drover to beat. There was a narrow belt of birch trees between
the lake and the willow belt in which we hoped to find the birds, and
before we got through this, our ears were gladdened by the sound of two
shots from Esau, who had walked on to two old birds and got them both;
but, alas! disappointment was in store for us. We walked up hill and
down dale, dry ground and marshy, willow belt and birch belt, but never
saw another ryper for five hours, and then we put up one old cock who
fled away with a derisive crow before we got within sixty yards of him.
It is hopeless work hunting ryper without dogs. We found plenty of
places where they had fed or sat, or been running on wet ground; but
they hate flying unless they are compelled, and on a day of this sort
lie like stones, though we have seen them after windy weather get up
almost as wild as Yorkshire grouse. But we feel that we have done our
duty in trying to shoot ryper, and so now can go back to our fishing and
stalking with a quiet conscience.
And if we got no more ryper we found such a quantity of ‘möltebær,’ that
there is every prospect of Esau being seriously ill for some days, which
would be a distinct gain as far as the consumption of our stores goes.
The ‘möltebær’ is a berry like a large yellow raspberry, very good
indeed to eat, with a sort of honey flavour about it. The Norwegians
think it better than the strawberry, though we hardly indorse this
opinion. It is a beautiful scarlet before it is ripe, and a dirty pale
yellow when ready to gather. It grows low down, and is difficult to
find, as it conceals itself in low, swampy, and rather dark places.
When we returned from the pursuit of the disobliging ryper, there was a
fair breeze down the lake, so we hoisted sails and were soon back at
Memurudalen.
CHAPTER XX.
A FORMAL CALL.
_August 17._--This was the day appointed for our visit to the Thomas’s
at Rus Vand, but though we told Öla as usual to call us at 7.30, he
never came until about half-past eight. His watch is a curiosity among
bad watches; he sets it by one of ours every night, and it has always
gained or lost several hours before morning: on one occasion it actually
lost nearly a fortnight while we slept. The Skipper says it ‘ain’t worth
a smothered oath;’ and this morning, as we specially wished to get up
early--and did get up, owing to Öla’s watch, more than usually late--he
is getting lower in his valuation, and estimates it at a ‘whispered
d----.’
We have begged Öla to pawn it, or refrain from winding it up, but
without effect, and Esau lent him his--which has never moved since its
bath, and is fixed at 5.20. This was very successful for two days, as it
made Öla call us about six o’clock, and we had lots of time to go to
sleep again afterwards; but after that the discontented fellow came and
asked for one that would go faster, and of course we have nothing that
will compare with his own either at trotting or cantering.
First thing this morning the Skipper was seen shaving his meagre chin
with no little care, and reflecting himself with considerable interest
in a slip of looking-glass that he keeps under his pillow. We all made
elaborate toilets, but the Skipper was especially beautiful by reason of
his necktie, and the least thread-bare of his two coats, which he wore
with what he considered a careless grace.
We started up the mountain at half-past ten, and arrived on the shores
of Rus Vand very hot and tired in about two hours. There we saw a dim
speck on the distant horizon which we imagined to be the boat coming to
take us down the lake. So we began to fish till it should arrive; and it
was a considerable time before we realised the fact that the speck we
had seen was indeed the boat, but it was _going_, not coming, for the
soulless wretch who had control of it had presumed to think, and his
thoughts being of course the mere unreasoning impulses of a brutish and
degraded mind, had caused him to suppose we were not coming. This was a
terrible blow, but at last we bravely decided to walk on to the
hut--about eight miles. During the next six pages of this book we walked
and walked and walked, with hunger and thirst raging inside us,
a broiling sun over our heads, and the most frightful language
proceeding from our lips; tramping along cattle tracks, wading through
mountain torrents, and stumbling over willows and rocks, till about
half-past three in the afternoon, when turning the last corner we came
on the two huts, and our olfactory nerves were greeted by the welcome
scent of adjacent cooking food.
Thomas was most profuse in his maledictions of the idiot who had left
the west end of the lake without waiting for us, and we had great
difficulty in persuading him not to shed his blood there and then. Thus
far the misery.
But now a change came o’er the scene. Behold the wearied travellers
lying on the sward, in the cool shadow cast by the hut; surrounded by
iced whisky punch, brandy and water, rum and milk, and claret, and
drinking them all at once under the entreaties of our hospitable
entertainers. Anon a sumptuous feast was spread under the canopy of a
tent pitched just above the roaring waters of the Russen River where it
leaves the calm of the lake for the turmoil and trouble of a hurried
descent to busier regions. That trout, reindeer, roast ryper, and the
various smaller birds will be remembered by all of us as long as we
live.
The Skipper confessed afterwards that all along that burning shadeless
cattle track--with its atmosphere perfectly blue with execrations--he
had thought that life was but a ‘wale of tears’ at the best of times;
but when after dinner cigars and black coffee were produced, he began to
believe we had had rather a pleasant walk after all.
We left the hospitable hut about six, in the boat, Thomas himself and
Jens coming with us. Jens rowed, and we four fished all the way up the
lake, so that the water was stiff with minnows and flies. John with a
minnow caught one three-pound trout and some smaller ones, and the
Skipper and Esau several good fish with the fly, but we had no time to
really try to catch fish, but kept rowing steadily on and getting what
we could on the way. Thomas got out halfway up the lake to fish from the
bank, and John at once trampled on a spare rod which had been brought in
the boat, and reduced it to matchwood. Then to witness John’s polite
protestations and apologies from the boat to Mr. Thomas on shore was
truly gratifying to us as spectators. When they were concluded we rowed
on to the end of the lake, climbed over the dreadful mountain--which was
by no means a pleasant task in the dark--and reached camp at half-past
ten--just twelve hours employed in making a formal call. Think of that,
ye gentlemen of England who grumble at having to leave a card on the
people the other side of the square.
_August 18._--We all stayed at home to-day, as the weather--although
still perfectly fine--was not favourable for any sort of sport with
which we are acquainted except kite-flying; and the tent was constantly
in such imminent danger of being blown from its moorings, that we feared
if we went away, we should not be able to find it when we came back. It
was great fun during breakfast to watch Ivar sailing after our goods and
chattels whenever a sudden gust of wind sent them scudding over the
ground till brought to a standstill by a juniper or a rock. Before
starting in pursuit he always opened his mouth to its utmost
width--which is enormous--and then extending his arms and legs till he
looked like a demoniac wind-mill, he swooped down on the quarry, never
failing to secure the fly-away article, dish-cloth, or towel, or
whatever it might be.
The Skipper was the only one who attempted fishing, and he had but poor
sport, and soon returned to camp to assist in the operations there going
on. The most important of these was the construction of a new game
cellar in the ground near the old one. Esau was ‘bossing’ this thing,
while Öla worked. Esau, being very lazy himself, takes a fiendish
delight in getting any work out of Öla; and now his portion of the job
seemed to be standing with an axe in his hand revolving things in his
great mind while Öla undertook the labour. The Skipper and John devoted
themselves to baking, and produced an enormous quantity of bread and
biscuits; and when these were finished the united strength of the
company engaged itself on a meat pie.
The division of labour in this enterprise is always managed thus. Esau
is butcher--an employment in which he revels, and at which he is
decidedly an adept. He cuts up reindeer in convenient slices for placing
in the pie-dish; adding thereto slices of bacon, and two or three
hard-boiled eggs, with some liver, heart, and birds if we have any to
spare. Meanwhile the Skipper concocts the dough for the crust from
flour, butter, and boiling water; and after rolling the same on the top
of one of the boxes with an empty beer-bottle, neatly lines the smaller
of the two low tins with it; fills it with the various ingredients and
plenty of pepper, salt, and some water, and then covers it with a thin
disc of paste perforated with holes, and adorned with fantastic images
of reindeer and birds. Now the pie is ready for the oven--which all this
time John has been stoking indefatigably with arm loads of wood; and
when he announces that the oven is fit the pie is borne in solemn
procession to it, and safely enclosed by the sod which acts as the oven
door, and conceals it from our gaze for a time, which varies according
to the size of the pie and heat of the oven.
We have some difficulties to contend with in the top of our oven, for
the sods which fill in the holes thereof are liable to crumble with the
intense heat and fall down in fine dust on our food gently stewing in
its cosy nest. The only way to obviate this is to water the top of the
oven every morning as if it were a spring garden, and then the clods
never get dry enough to play their evil little games. The Skipper
compares the baking of a pie to burial by cremation (if that is not a
bull). Certainly it always comes out etherealised; a thing of beauty and
a joy for at least two days. Esau called this pie after its resurrection
‘a harmony in yellow and brown quite too too utter and distinctly
precious;’ and John added, ‘Begorra, me jewel, it is that same, bedad.’
[Illustration: The Colony at Breakfast in Memurudalen]
We shall now be free to do what seems good in our eyes for several days
without the trouble of baking: altogether our stock of provisions is
enormous. This is always the way in camp life; first a week of existence
on the verge of starvation, and then a time of milk and honey and tables
overflowing with plenty.
_August 19._--Some of the bread that John makes is rather heavy.
Yesterday we were constrained to point this fact out to him. He
pretended not to be able to see it, and in support of his theory ate at
supper a quantity of the rolls that we had condemned. The consequence
was that about two o’clock A.M. we were roused from our peaceful
slumbers by John jumping spasmodically out of bed and rushing to the
tent door, uttering at the same time most ghastly yells. At the door he
appeared to be awake, so we said, sitting up in bed with our hair on
end,--
‘_Now_ then, John. What’s the row?’ To which he answered very quietly,--
‘Why, my line’s caught on that rock over there. I wish you would stop
the boat a minute.’
Then he went gently to bed again and continued his unbroken slumbers.
A sleeping man is selfishly regardless of the disquiet he brings on his
fellow-creatures, and John, although he must have dreamt all sorts of
funny things, did not dream that he was disturbing our night’s rest.
The other night when we were returning from our visit to Rus Vand, John
casually seated himself on a rock at the extreme top of the mountain. It
was quite dark except for a subdued glow of light caused by the setting
moon behind the mountains on the other side of Gjendin Lake. Now the
Skipper and Esau take a good deal of interest in moons, because they are
considerably affected by the pallid luminary when at the full;
consequently they were aware that she had already passed her highest
point for that night, and would not show above the peaks until the
following evening; but John did not know this, and so when we asked his
reason for sitting down on a very sharp and cold stone 5,000 feet above
sea level, with the quicksilver right through the bottom of the
thermometer, at a time when all honest folk were in bed, he replied,--
‘You fellows go on; I’m going to wait here and see the moon rise.’
We never disturb a man when he feels poetical, lest it should break out
in some more dangerous form; so we left him on his ‘cold grey stone,’
and made the best of our way to camp.
When we had about half finished our soup, he came struggling and wading
in through the shrubs and swamp, and sat down to supper without making
any remarks about the scenery, neither did he touch upon the subject of
silver shafts, or shimmering sheen, or a network of frosted filigree
chaining down the ripples. He was evidently disappointed about
something, and we possessed too much delicacy of feeling to ask what was
wrong, and so the matter dropped. But at breakfast this morning the
Skipper happened to tell a story about a man he knew, who waited on the
quay for some friends who had arrived in a steamer that day. This man
had ordered a sumptuous banquet directly the steamer was signalled, then
waited three hours expecting a boat to come off every minute, but at
last perceived that a curious flag was flying on the steamer, and on
inquiry found that she was quarantined for a fortnight. Then Esau could
not resist the opportunity, and remarked,--
‘Just like waiting for the moon to rise when she ain’t due over the
mountains for twenty-four hours,’ and the harmony of the meeting at once
ceased to exist.
The Skipper went after deer, but only had a very long walk without
seeing any. We have now got the kitchen into a great state of
perfection, so that within ten minutes of his return a recherché repast
was on the table. This is rather a difficult thing to manage, as we
never know to within a couple of hours what time the hunters will
return; but it can be done by having the chops, steaks, or birds ready
in one frying-pan, the trout in the other, the potatoes partially
cooked, and the tea or coffee made: the leaves or grounds of the latter
we remove always after eight minutes’ brewing, so that it does not alter
by standing. The table of course is ready laid.
Once and only once there was a long delay, owing to a misfortune with
the water that had been boiled for the tea; but the explosion of wrath
from the famishing hunter on that occasion was so dreadful, that the
utmost endeavours have since been successfully used to prevent its
recurrence.
MENU.--August 19.
_Potage._
Mulligatawny.
_Poisson._
Truité à la Maître d’Hôtel.
_Entrées._
Venison Pie.
_Rots._
Venison Pie.
_Gibier._
Venison Pie.
_Entremets._
Pancakes.
Our procedure with pancakes is for every man to fry and toss his own;
the frying of the first side is easy enough, but the tossing requires
skill, for we do not allow the mean practice of helping the delicacy
over with a knife, indulged in by some weak-spirited cooks.
John’s first became a mangled heap of batter under his repeated efforts,
and was finally eaten by him in that condition; his second ascended
towards the heavens most gracefully when he tossed, and was absent for
some minutes, but unfortunately he failed to hold the pan in the right
place on its return, and it fell on the ground, where it was immediately
seized and devoured by Ivar. The third was a complete success, and so
were the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh; the eighth stuck to the pan,
and was a failure; and after that he got along all right to the
thirty-fourth, when he had another partial failure, owing to
over-confidence. This made him more careful, and all the rest were quite
perfect. When we had finished we gave the rest of the batter to the men,
who fried it all in one huge pancake, about two inches thick.
We notice that all the diaries agree for once; the following note occurs
in all:--
‘Pancakes for dinner to-day; the other two fellows over-ate themselves.’
We told John this morning of his adventure with the boat and fishing
line during the night, so he ate all the new bread at lunch, thereby
laying its restless spirit long before bedtime; no doubt he and his
dinner will slumber more peacefully to-night.
It may be remembered that we brought a lot of fish slightly salted with
us from Gjendesheim. Ever since our return here we have caught plenty of
fish every day, and as we prefer fresh food to salt, the Gjendesheim
fish which were placed in a little barrel have been neglected. Five or
six days ago we noticed an unpleasant odour, and found that it proceeded
from this barrel, the fish being in an advanced stage of decomposition,
and the men told us they were making ‘raki fiske,’ a thing which they
informed us in Norwegian is ‘real jam.’ We were very angry, and gave
orders that the whole thing should at once be thrown into the glacier
torrent. After this the affair faded from our minds, but yesterday we
again noticed a suspicion of the same smell, and this morning it was so
powerful that we began to invent theories to account for it.
John, who is a man of great scientific attainments proved to his own
complete satisfaction, that it proceeded from the bodies of prehistoric
reindeer which had been engulfed by an avalanche ages ago and entombed
in the glacier until now, when at last their decaying corpses were being
washed down the stream.
He said Huxley had often observed the same thing and told him about it.
Esau’s theory was that the glacier itself was decomposing. ‘Look what a
long time it had been standing exposed to the air, and most likely in a
damp place; everybody knew that snow water was not good to drink,
witness the goître of Switzerland; and why was it not good? Simply
because it was putrid, and now that the hot sun was shining upon it, no
wonder it smelt a little.’
He concluded his remarks by inquiring who Huxley might be, and was just
setting off up the valley with a bottle of Condy’s fluid to pour over
the glacier, when the Skipper, who had wandered down to the Memurua
River instead of arguing, suddenly rushed back with his fingers tightly
holding his nose, and shaking his fist at Öla, said something that began
with ‘Dab,’ and went on with other unknown words.
At last we gathered from his expressions that the barrel of ‘raki fiske’
had not been thrown into the torrent at all, but our villanous retainers
had secreted it near the stream, intending to have a feast as soon as it
should have become rotten enough to please their cultivated taste. Truly
a Norwegian has the nastiest notions of food. Now the ‘raki fiske,’
barrel and all, is buried a yard deep, a long way from here, and life is
again pleasant, but we have little doubt that Öla and Ivar will come
back and root about and dig it up after we have left the country say a
month hence: it ought to be in perfect condition by that time.
CHAPTER XXI.
FISHING.
_August 20._--The first thing this morning we sent Öla to Gjendesheim
with some venison for the people there, who have been very kind in
sending milk, eggs, rice, onions, &c. to us. We have more meat than we
shall be able to eat if the weather continues as fine and hot as it is
at present.
We three walked over the mountain to spend the day at Rus Vand, taking
our lunch with us. We got there about half-past ten, and the fish were
then rising well, so we separated and commenced fishing, the Skipper and
John taking the north side of the lake, Esau the south. After catching a
few fish the rise stopped, as it always does on these lakes about
midday.
[Illustration: An Exciting Moment in Rus Lake Shallows]
There is no doubt that on a Norwegian lake the fisherman should above
all things ‘make haste while the fish rise.’ It is all very well for the
ancient sportsman to remark, ‘Take your time, my young friend, there are
as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it.’ It is no doubt true
enough; but at this time of year they will not rise to fly for more than
about a couple of hours twice a day, and if you do not make the best of
your opportunities then, where are you? Put yourself in the place of the
fine old veteran three-pounder who has got into the habit of taking his
meals at regular hours for fear of spoiling his digestion, and has
selected the hours between 10 and 12 A.M. and 4.30 and 6.30 P.M.,
because he knows from long experience that these are the most likely
times to find flies on the water. He has come in from roaming in deep
waters to the shades of the rocky coast, and has a certain appetite to
allay after his bath and morning stroll. There he waits, and thinks of
old times, and of how fat and shiny his tummy became the last hot summer
there was, when flies were plentiful, and he had not to resort to this
abominable device of catching small trout and eating mice[*] to keep him
in daily food, as he nearly always has to do now that the summers are so
wet, and he is no longer active enough to compete with his younger
relations in the struggle for existence. ‘What times those were, and how
he wishes he were a year or two younger again, and not crippled with
useless length; and, by George! now he comes to look at his reflection
against that stone, he’s getting quite yellow and bilious under the
belly, and----’ But he can’t stop to moralise, there is a luscious March
Brown of unusual solidity skating right over his pet rock, and he can’t
let it pass. So up he comes and gulps it down, with a lazy flop of his
tail that leaves quite a swirl on the lake surface. ‘Why, the thing’s
got no flavour, and how I’ve hurt my jaw with it!’ Poor old chap, his
day is over, and after ten minutes’ struggle he has left his favourite
haunt to be occupied by another tenant, and is safe in the landing net,
a good three-pound fish, but, like most of those who have reached this
size, not quite in as good condition as he was at 2½ lbs., and just a
shade longer than he ought to be. Don’t stop to gaze at him, put him in
the bag with all speed--it is necessary to hurry up and fish on while
the rise lasts.
[Footnote: We have found as many as three mice in the stomach of
a Rus Vand trout.]
But all this time the hours have been slipping away, and we have
lunched, and smoked, and sketched till the rise began again soon after
four, and though there was a strong cold west wind, the change seemed to
encourage the fish to feed more greedily than usual, for trout are
terrible Radicals, and rejoice in any alteration of the existing
condition of things.
[Illustration: Esau’s Best Day among the Trout]
Our old experience of Rus Vand taught us that one side was
sporting-looking and interesting, while the other was bleak and ugly;
but Esau, who took the ugly side, had much the best of it to-day, as the
place seemed alive with fish, and he kept catching them all the time, so
that his little ten-foot rod was continually to be seen in the form of a
hoop, from which position it reassumed the perpendicular in a way that
reflects no little credit on Mr. Farlow.
When we met again at the end of the lake on our way home, we found that
we had twenty fish, weighing just 44 lbs., of which Esau had caught
fifteen weighing 32½ lbs., the Skipper four of 9 lbs. weight, and John,
who was very unlucky, only a single two-and-a-half-pounder. The smallest
of the bag was a little over a pound, the largest three pounds, which
was reached by more than one; and nearly all were caught in water so
shallow that the dorsal fin of the fish was often visible in his mad
rushes hither and thither; this made it extremely difficult to prevent
the tail-fly being hung up on a rock whenever the fish was hooked on the
dropper, and not a few were lost in this manner. All were caught on two
patterns of fly, namely----No, philanthropy has limits, and no man can
expect to be told patterns of flies. Go to Norway, and the time and
trouble spent in acquiring that knowledge will be amply repaid by the
pleasure that no one could fail to derive from a visit.
No doubt, with the usual discontentedness of man we shall regret for
ever that we did not all go to the ugly side of the lake, of which Esau
was obliged to leave the best piece untouched as he came back, from
sheer inability to carry any more fish over the rough ground. But the
ways of fish are inscrutable; we hardly ever caught any number on that
side before, and probably shall not do so again. It was just Esau’s day.
Kismet.
After weighing our catch, we cleaned them and cut off their heads to
lighten them for the journey over Glopit, and even without this extra
weight we were a good deal troubled and felt overburdened on the uphill
side, which is terribly steep and rough, only just practicable for a man
on foot.
When we got back to camp we found that Öla had not returned from
Gjendesheim, which caused us some sorrow, as Esau wanted to go out
stalking on the morrow, and could not go alone. At least, he would be
extremely unlikely to see any deer, for the reindeer being exactly the
same colour as the mountains among which they live, it is almost
impossible to see them before they see the enemy and depart hastily.
These native hunters are wonderful at the profession, and seem to know
by instinct when they are in the vicinity of deer, as if they could feel
their presence in the air. No doubt they really see indications that we
should never observe, for they always begin to go cautiously, crouching
and peering over rocks when deer are about, long before we amateurs are
aware from the ordinary signs of footprints, nibbled reindeer flowers,
or newly moved stones, that there is likely to be any sport.
[Plate: ON THE TOP OF GLOPIT. RETURNING FROM RUS LAKE.]
_August 21._--It was cold and windy last night, so we turned into bed
early and lay in luxurious comfort while John read out choice bits, all
of which we know by heart, from the works of Mark Twain. We all think
Mark Twain the best writer for camp life that has yet been discovered,
and we have three or four of his books here. Besides these our library
of light literature consists of Shakespeare, Longfellow, Dr. Johnson’s
Table-talk, and novels by Whyte Melville, Walford, and Thackeray. But
Mark and William get more work than all the rest.
It is quite dark now during the night, and we have made a wooden
chandelier out of a curiously bent piece of birch wood, which holds two
candles and hangs down from the ridge pole by a string. In the daytime
it is hoisted up to the roof, but at night we let it down till it swings
about two feet above our heads as we lie in bed. This contrivance is
capital for reading, and also affords considerable diversion to the last
man into bed. The candles are just too high to be reached with a puff
easily from a recumbent position, and yet we persistently try to blow
them out without moving. Just as sleep is creeping over two of the
wearied sportsmen, the last man begins blowing and cussing at these
candles every night regularly. The scene is generally this. Skipper and
John just dropping off to sleep. Esau lies down, makes himself extremely
comfortable, and then--puff, whoo, whew, puff,--gasp for breath, rest a
moment. Pouf. Chandelier swings round under the impulse of the strong
wind thus created. Esau makes a brilliant flying shot at one candle, as
it circles swiftly past. Skipper: ‘Thank goodness.’ Pause. Esau: Poof,
whoo, whoof. John: ‘Dash it all, get up and put it out.’ Esau: ‘Get up
yourself.’ Skipper: ‘Let me blow it out.’ Pouf, puff, whoosh. Chandelier
swings madly round, drops grease on John’s nose. John: ‘Tare an ’ouns.’
Throws tobacco pouch at it, more grease all over the place, tobacco
pouch rebounds from tent into Esau’s mouth. Recrimination for five
minutes. Chandelier at last stationary. Everybody at once: ‘Puff, boo,
pouf, whew, ---- it, ---- it, pouf, ---- it, ---- the ---- thing -- --
-- pouf. Thank goodness;’ and we all turn over with a sigh of relief, to
repeat the performance the following night.
Öla not having turned up, there could be no stalking, so the beautiful
morning was wasted. The Skipper got so angry about it that he said he
would go in his canoe to find the absentee, and take at the same time a
lot of our surplus fish for the people at Gjendesheim.
Leaving the tent on its grassy sunlit lawn he walked down to the edge of
the great lake, and turning over the smaller of the two canoes, which
were lying bottom uppermost, launched her and got in with rod and
fishing bag, and pushed off into the deep. Opposite to the place where
the canoes were drawn up, and apparently only a hundred yards distant
though really more than a mile away, were the snow-capped mountain
steeps that rise almost perpendicularly from two to three thousand feet
out of the lake; and for these he made, gradually becoming a mere
twinkling speck till he faded out of sight from the tent. The lake was
as smooth as glass, only occasionally rippled as some monarch of the
deep, excited for once in his life by some specially fascinating fly,
condescended to make a rush for it instead of the gentle suck by which
he usually took his food, and the Skipper paddled leisurely along within
twenty yards of the rocks, with his rod bending over the stern, and
trailing behind a couple of flies in the hope of catching a trout
without the trouble of angling for him.
It is very pleasant to be alone once in a way in this overcrowded world.
Not alone as it is possible to be in England, but absolutely alone, with
no living thing near except the trout, the insects, and one’s image in
the water. Oh, blessed Norway! when we get back to the turmoils,
troubles, and pleasures of a London season how we shall long for you!
There is only one word to express this existence, and that is
Freedom--freedom from care, freedom from resistance, and from the
struggle for life. What a country! where civilised man can relapse as
much as seems good to him into his natural state, and retrograde a
hundred generations into his primeval condition.
But we forget that the Skipper is coasting up towards Gjendesheim in
search of the miscreant Öla.
He proceeded for a couple of hours, catching a few fish now and then,
but presently as midday approached, the sun became too hot to be
pleasant, the fish would not move, and the Skipper began to get
impatient and annoyed at not meeting Öla. After a while a black speck
with two flashing arms appeared rounding a promontory; this was Öla in
the boat. The Skipper was boiling with rage under the influence of
various incentives as he approached. Öla, like most Norwegians, was
calm, placid, and utterly unconscious of the flight of time and the
shortness of life. The Skipper had been primed to exploding point by his
two friends before starting, and as he had now paddled five miles from
home without meeting the adversary, he was, to put it mildly,
‘indignant.’ So, when he found Öla smoking serenely, and sculling along
as though his brief span were going to stretch through the unending
cycles of eternity, he gave way to the most horrible outbreak of temper
in English, which must have lasted four or five minutes, and then
telling the caitiff in Norwegian to take the fish to Gjendesheim and
return to camp by five o’clock whatever the weather might be, he turned
and left that hardy Norseman open-mouthed and bewildered, looking as
though he had seen the Strömkarl, or had had an interview with his
mother-in-law.
Then a great wind arose, and blew against the Skipper all the way home,
but he arrived in the most beatific frame of mind in spite of it; the
relief of the storm of temper and bad language had been so great to him,
that he was filled with a blessed joy. He said it was the most
invigorating and refreshing pastime he ever indulged in, for Öla could
not understand a word of it, and therefore no remorse could follow the
outburst, not a thoughtless expression or hasty word could go home to
his heart and there rankle, to recoil on some future occasion, but the
whole vial of pent-up wrath could be emptied on its object without fear
of retribution.
The explosion must have been something very fine to enable the Skipper
to make light of the head-wind, for a wind on Gjendin is not to be
scoffed at in any boat, and least of all in a cockle-shell of a canoe.
The mountains are so high and steep that the lake lies as it were in a
trench, and any wind always draws straight up or down the length, and
soon gets a big sea up. All the Norwegians we have seen say it is the
height of madness to go on Gjendin at all in such boats, the sudden
squalls are so dangerous; and neither of our men can be persuaded to go
a yard in them.
Esau and John, for want of better employment, after fishing a little,
began to bake, and had laid out a goodly show of dainty confections, two
dozen rolls, four wimberry tarts, a lot of biscuits, and a venison pie
of the ordinary size (9 inches diameter). When the Skipper returned it
was decided to make another, as we imagine the meat has a better chance
of keeping when hoarded up in pies than when left in its raw state.
So we each took our usual share in the construction of a PIE, before
which all other pies should be as nought.
It was made in our largest baking tin, 12 inches across, and contained
nearly a hind quarter of venison, our last six eggs, a heart, a liver,
and about 1½ lb. of bacon. The crust was put on about nine o’clock, and
after we had all gazed at it and unanimously agreed that it was the
‘boss pie,’ we bore it proudly but gingerly to the oven, heated by John
seven times hotter than before, and now gaping to receive it; a great
full moon rose up from behind the mountains and seemed to smile on our
good work; the bright fire shed a red glow over the three figures
bending o’er the simmering treasure, and a more peaceful, domestic group
it would be impossible to conceive.
About eleven John and the Skipper turned in, but outside could be seen
for some time the solitary form of Esau still crouching over the
expiring embers of the oven, and tending with a mother’s care the
tempting food that he already tasted in imagination.
[Plate: BAKING BY NIGHT IN MEMURUDALEN.]
Most of the berries of the country are now just at their best, and
Memurudalen is a grand valley for all of them, except of course the
strawberry and raspberry, which will not grow at this altitude. But we
have ‘klarkling’ (the English crowberry) in great abundance; blau bær
(wimberry), the finest and best ever seen, in quantities; also ‘skin
tukt,’ another blue berry rather larger than a wimberry, and with a
thicker skin and wonderful bloom on it; this we think does not grow in
England. Then less numerous are a berry something between a raspberry
and a red currant, but of better flavour than either of them; and the
great and glorious ‘mölte bær’ (cloudberry); to say nothing of ‘heste
bær,’ and ‘tutti bær,’ and several others of unknown names. The last one
grows in England, but we have forgotten its name; they make jelly from
it here, and prize it highly for its acid taste.
CHAPTER XXII.
MEMURUDALEN.
_Sunday, August 22._--We woke up this morning with a bright sun shining
through the canvas of the tent, and making it intolerably hot inside;
and as we threw open the door of the inner compartment, the fragrant
aroma of the ‘boss pie’ was wafted to us on the morning air.
We spent the morning in quiet Sunday fashion, chiefly in lying under the
shade of an awning made with rugs which we call the ‘sycamine tree,’ and
eating wimberries and cream. Besides this we perpetrated a great deal of
high art; every one was seized with the desire of sketching the camp,
and so we sat around on pinnacles like so many pelicans, libelling the
unfortunate place from every position whence it could be seen.
It is looking very comfortable just now. The tent itself is pitched in
an angle of a steep little cliff which effectually protects it from cold
winds at one side and the back, and at the other side we have put up a
thick fence of birch branches to temper the storm to the sleeping-tent.
We find it very convenient to have the two compartments: the inner one
is only used for sleeping in, and always immediately after reveillé is
plunged in an apparently hopeless confusion of rugs, sheepskins,
mattresses, and boots, with here and there a book or a hat protruding
(to use the Skipper’s beautiful simile) like brickbats in a dust-heap.
After breakfast all the bedding is dragged out to be aired on the rocks,
and the tent generally tidied.
But the outer tent is always a picture of order and neatness, for here
we keep our stores, boxes of flour and biscuits, cartridges, cooking
utensils, tools, whisky, and potatoes. One of the boxes was made
specially under Esau’s directions to be used as a table: the top and
bottom are both hinged, and so when the box is put on its front and
these two lids opened it makes a very good large table; the lids are
held up by a batten screwed underneath them, and for greater security we
have added two legs. But at present the weather is so pleasant that we
always feed outside, a few yards from the tent and nearer to the oven.
On the extreme left, as the penny showman says, you will observe one of
the meat safes, the other one ‘thou canst not see, because it’s not in
sight,’ being close to the back of the tent. Also behind the tent may be
faintly seen the mustard and cress garden, always covered with a sheet
by day to save it from the heat of the sun, and with the same sheet by
night, to guard it from the cold, so that the poor thing never gets any
light, and does not flourish very exceedingly. None of the mustard seeds
have as yet grown up as big as the one in the parable, but when one does
we mean to make a lot of salad out of it, enough for all the camp.
Above the middle of the outer tent are three things which look like
lightning conductors, but are only our rods, which are always stuck in
the ground there when not in use. At their foot under the rock is the
egg larder, neatly constructed of stones and turf, with a wooden lid;
and hanging from the cliff hard by is a very pretty and curious spider’s
nest made of paper, like a miniature wasp-nest, about two inches in
diameter.
High up in the centre is ‘the meteor flag of England,’ engaged in its
customary occupation of ‘yet terrific burning,’ there being absolutely
no Dutch Boers here. Underneath its shelter are many forked poles with
cross-bars, all made from the birch with which the valley abounds just
here, and on which clothing of some sort is always hanging out to dry;
so that the place looks like a laundry-ground, and deceives even the
ravens, which come down in swarms from the mountains in search of maids’
noses to devour. In the midst of these poles may be seen the oven, with
its flue reaching halfway up the hill, and its two openings, the lower
one for fuel, the upper for food.
[Plate: THE CAMP IN MEMURUDALEN.]
Right in front of the tent is the fireplace, a long trench in the
ground, faced with stones of such a size and shape that they form
apertures suitable for our numerous pans; and simmering by the fire is
the perennial soup. Nearer to the front is the wood pile, and nearer
still the board on which the cooking things are placed after washing up.
In front again of this is the little stream which supplies us with
water, now rapidly beginning to fail under the influence of the long
drought: it may be noticed that the engineers have changed its course in
several places for greater convenience in getting water, and to give
more room on the camp side.
The foreground is a mass of juniper, wimberries, skintukt, crowberries,
and rocks, and then comes about thirty yards from the tent the Memurua
torrent, all thick and milky from the glacier, cold as Christmas,
fishless, uninteresting, not drinkable, only useful as a refrigerator
for milk, and only agreeable to look upon from a distance, but
faithfully keeping up the unceasing roar that is customary among such
torrents. This river makes the waters of the lake too cold to bathe in
and too cheerless for fish to abide in near our camp, but it does not
come into the picture, partly because it runs in a ravine, but more
because it was right behind the artist.
The lake itself is to the extreme right, with unclimbable snow-capped
rocky mountains forming the opposite coast.
To-day we dined at 4 P.M. in order to get an uninterrupted evening’s
fishing, but the experiment was not a success and will not be repeated,
for it spoilt the dinner and we caught no fish. On returning to camp at
night rather cold, very cross, and exceedingly hungry, we agreed that
the best antidote for these dangerous symptoms would be hot soup, so
John put the pot on the fire while the Skipper and Esau were attending
to the tent and domestic duties.
Soon the caldron was heated and brought into the tent, and the eager
crowd drew near with cups and spoons, and one lifted the lid, while
another plunged his cup into the steaming savoury mess. And then arose a
great cry of horror and desolation, and the sleeping valley rang with
the wail of men in despair, for John had put the wrong pot on the fire,
and we had been presented with boiling dirty water in which the
dinner-things had been washed up; while all the time the soup pot was
quiet, untouched and cold in the corner of the tent where it is kept.
But three hungry men are not to be balked of a meal on which their
hearts are set by any trifle like this, so we all commenced with a will
to stoke that fire up and put that other pot on, and we got our soup and
were snugly packed in bed long before the gentle August moon had sunk to
rest behind the sheltering mountain tops.
The Skipper, by the way, is very much exasperated with this same moon
just now. He says she is a fraud, for this morning when we got up, there
she was high in the heavens.
‘What right,’ he wants to know, ‘has this moon--any moon, in fact--to be
up there blinking away in the middle of the day when we have plenty of
sun to light us? forward, dissipated thing! and then probably after this
week we shall have ever so many nights without any moon at all, and all
the earth left in total darkness to take care of itself; while here we
are to-day with an absurdly round moon at one end of this comparatively
diminutive valley, and a most extravagantly blazing sun at the other.’
The whole thing is ridiculous, he says, and it must be confessed that
there is some justice in his complaint; though no doubt there could be a
good deal said on the other side.
_August 23._--While Esau went out after deer the other two crawled up
the mountain and over to Rus Vand to fish, and had a good day. Two of
the Skipper’s fish were three pounds each, but, like most of the biggest
fish, not in that beautiful condition which the smaller ones always
show. The Skipper is sure that the old worn-out fish creep up to the
stony shallows at the western end of the lake to die in a sunny spot,
just as we men creep away in our old age to Bath, Cheltenham, Cannes, or
Algiers, to breathe our last in a warm place, thereby taking one step in
the direction of the proverbial future.
Esau arrived in camp about half-past seven, quite exhausted, and
followed by Öla, also dead beat, and again bearing the heads and skins
of two deer, a buck and a doe. He was hailed with fervent joy and many
congratulations: it is certainly great luck to fall in with deer on two
stalking days in succession, for they are by no means numerous here this
year. Dinner was served in a marvellously short time.
MENU.--August 23.
_Poisson._
Truite à la Fried in Butter.
_Entrées._
Kari of Reindeer Tongue.
_Rôts._
The Boss Pie.
_Gibier._
Ryper à la Spitchcock.
_Entremets._
Jam. Wimberry tart. Marmalade.
_Potage._
Could not eat any.
Then came Esau’s romance.
‘We walked up the Memurua to the great glacier, and then skirted its
south side. We found many fresh tracks, and about two o’clock, when we
were seven miles from home, Öla spied three deer chewing stones about
three quarters of a mile away. The wind was just in the right direction
to allow us to approach them, and they were in capital ground for
stalking, full of little hollows and slopes. But there was a serious
drawback: on one side was a lake, on the other an impassable precipice;
and before we could get into a place out of their sight we should be
obliged to cross a narrow strip of ground in full view of them, though
perhaps half a mile from them. We sat down and had our lunch, and waited
an hour watching for them to lie down, and at last they did so; then we
determined to risk the passage of the dangerous strip, and by crawling
like serpents and aided by luck got across without the deer seeing us.
Then we had to creep along the side of a scandalous precipice for the
next half-mile, in no danger of being seen, but with our hearts
constantly in our mouths as, despite our care, some stone was dislodged
and went clattering down the rocks, sounding to my strained ears as if
it must disturb every living thing within a mile. Very slow and
difficult was our progress, occasionally dangerous, but at last we
arrived at a spot 200 yards from the deer, which were still lying down,
and pronounced by Öla to be a buck and two does.
‘This was a very awkward place to shoot from, and I thought I could see
my way to a better one much nearer, so tried it and found it was just
possible, and after about a quarter of an hour’s worming, I arrived at a
place only 100 yards from them. From this I could see both the does
well, but only the head of the buck, and so had to lie there an hour
waiting for him to get up. Both the does did so twice, offering
beautiful shots, but he would not move, and they lay down again. I dare
not whistle to make him jump up, for fear the does might possibly be in
the way at the moment. So there I lay, miserably uncomfortable, with
cramp in every muscle; and at last I tried to crawl to another stone
about five yards away, from which I thought I could see to shoot at the
buck. When I got to it and peered cautiously over, I was horrified to
see the deer some distance away, and running as hard as they could
towards a small glacier which was close to them.
[Illustration: Esau stalking near Hinaakjærnhullet]
‘Of course I instantly lost my head, and jumping up fired at the buck
without much aim, and missed him. Then I recovered my senses and made a
careful shot at the last doe, knocking her over like a rabbit. The other
two were just then out of sight in a hollow, but they appeared directly
going up the hill on the snow at a great speed; and getting a broadside
shot at the buck I broke his shoulder; after this he went slowly, but
still kept on up the hill, and when he was about three hundred yards
away I fired two more shots, one of which hit him in the ribs, and the
other cut one of his horns off. Then he gave up trying to mount the
hill, and turned down towards the lake out of my sight. I ran as hard as
I could across the shoulder of the glacier, and saw him standing down
below me among the rocks close to the water, and sitting down I fired
another shot which killed him.
‘This is not a creditable performance in the shooting line; but my solid
bullets have a good deal to do with the matter: either of the first two
shots would have stopped him at once if fired from an express with
hollow-pointed bullets.
‘The doe is a barren one with a beautiful skin, and very fat, and the
buck is the best we have killed at present this year, a four-year-old,
what Öla calls a “litt stor bock” (little big buck), which I suppose is
the next best thing to the mythical “meget stor bock,” whose footprints
we are always seeing, but who carefully absenteth himself whensoever the
jovial hunter goeth forth to pursue him.
‘We saw a great deal of fresh spoor to-day, so that we may hope the deer
are beginning to come to our part of the country: perhaps the poor
things have been very much bullied in other places. Anyhow, they won’t
find any better country in Norway than where we went to-day; and the
scenery there is glorious.’
Esau was so tired that he fell asleep once in the midst of his exciting
narrative, and as dinner was very late we all turned in almost as soon
as it was finished.
CHAPTER XXIII.
A PICNIC.
_August 24._--There is a brood of ryper on the brow of the mountain
above our camp, which we always put up when we walk over Glopit armed
with rods, but never when we take a gun. There were originally eight of
them, but one has succumbed to a merlin which hunts up there; and they
are remarkably tame, so that when we put them up we throw stones at
them, and fully expect to kill them by that means, but somehow they have
escaped with their lives until now. This conduct has become unbearable,
and we have sworn ‘this day that brood shall die;’ so the first thing
after breakfast Esau and the Skipper toiled up the mountain with pockets
full of cartridges and guns ready for the slaughter of the innocents.
It takes just three quarters of an hour to get to the top; and after
reaching it we tramped over some millions of acres in search of that
brood, and of course it never obtruded itself on the scene. Finally the
Skipper went home in disgust, remarking that ‘he wished every ryper in
Norway was at the bottom of Gjendin;’ while Esau said ‘he would stay up
there a month or two and find those birds if they were anywhere on our
sheet of the Ordnance map.’
The Skipper had hardly walked 200 yards towards camp before he trod on
the old cock, who got up observing kek! kek! kekkekkek_kek_, kurrack:
kur_rack_; kurrack, krackrackackckkkkk! in an extremely indignant tone
of voice, and the rest of the family immediately followed him,
astonishing the Skipper so much that he missed the lot; and though we
marked them down quite near we could not persuade any of them to risk
their lives in flight again.
The language used on this occasion scorched the herbage off so large a
patch of ground, that John down below thought that Glopit had suddenly
commenced a volcanic eruption.
There are two kinds of birds known as ryper in Norway--the fjeld or
skarv ryper, which is, we think, identical with our ptarmigan; and the
dal or skog ryper, which we believe to be the same bird as the willow
grouse of North America. The former of these is not numerous anywhere,
but a few are always seen by the reindeer hunter up on the highest parts
of the mountains, among the snow and rocks. They do not attempt much
concealment, but their grey bodies and white wings are so exactly the
colour of their habitation that it is very difficult to see them, as
they sit perfectly still on the stones. If you do happen to catch sight
of one, in all probability after looking at him for a little you will
suddenly be aware that there is a small family of others all about him,
and will wonder how they escaped your notice at first. They are not very
useful for sporting purposes, as they are never found in great numbers,
are too tame to give any trouble, and not particularly good to eat. The
skog ryper is the bird which takes the place of the British grouse for
the sportsman in Norway: he lives at a lower altitude than the skarv
ryper, among the willows, wimberries, and stunted birches. In plumage he
is not unlike our grouse, but not quite so red in shade, and with a
white wing. During the summer he feeds on wimberry leaves, heather, and
occasional bits of willow, and he is then almost if not quite equal to a
grouse in flavour, but in winter, when there is nothing but willow to be
had, the flesh becomes bitter and not nice to eat: the poor birds are
then snared in great numbers, and may be seen hanging in English shops
as ‘ptarmigan,’ which with their then white plumage they much resemble.
After a good breeding season these skog ryper are very numerous in any
favourable place in Norway, but they are so much inclined to lie close,
that without dogs it is impossible to do much with them. Gjendin is too
steep and desolate for them, but between the east end of the lake and
Sjödals Vand there is some first-rate country, and also a little at the
west end.
After lunch we all manned Esau’s canoe, which is the largest, because he
is the smallest man; and set off down the lake to Leirungsö, the place
where the professor’s hut is built at the edge of the waterfall which
runs out of a small lake there (not the real Leirung’s Vand, which is
further to the east).
The Skipper had noticed a remarkably fine bed of mölte bær there, which
we expected to be just about ripe now, and so we had determined to
picnic (!) there, forsooth, as if our life were not one perpetual and
perennial picnic.
Leirungsö is nearly four miles from our camp, and the professor’s hut is
an extremely comfortable and convenient little dwelling, in a most
charming situation. Only one thing has been wanting, reindeer: he never
found any, and left his hut a fortnight ago for a place further north,
where we afterwards heard he had good sport.
After landing, the Skipper and Esau climbed up the valley to the little
lake in search of something to shoot, while John remained to bathe and
fish at the fall. There were lots of duck on the little lake, and in the
rushy swamp at its upper end, and the Skipper put up a large brood of
ryper, which we marked into a very small patch of willow scrub
surrounded by bare ground. We walked through and through that patch, and
threw so many stones into it that we fancy we must have killed and
buried most of them, for we only persuaded four of them to fly again,
three of which we secured. Our shooting was soon over, and then we
gathered a lot of mölte bær, and returned to John, who was getting
dinner ready; and after a regal repast of kidneys, reindeer pie, and
mölte, paddled home by moonlight, arriving soon after nine.
We beguiled the journey home by songs and accompaniments by the
following celebrated artists: Messrs. John, Skipper, and Esau. Among
other songs was an original composition by John--air, ‘Bonnie Dundee’--
ODE TO THE LAST POT OF MARMALADE.
To the fishers of Gjendin the bold Skipper spoke:
‘There is one two-pound pot that as yet is unbroke;[1]
So rouse ye, my gallants, and after our tea
Let us “go for” our Keiller’s[2] own Bonnie Dundee.’
(_Chorus._) Come! up with the Smör![3] Come! out with the Brod,[4]
We’ll have one more Spise[5] that’s fit for a god;
Come, whip off the paper and let it gae free,
And we’ll wade into Keiller’s own Bonnie Dundee.
You may talk of your mölte[6] with sugar and milk,
Your blueberry pasties, and jam of that ilk;
They are all very well in the wilds, don’t you see?
But they can’t hold a candle to Bonnie Dundee.
_Chorus as before._
Oh! the pies they were good, and the oven baked true,
With its door of green sod, and its sinuous flue.
Oh! the curry was toothsome as curry can be,
But where is the equal of Bonnie Dundee?
_Chorus again, gentlemen._
There are ryper on Glopit[7] as fleet as the wind,
And the Stor[8] Bock roams on the Skagastolstind;
There are trout, teal, and woodcock, a sight for to see,
But what meal can be perfect without our Dundee?
_Chorus, if you please._
Pandecages[9] are tasty, and omelettes are good;
Our eggs, though antique, not unsuited for food;
You can always be sure of at least one in three,
But blue mould cannot ruin our Bonnie Dundee.
_Chorus, only more so._
Take[10] my soup, though ’tis luscious, my öl,[11] though ’tis rare,
My whisky, though scanty, beyond all compare;
Take my baccy, take all that is dearest to me,
But leave me one spoonful of Bonnie Dundee.
_Chorus ad lib._
Esau supplied an encore verse:--
It has made our lot brighter, and helped us to bear
Our troubles, the rain, mist, and cold northern air;
And the Gjende fly,[12] green fly,[13] bug,[14] skeeter,[15] and flea,
We should ne’er have done Deeing them but for Dundee.
_Chorus (of big, big D’s)._
NOTES ON THE ABOVE COMPOSITION.
[Footnote 1: ‘Unbroke.’ This is bold poetic imagery, meaning
unopened. Breakages were unknown during our expedition, and long
experience justifies us in assuring the world that breaking the
pot, though an effectual way of getting at the marmalade, is not a
satisfactory method. It will be found much better to remove the
bladder at the top. This may be depended on.]
[Footnote 2: Need we explain that ‘Keiller’s own Bonnie Dundee’
alludes to the marmalade made by that great and good man? No,
a thousand times no!]
[Footnote 3: ‘Smör,’ Norwegian butter, pronounced Smoeurr--and it
tastes like that, too.]
[Footnote 4: ‘Brod,’ bread. The word does not rhyme to god, being
pronounced something like Broat, but it looks as if it rhymed.]
[Footnote 5: ‘Spise,’ a meal, pronounced Speessa.]
[Footnote 6: ‘Mölte,’ cloudberry, pronounced Moulta.]
[Footnote 7: ‘Glopit,’ the mountain between Gjendin and Rus Vand.]
[Footnote 8: ‘Stor,’ big, pronounced Stora before a consonant.]
[Footnote 9: ‘Pandecāges,’ pancakes.]
[Footnote 10: ‘Take.’ This word is only used by poetic licence,
and must not be construed literally. When we attempted to ‘take’
John’s whisky on our return to camp, there was a good deal of
ill-feeling engendered, and he said that no one but himself
understood the subtleties of æsthetic metaphor.]
[Footnote 11: ‘Öl,’ the ale of the country, ‘rare’ both in quality
and, alas! in quantity.]
[Footnote 12: ‘Gjende fly,’ a fly peculiar to this lake, of which
more anon.]
[Footnote 13: ‘Green fly,’ a charming creature like a large grey
blue-bottle with green eyes; it bites a portion of flesh
sufficient for its wants, and then goes away to eat it.]
[Footnote 14: ‘Bug.’ Again poetic licence. ‘Cimex lectularius’ has
not been encountered during our stay in Norway this time;
nevertheless he is not unknown in the country, as the sojourners
in one of the Lillehammer hotels, not the Victoria, can testify.]
[Footnote 15: ‘Skeeter.’ The mosquito is a mournful and
disgraceful fact; and so are the sand-fly, the stomoxys, and the
flea. Memurudalen is more free from insects than any place we have
tried.]
_August 25._--Still the same glorious weather, rather too glorious for
our purling rivulet, which has now dwindled away to a mere thread of
water, while even the larger stream on the hill behind the tent, which
we use for bathing, is showing a marked decrease in volume.
The Skipper and Öla went out stalking directly after breakfast, and Esau
climbed up on to Bes Hö to shoot ryper. John went over to Rus Vand to
fish, and had a pleasant day. He managed somehow to drop his native
‘tolle kniv’ into the lake, and of course immediately discovered that
that knife was the most precious thing he possessed, in fact, the only
thing he cared about in this world; though until it fell into the lake,
he had regarded it with very unenthusiastic feelings--feelings of
tolle-ration, the Skipper said. So he undressed and dived for it for a
long time, and at last was lucky enough to recover it.
It would have been a pleasing sight to a spectator, if any could have
been present, to watch John playing at being a seal all by himself in
Rus Vand, or standing on a rock poised on one leg like a heron, with his
head sideways and keen eye piercing the cerulean wave. And it was good
to see his proud bearing as he returned to camp with the ‘tolle kniv’
slung jauntily at his waist, and carrying over his shoulder the scaly
spoil snatched from the vasty deep, as we used beautifully to word it in
Latin verses--meaning the fish he had caught.
[Illustration: John diving for his knife in Rus Lake]
At 8 P.M. the Skipper had not returned, so we dined, and then sat
round the fire wondering what could have happened to delay him; and as
time went on and still he never came, we began to get very uneasy;
there are so many dangers by which the reindeer hunter may be
overtaken--avalanches, crevasses, fogs, snowdrifts, broken limbs, or
getting lost. We could only hope that none of these had happened to the
Skipper, and at eleven o’clock gave up any hopes of his return that
night and turned in, there being then a very decided fog a short way up
the Memurua valley.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE SKIPPER’S RETURN.
_August 26._--At breakfast-time the drover who had accompanied us to
shoot ryper at Gjendebod arrived here on his way towards lower and more
genial regions for the winter. We always feel that we are killing more
game than we really need, and here was an outlet for our superfluous
meat, so we gave him half a deer, and he went homewards rejoicing
greatly.
We had sent Ivar up to the drover’s den in Memurudalen at daybreak to
see if our missing ones had found their way to it and spent the night
there, but he now came back without having found any traces of them.
However, under the cheering influence of the morning sun we soon became
resigned to their fate, and Esau so far regained his spirits that he
crossed the glacier torrent with a gun, and penetrated the birchwood on
the other side, to what he called ‘shoot the home coverts.’ He presently
brought back a woodcock, which had got up about fourteen times before he
killed it, and each time he had thought it was a fresh cock, so that he
had had a regular sporting morning after it, ‘seeing lots of cock get
up, shooting at two, and killing one of them,’ the wood being so thick
that it was almost impossible to get even the snappiest of snap-shots at
the agile bird.
Esau then busied himself with the construction of a rack to hold all our
guns and spare rods, cleaning rod, &c., with a shelf near the bottom for
books, and another one whereon each man might keep his little valuables,
such as pipes and watch, fly-books and reels. This contrivance was
chiefly formed of birch boughs of peculiar shape, and when finished and
placed in its proper position at the further end of the tent just behind
our pillows, it presented a truly noble appearance.
Lunch-time passed, and still the Skipper had not returned, so we decided
that he must be defunct, and proceeded to write his epitaph, preparatory
to organising a search expedition to bring in his remains.
Here is one touching little poem:
He was rather tall and terribly thin,
But remarkably roomy inside;
We put up these stones to cover his bones
Near the place where we think he died.
This is another:
IN MEMURUHAMEREN
(Hills Round the Camp).
Our Skipper has gone, our great head cook,
On a tour that e’en Cook won’t find;
In a fissure he’s surely taken his hook
Nor left any trace behind.
With a rod or pole he would fish for perch,
Now a rod, pole, or perch of ground
Is more than he needs, and in vain we search,
For his body will ne’er be found.
Now his angling is finished, though once every fin
Which came within reach he’d attack;
He was really so clever at reeling them in,
And his terms were to fish, ‘nett catsh.’
On a lake or pond, or even a moat,
He beamed wherever he went;
How cheerfully he would tar his boat!
How gaily would pitch his tent!
After ryper or deer he would walk all day,
From the top of a hill to the bottom;
And we feel it unpleasantly sad to say
That the dear old Reaper’s got him.
But we think it is time that this verse were done,
Which to mournfully write we’ve tried
In memory o’ our darlin’ one,
Who in Memurudalen died.
While we were still lingering over these beautiful and appropriate
sentiments, and deliberating as to whether they should be cut on a stone
or only on wood, the corpse suddenly walked into the tent and announced
that he wanted something to eat. We soon got over our natural
disappointment at the waste of a good epitaph, and really welcomed him
quite warmly, much more so when Öla appeared laden with the tit-bits of
a reindeer buck. Then we set food before the Skipper, and after he had
feasted he related unto us his story.
‘I left camp yesterday morning determined to beard the savage untamed
reindeer of the mountains in his lair, and soon came on very fresh
tracks, which we followed for some time, and at each step seemed to get
“hotter,” as the children say, and the indications of deer being near
got more and more encouraging. However, by one o’clock we had seen
nothing, so sat down behind a little rocky eminence to have our ‘spise.’
Mine was a particularly good lunch, as I had spread some gravy from the
‘boss pie’ on my slice of bread and butter, and this with the icy cold
snow-water was very grateful after a four hours’ walk uphill under a
scorching sun.
[Illustration: The Skipper about to astonish the Reindeer]
‘Öla also seemed to devour his food with considerable relish. So we had
been sitting there some time, happily silent, as we cannot talk each
other’s tongue, and I was just preparing to move on, and putting my
knife back in its sheath, when we heard a slight snort quite close
to us.
‘Öla immediately peeped cautiously over an adjacent stone; then he
pushed my rifle into my hand and whispering the magic word “Reins,”
pointed to another stone a few yards away, whither he wished me to
crawl. To unsling my cartridge-bag lest it should jingle, and creep to
that stone, was what the novelists call the work of a moment: then I
raised my head _va-a-ry_ gingerly, and saw forty yards away a single
four-year-old buck standing broadside to me with his head in the air,
sniffing suspiciously, and his whole attitude denoting uncertainty and
caution. This buck, as we found out afterwards from the spoor, had
walked up to within ten yards of us as we sat at lunch; then he must
have either heard me or smelt Öla, probably the latter, for Öla seldom
washes his hands, never his blood-stained hunting coat; and when I
encountered his gaze he had evidently just decided that this was not a
good place for reindeer to be about in. This was an excellent frame of
mind on his part, but he arrived at it a couple of seconds too late: my
rifle was levelled, and the shot hit him just above the heart. At that
distance the express bullet smashed a portion of him about as big as a
hat, so that he rolled over stone dead, and had no time for lingering
glances or last words. Half an hour more, and he was skinned,
gralloched, put in a hole and buried under a heap of stones, to remain
there until we need his flesh and send the horse to bring him home. Then
we built a little cairn to mark his resting-place for future use, and
wandered on in search of the rest of his party.
‘Very soon we came on the tracks of four other deer, one of them only a
calf, but although we followed the spoor all the afternoon we never came
up with them: probably they were near enough to hear my shot when I
fired, and at once betook themselves to remote regions.
[Illustration: Öla performing the Funeral Rites]
‘It had got so late before we gave up the search, and we were such a
long way from home, that we determined to go to Gjendebod, at the
Western end of the lake, hoping to get a boat there and return to
Memurudalen by water. But on arriving there very tired, hot, and hungry,
we found that the men had taken their boat down the lake, and would not
return until to-day. This was a great blow, for it is quite impossible
to walk along the shores of Gjendin, except, as John says, for a
bird--and even it would have to fly all the way. Climbing up the
mountain again was out of the question, as it is a seven hours’ walk
from Gjendebod to our camp, so there was nothing for it but sleeping
there--a course which was very distasteful to me, as the food is bad,
and I had no book with me, no tobacco, no hair-brush, and no
fishing-rod.
‘To-day I started for home directly after breakfast. We wished to
combine a little stalking with the walk, for we had to pass through some
first-rate deer country--all that part, Esau, where you got your first
two bucks; but of course we had not much chance of doing anything, as
the wind was with us all the way. As you know, deer almost always feed
up wind, so by walking against it you are safe from their ears and
noses, and also are likely to be warned of their presence by coming on
their tracks first. But in walking down wind all this is reversed; you
come upon the deer without any warning, and they are almost sure to
smell or hear you long before you discover them. Consequently, as we
expected, we saw nothing on our way here to-day.’
The Skipper’s buck is a very good one, the best that has been killed at
present, and there was much joy at his change of luck. But strictly
speaking his bad luck has pursued him even in this instance, for if he
had not been obliged to shoot when he did, in all probability the rest
of the herd would have appeared on the scene, for their tracks showed
that they were following the lead of this buck. Besides, there is not
the same excitement in a chance shot like this as there is when you
first find the deer, and then spend two or three hours in all kinds of
uncomfortable modes of progression in order to approach them.
However, when we were in this country before the Skipper had all the
good luck, and Esau the bad, the former getting five deer and the latter
only two, so that the present state of affairs may be looked upon as the
working of retributive justice. When this view of the matter was
suggested by Esau to the Skipper, he said, ‘Retributive justice be
blowed!’
We celebrated the joyful reunion of loving hearts by a skaal, and so to
bed, perfectly happy after the events of the day.
_August 27._--We sent the men off this morning with the horse to bring
in some of the meat now lying in the mountains, while we went by canoe
to Gjendesheim to stay for a couple of days, as we cannot go stalking
again till the already slain deer are brought home; the fish in the lake
are not rising well after this long spell of fine weather, and with the
exception of Esau’s ‘home coverts’ there is no shooting for a
fowling-piece at Memurudalen.
Very few tourists find their way to Gjendin, but the season for them is
over, and we expected to have the place to ourselves; but how fallible
is human prescience! To our astonishment the sportsmen from Rus Vand had
already occupied the greater part of the house, having abandoned their
own hut for the same reasons which had led us to forsake our camp, and
here they were, armed to the teeth with rods and guns.
This seemed unlucky, and although we were outwardly glad to see them, at
heart we could not help feeling how inconsiderate it was of them to come
and shoot the fjeld and fish the river just when we wanted to do all
that ourselves. No doubt they harboured precisely the same feelings
towards us.
However, we had dinner together, and introduced the ‘boss pie,’ now
rapidly disappearing, to the notice of our Norwegian friends, and as the
meal advanced a feeling of genial contentment crept over us, which
seemed to influence all our senses; we began to talk over sport and
compare our experiences in various countries and in pursuit of various
animals: some of us were good listeners, others fond of talking, but all
animated by a love for the same occupation, so that when at length one
of the enemy handed round the best of cigars, even the Skipper became so
mellow and pleasant that before going to bed we arranged for a joint
shoot after ryper to-morrow; and said ‘Good night,’ feeling that it was
quite fortunate that we had all come to Gjendesheim on the same day.
One of our new friends is a Russian, an engineer officer; he speaks not
the English, but we were introduced to him as a man who had shot more
bears in Europe than any one else living. He has killed forty-two, and
looks as though he had been hugged by each one of them before it finally
succumbed. Now he wants to kill a reindeer, and has been attempting the
feat to-day; apparently he will be _hors de combat_ for the rest of the
week, as he can hardly move for stiffness: he has not been accustomed to
the awful walking that stalking round Gjendin entails.
Esau is also rather dilapidated, for he landed at Leirungsö on his way
down the lake, and walked round the mountain to Gjendesheim, leaving
John to bring on his canoe. On his way he was obliged to wade across the
Leirungs River, a wide and rapid stream, and just in the roughest part
he trod on a loose stone and fell, cutting his knee and making a bad
dent in his gun-barrel. Of course he was wet through and a good deal
hurt, but hardly enough to account for the frightful state of his
temper, till it came out that though he had walked through miles of
beautiful ground for ryper, snipe, and duck, he had never got a shot at
anything.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE GJENDE FLY.
_August 28._--This was the hottest, most windless and cloudless day that
has yet been made. The Russian and F---- went out with Esau and the
Skipper to shoot ryper, accompanied by a pointer, which the Norwegians
call a bird-hound. A brood was soon found and rose in front of Esau, who
with his usual promptitude got a right and left; whereupon the Russian
took off his hat, and bowing profoundly, advanced and solemnly shook
hands with him, protesting that he had frequently seen marvellous
shooting, but never, never aught like this; at least, that is what we
imagined to be the translation of the neat little speech which he made
in Russian.
A ryper is easier to kill, if possible, than the tamest young grouse
which gets up under a dog’s nose on the calmest 12th of August; and Esau
thinks fame is like an eel on a night-line, easily caught, but very
difficult to hold afterwards.
Satisfied by having witnessed this extraordinary specimen of our skill,
the Russian gave up the chase, and returned to Gjendesheim completely
exhausted by the heat; but the others went on till the afternoon, now
finding a selfish old cock, whose fate no one regretted; now a young
brood only just old enough to be shot: anon lying down to rest and eat
berries, or bathing in the Leirungs Lake, but all the time extremely
happy.
F---- was so exceedingly polite that he would _not_ shoot unless birds
enough for all of us happened to get up at once, and one brood escaped
without a shot being fired, in consequence of our unwonted emulation of
his courtesy.
Near Leirungs we were fortunate enough to drive three large broods into
the same bit of willow scrub, and had some very pretty shooting as the
dog set them one by one; but there was hardly any scent, and the heat
soon proved too much for our bird-hound, so we returned to Gjendesheim
with a very considerable addition to the larder.
Then followed hours of inability to do anything except lie on our backs
with lighted pipes in our mouths, far too exhausted to smoke them; and
at last--dinner; and soon the cooler air brought relief and engendered a
return of bloodthirstiness, which impelled the gang of sportsmen to
sally forth and rake the river till it was quite rough with artificial
flies.
This was a trying time, for by some means we have established a most
dangerously flattering reputation as fishermen, and were bound to do all
we knew to retain it. However, all turned out right; the Skipper went
into the lake and got several beauties, and Esau did the same in the
river, so that we came in with the best bags by a considerable margin,
and could now afford to catch nothing for a whole day without being
dethroned from our pedestal.
The river, Gjendinoset as it is called, just in front of the rest-house,
is a wonderful piece of water; there are about 150 yards of rapid in
which the fish lie, then comes a fall, and below that there are nothing
at present but small fish, though the big ones will soon begin to drop
down lower for spawning. Consequently we all fish in the first 150
yards, and to-day between 50 and 60 lbs. weight has been taken out; the
same quantity yesterday, and probably for some days before; and the
fishing will be even better a few days later, for the Gjende fly is
beginning to hatch, and as long as he lasts the fish will rise well.
We have heard so much of this fly that we had been expecting something
rather gorgeous, a monster dragon-fly, or at least a second-rate
butterfly, or a decent imitation of a stag-beetle; and we have been
looking up gaudy Scotch and Canadian salmon flies, which we hoped might
be passable substitutes; but, alas for the vain hopes of foolish man!
the Gjende fly has come, and he is only a wretched little black beast
like a very small, unenterprising, common or garden house-fly of Great
Britain. He cannot fly decently; he is apparently devoid of sense; he
has no moral, physical, or intellectual attributes for which a human
being can learn to respect or love him; but--he _can_ CRAWL. If he
alights on the water it never occurs to him to rise again, and he allows
the trout, mad with the excitement of a fortnight’s prospective
gluttony, to scoop him down their capacious throats by companies. If he
enters your mouth, which he does with a numerous retinue every time you
open it, retreat from that untenable position is the very last thing he
would think of; and with what may be a gleam of momentary intelligence
he seems desirous of still further increasing his knowledge of the rest
of your interior arrangements.
With characteristic obstinacy, unmindful of the teachings of logic, he
invariably acts on the fallacious maxim that ‘an ink-bottle cannot be so
full that there is not room for just one more Gjende fly.’ The whole of
the river here at the end of the lake, and for thirty yards on each
side, is now pervaded by this noisome creature; the water looks as if it
were covered with a mixture of soot and tar, the rocks are black and
slippery with him, and the atmosphere is charged with him, so that the
landscape dimly seen through the cloud looks as if it were dancing.
Gjendesheim itself is unfortunately not quite beyond the zone which he
infests, so that the windows look loathsome with crawling blackness; the
tablecloth is strewn with the corpses of those who have imbibed the
honeyed poison of the paraffin lamp and come to an untimely end, and the
remains of the ‘boss pie’ would warrant a stranger in the belief that it
had been composed of currants.
We think Pharaoh must have been a man of extraordinary resolution, or
else inane mildness of character, otherwise he would have sacrificed
Moses long before the fourth Plague was concluded.
Fortunately the Gjende fly has no insatiable craving for human flesh;
the Skipper, indeed, asserted that one fastened on his hand and
inflicted a wound that swelled enormously and remained swollen for
several days, but the better opinion is that the creature that
perpetrated this outrage must have been a viper, though we did not hint
this to the Skipper, because he is firmly convinced that whisky is the
only remedy for snake-bites, and that it must be taken in large
quantities.
If any one stuck up a rod near the river, in two minutes it looked like
a black fir pole with a bunch on the top; and John, who is a man of
great entomological knowledge, spent some time in studying this
phenomenon. He reported that the flies crawled up for fun, intending to
jump off the top ring, but when they got up it was so much higher than
they expected that they were all afraid to try, and those at the bottom
and halfway up kept jeering at the top ones and calling them names, and
jostling them so much that they could not crawl down again. He also said
that the swarm in the air was so dense that he wrote his name in it with
his finger, and it remained visible for nearly a minute.
Probably it is difficult for a man to speak the exact truth with his
mouth full of (_f_)lies.
When it was too dark to fish we sat round the fire and heard a good deal
about the various winter sports of Norway, capercailzie stalking, bear
hunting, elk and reindeer shooting, and running on skier, the snow-shoes
of the country, which are very different from the well-known Canadian
shoes, being made of wood, from six to twelve feet long, four inches
wide in front, three behind, about an inch and a half thick where the
foot rests, thinner at each end, and turned up and pointed in front.
Every district has its own peculiar shape; about here the right shoe is
made six feet long, the left one ten or eleven feet, it being more easy
to turn if one is shorter than the other: some are made of pine, some of
birch, and occasionally oak. The men of the Thellemarken are the most
skilful runners, but it is now quite a fashionable amusement in
Christiania during the winter, just as skating is in England.
_Sunday, August 29._--Our Norwegian friends departed for the happy
hunting-grounds of Rus Vand this morning, but before doing so they most
kindly offered us the hut there any time after this week, at the end of
which they are going south. We can hardly expect the present glorious
weather, which has now lasted for three weeks, to go on for ever; and
when the change comes, a tent will no longer be the abode of comfort and
luxury that we at present find it, so that the offer of the hut is most
opportune for us.
We parted with great regret from people who have been so kind and
hospitable, and many were the expressions of good-will and protestations
of eternal friendship, as we shall not see them again till we pass
through Christiania on our return home.
That return home has caused the Skipper hours of anxious thought
already: there is to be a wedding in England about the end of next
month, at which, although it is not his own, his presence is urgently
needed. He knows he ought to go, but hates to leave this blissful life
just when the best stalking is beginning; consequently he devotes much
time every day to the consideration of the subject, torn by doubts,
tortured by terrible misgivings, and harassed by indecision.
To-day, after being more than usually disagreeable under the malign
influence of his conscience, and seeking for inspiration, first in the
room at Gjendesheim, walking up and down like Weston; then on the lake
paddling like a penny boat; and finally roosting on a rock at the top of
the fjeld with his arms folded like Napoleon, and a gruesome scowl on
his face, or at least on those portions of it which were visible through
the mask of Gjende flies, he at last concluded to commit his fate to the
decision of an unbiassed coin, if such could be obtained from any
confiding friend.
With great difficulty he persuaded Esau to lend him one öre, value 1/100
of a shilling, which seems on reckoning to be about half a farthing;
Esau observing as he gave it, ‘It isn’t that I’m stingy, old fellow,
though of course I don’t expect to see it again, but it _will_ throw my
accounts out so.’ N.B.--Esau’s notion of keeping accounts is to put his
receipts into one pocket, _and his disbursements into another_; if he
has a vague idea to within 20_l._ or so of how the money has gone, it
will be more than any one expects; that everything he possesses will be
spent is a foregone conclusion.
But to resume. The öre coin has no distinct head or tail, so the Skipper
named one side heads, and tossed. The thing fell on its edge, and rolled
round the table and about the room till it struck the wall, whereupon it
fell over ‘heads,’ and decided that the Skipper must go to the wedding.
So he sat down and wrote a letter saying that they must not expect him,
and that he should stay out here the whole time that was originally
intended; for as soon as he had dated the letter it occurred to him that
it would be childish to allow such a weighty matter to be decided by the
whim of a half-farthing coin, which might very likely be interested in
the affair in some way, and which, as he truly said, would possibly have
turned up ‘tails’ if it had not happened to fall on its edge and been
interfered with by an unauthorized wall.
Having thus acted according to his inclinations, and given his missive
to Andreas to post when he leaves Gjendesheim next week, the Skipper
became quite pleasant again, and went forth to his fishing ‘ever and all
so gaily O.’
The ponies of Norway are wonderfully docile and clever; these qualities
were well shown to-day in a black one belonging to Jens which came to
take F----’s baggage over the mountain to Rus Vand. This pony was
brought down near the door of the rest-house, and left standing there
without any fastening or any one to look after him. The things were not
ready, so he waited about two hours, occasionally wiping off the Gjende
flies with his tail when their weight became insupportable, but
otherwise never moving. The busy world (consisting of Andreas and
Ragnild) pursued their usual avocations around him, goats ran against
him, and insects climbed over him, but there he stood placid and
motionless as a wooden rocking-horse. At last the baggage was ready, and
they brought it out and piled it on his back until we feared he would
break, and then Jens turned his head in the direction of Rus Vand, and
gave him a gentle push to start him; and he went slowly off up the
mountain, choosing the best way for himself, for no one went with him;
in fact, Jens did not follow him for about half an hour, but no doubt he
was found at the right place in the end. The whole performance reminded
one of a clockwork toy, and John remarked as we stood and watched him
out of sight over the pass, ‘Now, that’s what I call a well-trained
pony.’
During our stay here we had the pleasure of forming the acquaintance of
an elk-dog. This animal is taken out in a kind of harness to which a
rope is fastened, the other end of the rope being attached to the
hunter’s belt; and his legitimate occupation is finding elk in a forest
by scent, and denoting their presence by his behaviour before the hunter
gets within range of the elk’s eyes, ears, or nose. Mr. Thomas brought
him up here hoping to find reindeer with him in the same manner, as he
had been unable to get a Finmarker[*] broken to reindeer; but the
experiment has not been successful, for the dog has been so carefully
trained to elk, that he exhibits a large and lofty contempt for so
pusillanimous a creature as a reindeer, and will not confess that he has
discovered the existence of such a thing at all.
[Footnote: Finmarker is the kind of dog usually employed for
finding reindeer: the name being derived from the district of
which it is a native.]
But in addition to the fact that he finds no deer, he is a good deal of
trouble from the fastidiousness of his appetite. It appears that he is
accustomed to feed on dogs, and when he cannot get dogs he can rough it
very well for a short time on boys or any other plain fare; but up here,
where dogs are few and boys are extinct, he is having a very poor time
of it. The last place where he had a really square meal was at
Skjæggestad, on the journey up, where he was lucky enough to get a whole
dog and some portions of boy; since then he has only had limbs snatched
off adventurous observers, and altogether seems to be pining for want of
proper nourishment. He is about the height of a colley, but with an
enormous chest and limbs, a head something like an Esquimaux, a wiry
reddish yellow coat, and a most unkindly expression of countenance.
In the absence of sufficient flesh food he appears to be developing a
liking for man-diet, so we did not remain long in his society, for which
indeed we only craved after we had perceived through a chink in the door
of his dwelling that he was moored to a beam by a kind of anchor chain.
We have often heard that there is a certain amount of danger in the
pursuit of the elk; if the hunter is always accompanied by a dog of this
kind we can easily understand it. However, he was a very interesting
animal, and if we had a National School at Memurudalen we should
certainly have tried to buy him, as there is any amount of room for
_débris_ there. What a boon he would be in some of the thickly populated
districts of England!
In the afternoon we paddled leisurely back to our camp and found it
looking prettier than ever, but, alas! our little stream had ceased to
run. However, there is another one not more than forty yards away, so we
shall not be much troubled by its loss.
_August 30._--The sun still shines upon us from a cloudless sky, and
early in the morning, before any breeze springs up, the lake makes a
most beautiful picture, with its steep mountain sides and foaming
torrents so perfectly reflected in the green unruffled water. But,
lovely as it is, its beauty is rather wasted on us now, for it has been
just the same for the last three weeks, with the outlines all hard and
clearly defined, and none of the graduated effects of distance which we
get from the hazy climate at home: in this clear atmosphere the peaks
twenty miles away are as bright as those a mile or so beyond the lake.
Probably this is the reason why we so seldom see pictures of Norwegian
mountain scenery, and that the few which do appear are often condemned
as hard, cold, and unsatisfactory.
The most prominent object in looking towards the lake from our camp is a
curious pyramidal mound, about thirty feet high, close to the water’s
edge. It is so regular in shape that we have devoted many hours of
cogitation and argument to the discovery of its history.
John (who is a man of considerable archæological fame) maintains that it
is a funeral barrow in which some ancient Viking was buried, and he
wants us to give up our cartridges for the purpose of constructing a
mine and blasting him out: we have vainly represented to him that it
cannot be a Viking’s tomb, because there is absolutely nothing to Vike
up here.
The Skipper says it is a glacial moraine, ‘any donkey can see that at a
glance;’ and Esau holds to the opinion that it is an artificial mound
put up for ancient regiments of Gjendin yeomen and Memurudalen militia
to practise archery at. Possibly none of these theories give the correct
solution; but, whatever its origin, it makes a capital rifle butt for
our occasional shooting. Esau was heard to irreverently remark, as he
aimed at it with the Skipper’s rifle, ‘he guessed an express bullet
would rouse old Jarl Hakon out of that,’ but nothing particular
followed.
To-day the Skipper composed an Irish stew as a _pièce de résistance_,
which, when it came to table, was unanimously voted the best of all the
excellent dishes on which we have feasted here. After dinner we made an
enormous fire for the sole purpose of warmth, as the nights are now very
cold, and during this fine weather after sunset a strong draught sets
down our valley towards the lake. We have ascertained that a like
draught blows down each of the other valleys running into Gjendin,
making the lake a centre. That in ours begins gently directly the sun
has set, and increases in strength until it amounts to a stiff breeze;
and as it comes direct from the vast snow fjelds, it is a disagreeably
chilly blast, which freezes that side of our bodies remote from the
fire, and leads us to envy the happy condition of a leg of mutton
attached to a roasting-jack. That, ‘o nimium fortunatum!’ enjoys equally
in every part the genial warmth, while man has no mechanical arrangement
by which his immortal soul can be rendered blissful through the medium
of a temperate body.
In the morning a breeze begins to blow out of the lake into all the
valleys; illustrating on a small scale the cause of land and sea breezes
all over the world. The Skipper and John (who is a man of profound
science) have elaborated a theory explaining the exact reason of this
interesting phenomenon; but as their explanation is entirely opposed to
the teachings of Dr. Brewer and the opinions of Professor Tyndall, and
involves a rearrangement of existing notions concerning radiation and
the movements of the heavenly bodies, we think it best to exclude it
from these pages, as this is not a simply scientific work, and we have
no desire to hurt the feelings of even the above-named misguided
philosophers.
CHAPTER XXVI.
DISASTER.
_August 31._--We have got quite tired of writing ‘Another beautiful
day,’ and in future shall bring notebooks to Norway with these words
ready printed at the top of each page.
The Skipper paddled away to Gjendebod, to bring home the deerskin which
he had left there to dry. He returned with a splendid bag of the best
trout that ever came out of Gjendin, and that means the best in the
world; but he was in a state of great indignation because he had been
charged 5s. 6d. for beds, dinners, and breakfasts for himself and Öla
when they stayed there a few nights ago. This is the result of living in
a cheap country for two months: to the ordinary Englishman it would not
appear an exorbitant hotel bill, especially when the hotel (!) is fifty
miles from a town, and only open for two months in the year.
Just at bedtime Esau crawled into the tent saying that he had strained
his back in lifting a stone: he was in such pain that he could hardly
stand, and was white and shivering. We undressed him and put him to bed,
and then produced the liniment from the ‘medicine chest,’ by which name
we dignify the cigar-box which contains our little stock of drugs. Then
John spent an hour viciously rubbing remedies into his victim’s back, as
one rubs oil into a bat, so that Esau presently groaned out, ‘Thanks,
John, I think that will do, I feel a great deal better now;’ and
certainly he did seem to experience a kind of relief as soon as the
rubbing stopped. After this we turned in.
_September 1._--Esau spent a sleepless night, and this morning could not
move. Thereupon John nobly closed with him for another half-hour’s
rubbing, which had a decided effect, and after giving him some
breakfast, we carried him out and made a comfortable bed for him under
the Sycamine tree, and there left him with the library and all his
belongings in easy reach.
At midday John returned from fishing to lunch with the invalid, and we
wondered how all our friends in England were getting on with the
partridges, and almost wished we were there for a few minutes, as we
pictured to ourselves Eddie and Jack both talking sixteen to the dozen
at lunch over beefsteak pie and beer (fancy beer, John!); old Blank,
with two young dogs tied to him, perspiring over the downs; and the
Major sitting with his cigar aboard the yacht at Cowes, and thinking how
snug his birds were lying down Gorseham way, not to be disturbed till
his return next month to shoot at them, while all the time the Furzely
boys were walking them up, and making them as wild as hawks.
After lunch, John accomplished what has long been his great desire, the
ascent of the sugar-loaf mountain across the Memurua; and after boiling
a thermometer at the topmost peak, burying a pocket handkerchief
(thoughtfully borrowed from Esau, who was too unwell to refuse him
anything), and ‘carving his name on the Newgate Stone with his Tollekniv
fine tra la,’ he returned in raptures about the view, and overcome with
sublime and poetical emotions, which did not subside until he had poured
forth his soul to his two friends at dinner.
The Skipper stalked without success, though he found the tracks of a
good herd that had only just passed over the ground. Though the day was
so pleasant, he had not exactly enjoyed his walk, for he could not help
being filled with gloomy forebodings about Esau; picturing to himself
the difficulties that would arise in getting men to carry the invalid
down to Christiania in a litter, with him yelling at every step. But
behold, how untrustworthy a thing is imagination! when the Skipper
arrived in camp, he was agreeably surprised to find the object of his
solicitude sitting up and actually stirring the rice for the curry, so
marvellous had been the effect of John’s lubrication; assisted by the
support to his back of a kind of splint composed of birch bark, a towel,
and two straps.
_September 2._--John ate new bread again for dinner yesterday, and the
Skipper was aroused in the middle of the night by a claw reaching out
from the adjoining bed, which clutched his pillow and rug and tried to
drag them away; the whole of this being accompanied by blood-curdling
groans and hideous yells. He became more peaceful after a short time,
but the Skipper is now in mortal fear lest John should again suffer from
indigestion, and again stretch out that gruesome claw, and grabbing him
by the hair, drag him forth from the tent, and with demoniac shrieks
stamp the life out of his frail body, while he makes the quiet valley
re-echo to his triumphant mocking laughter. This, the Skipper asserts,
would be only one step beyond his conduct of last night.
The latest scientific observations have caused us to re-classify the
different altitudes thus:--First, the country of high cultivation and
wild strawberries; above that the zone of uncleared pine forests and
most of the berries; then the belt of stunted birches and black game;
higher still, that of cows and goats; and above that, the country where
reindeer flourish and snow lies all the year round. This takes us to the
summit of all things earthly, and in this zone there is hardly any
vegetation. Beyond it is the region of eagles, but in the present
incomplete state of human knowledge we have been content to explore this
highest zone by letting our spirits soar aloft without our bodies.
Gjendin is just at the highest point of the stunted-birch belt, and when
the wind gets into the N.W. the thermometer, without waiting to reflect,
falls a great distance very hurriedly. John, having no sheepskin,
suffers a good deal from the cold at night; and the haughtiness of his
spirit is so far broken that he now sleeps in two pairs of trousers,
three shirts, and a coat, besides all his rugs. A few short weeks ago he
turned from us with an air of aristocratic nausea when we were getting
into bed clothed in a single shirt and pair of trousers, donning for his
part a linen nightshirt, an effeminacy previously unheard of in camp
life.
These things are changed now, and it is difficult to persuade him not to
go to bed with his boots on; but it has to be prevented on account of
the new bread.
The monotony of an uneventful day was only broken by the occasional
rubbing of Esau’s back, amidst the victim’s agonised appeals for mercy,
as he thinks it is rubbed away to the bone. However, the effect is
magnificent, and he can now hobble about camp and be useful to a certain
extent.
MENU.--September 2.
_Vins._ Truite à l’Irlandais. _Légumes._
Onion Sauce. Salmi of Ryper. Crumpets.
Woodcock à l’Oven.
Compote of Rice and Wimberries.
After dinner we dug a small hole in the floor of the outer tent, in
which we placed a spadeful of red-hot embers from the fire. This is a
capital device for obtaining warmth in a tent, as there is no smoke, and
the embers keep glowing for a very long time; possibly it might be
dangerous in a very close-fitting tent, but ours is airy, not to say
hurricany.
Round this fire we sat and talked and smoked until bedtime, hoping
against hope for a few more days of sunshine; but when we turned in, the
wind was howling and moaning along the hill-side in a very ominous and
unpleasant manner.
CHAPTER XXVII.
A CHANGE.
_September 3._--‘Forty below Nero’ was the probable position of the
thermometer during the night. Esau declares that his back is quite well,
but it is suspected that he only does this in order to avoid the
administration of further remedies by John.
However, we consider this such a successful cure that we here give our
recipe for strained backs to an expectant world, not as a sordid
advertisement, but from pure philanthropic motives.
‘Take the patient and place him on a grassy spot in the sun, and
lubricate with oil; rub this in for three hours with the hand; seize his
wrist and feel the pulse (if you can find it), displaying at the same
time a large gold watch; look profound; mutter inwardly. Now shift him
gently to a shaded position; and having lighted a fire to the windward,
prepare and cook thereon fourteen or fifteen pancakes, and administer
while hot (as a mixture, not a lotion). Take care that the aroma of each
cooking pancake is wafted in the direction of the patient. Carry this
principle throughout all his nourishment. Explain to him that deer
abound in the neighbouring mountains; show him quantities of
fresh-caught fish and newly killed ryper; ensure a week of fine weather,
and if this do not cure him he must be a _malade imaginaire_.’
Notwithstanding the improvement, of course Esau was not fit to go
stalking, and this and other reasons suddenly induced us to leave
Memurudalen to-day for good, and go to Gjendesheim on our way to Rus
Vand. So we made a last gigantic pie, packed up, lunched, and then
pulled down the tent, which had been standing so long now on the same
spot, and embarked everything on board our two canoes and the
Gjendesheim boat, which had been lent to us. Then the whole fleet sailed
from these hospitable shores ’neath a stormy sky, with cold wind and
rain, and the towering heights of Memurutungen all wrapped in angry
clouds, frowning blackly above us.
It was quite sad to leave the snug little corner where we have spent
such a happy, careless time, with all the comforts which we have added
gradually to our temporary home; and the valley looked very desolate
without the tent, the cheerful fire, and ‘the meteor flag.’
Esau’s last act was to fill two brass cartridge cases with water and
hammer them firmly into each other; the air-tight boiler so formed he
put into the fire under the oven, and after waiting a short time for the
explosion, forgot all about it and went away without telling any one.
Just then John arrived at the spot to see if there were any loose
belongings lying about, and was horrified to observe the oven suddenly
elevate itself into the air and disappear among the clouds with a loud
report. His mind at once reverted to the happy life of a landlord in co.
Limerick, but he soon realised the true state of affairs, and came down
to the lake muttering something about ‘tomdamfoolery,’ a Norwegian word
which expresses censure of the silly custom of practical joking.
This morning we found a merlin sitting just outside the tent door; it
had evidently been stuffing itself with scraps of offal from the camp
until it was perfectly stupid and could scarcely fly. Esau wanted to
knock it on the head at first, but more humane feelings came over him,
so he fetched his rifle and shot it for an hour or so, till at length
the bird, wearied by the constant noise, retired into the birch woods,
and we saw it no more.
There are usually several ravens near the camp, which come down to
‘carry off carrion,’ but otherwise there are not many birds here: the
most common are buzzards and kestrels, which abound; two eagles, which
are generally soaring above Memurutungen; a pair of ospreys occasionally
flying about the lake; a rough-legged buzzard seen once, a few merlins,
and a small short-tailed red hawk, with whom we are not acquainted;
sometimes black-throated divers and scaups on the lake, and a few
fieldfares and redwings in the birch woods. We have found many nests of
the latter in the trees, and one of a fieldfare in a bank.
What rare times all the birds and beasts of prey will have for the next
few days in Memurudalen! only to be equalled by the early days of the
Australian gold fever. Nuggets of inestimable value in the shape of
heads, tails, and other portions of reindeer, ryper, duck, and
trout--intermingled with other delicacies, such as potato skins, jam and
marmalade pots, and whisky bottles--will from time to time be unearthed
amidst shrieks of triumph. ‘Claims’ will be run up to a fabulous price,
and many a battle royal will be fought in that happy valley where we
have spent a month of peace. As we depart in mournful silence, brooding
over the days that are no more, we see in fancy the numerous bright eyes
which from lairs and eyries are watching our every move, their owners
all ready to swoop down on our _débris_ as soon as we have passed out of
sight.
The lake was very rough, and we were quite afraid of being swamped and
losing our baggage from the magnitude of the big little waves; but
luckily the boat took our heaviest things, or we should not have been
able to venture; and so the canoes, lightly loaded and with all sail
set, rode gallantly o’er the foaming billows, and we all got safe to
Gjendesheim. The cheery fire in the room, with its bare wooden walls and
benches, made a picture which seemed the perfection of comfort after the
chilly tent and the freezing N.W. wind.
‘It is the black north-wester
That makes brave Englishmen
Use very naughty words, and wish
Themselves at home again.’
One of the party is always telling us that he intends to inflict on the
British public a narration of our experiences on this expedition, and
although he has not yet begun to collect materials for the work, we have
begun to invent titles for the book that is to be. One is ‘England,
Canada, and Norway,’ being a description of Englishmen travelling in
Norway with Canadian canoes; and we think this title might induce
schoolmasters to buy it, under the impression that it is a geographical
treatise on those countries.
The Skipper proposed ‘The Fool with the Fowling-piece, or Fishing and
Flyblows.’ John’s title was ‘Mems. from Memurudalen, or Jottings from
the Jotunfjeld;’ and Esau suggested ‘Glopit, top it, and mop it,’
alluding, he said, to the state of John’s forehead whenever he arrived
at the summit of that mountain; but the explanation was received with
such a chorus of ‘Oh! {drop it!} {stop it!}’ from the others that he
gave up the idea.
[[The original is printed between lines:
{drop}
‘Oh, it!’
{stop} ]]
One notion is to make the book a collection of cooking recipes for
camp life, and call it ‘Grunts from a Gourmand in Gulbrandsdalen, or
Paragraphs from the Pen of a Pig;’ but we think we should promote
a more active sale among respectable people if it were called
‘Self-Improvement, or Lights thrown on Good Living.’
Another idea is that it might get a sale by appearing surreptitiously
among the Christmas books for the young, and for that purpose we should
use the names of our two henchmen Anglicised. ‘Oola and Eva: a Tale for
Girls,’ could not fail to attract the favourable attention of parents
and guardians.
Possibly it might create a greater sensation if it were introduced to
the world as ‘Julia and Pausanias: an Idyll.’ It is very difficult to
decide on a good name, but we are all agreed that the name once found,
it will be perfectly easy to write the book afterwards.
_September 4._--How soothing and pleasant it is, when we hear the storm
and rain shrieking and beating outside, to reflect that there is a good
solid roof over our heads, and that we shall not be roused in the night
by the cry of ‘All hands turn out to slack off guy-ropes!’
This morning the lake was so rough that we perceived that we had been
very lucky to make our voyage yesterday; we certainly could not have
attempted it to-day. The man from Gjendebod was here, and started for
the other end of the lake with Andreas in the big boat about nine
o’clock, but at two they came back dead beat and wet through, having
been obliged to desist from their attempt before they had gone two
miles, and they considered themselves lucky to have got back.
[Illustration: Canoeing after Duck in a Storm]
The appearance of the lake is wonderfully fine as the white-capped
breakers come rolling in, flinging the spray high up the face of the
opposing cliffs, and dashing with an angry roar against the black rocks
where they jut out into the deep part of the lake. The Skipper,
affirming that he could smell the salt in the air, began to look out
pollack-flies, while John put on a beautiful brand-new shooting coat,
and went down to the shore to pick up seaweed and dig on the sands: he
came back saying that the tide was coming in, and he thought he had seen
the smoke of a steamer in the offing.
Close to this end of the lake a little promontory runs out, which forms
a breakwater, so that the sea just opposite the house is comparatively
calm. In this bay, directly after breakfast, we saw two scaups, and the
Skipper and Esau manned a canoe to try for them, the former to paddle,
the latter to shoot. Only one was shot at, and it managed to fly beyond
the headland before falling dead, and we dare not go after it in our
frail craft.
[Illustration: Andreas: our Retriever]
In the afternoon we took all the male inhabitants of this district, viz.
Öla, Ivar, and Andreas, to act as spaniels and retrievers, and went into
the fjeld above Gjendesheim for ryper. We had quite a sporting
afternoon, as we managed to find a good many broods: the strong wind had
made them so much wilder that they got up with reasonable haste and
energy, instead of waiting to be kicked and then only running away.
[Illustration: Ola and Andreas capturing a wounded Grouse]
We had great fun also in watching the behaviour of our men, especially
their method of capturing a wounded bird. One which was hit in the head
had dropped among some rocks, and Öla and Andreas went in pursuit; they
crawled suspiciously about, peering over the stones as if they were
stalking reindeer; then suddenly catching sight of the bird, which was
crouching down as birds hit in the head sometimes do, they advanced
cautiously upon it, each with an uplifted stick in his hand, and crept
like assassins nearer and nearer to their victim. At last they stood
within reach. Öla gave the word to strike, and strike they did, as if
they were breaking stones, and the poor old ryper lay at the feet of its
murderers a mangled, bleeding corpse.
We shot all the afternoon with almost unvarying luck, hardly ever losing
a bird; now getting four barrels into a large brood, now picking up a
solitary old cock that had selfishly separated himself from his family,
and selected a particularly advantageous feeding-ground for his own
exclusive benefit, and at intervals having a little recreation afforded
by our men, especially the professional buffoon, Ivar.
In one marshy bit of ground a pair of short-eared owls were incautious
enough to fly up in front of Esau, and were promptly added to the bag;
they were in beautiful plumage, which was luckily not injured by the
shot, so we were much pleased at getting them. Then we went towards the
river into the ground frequented by ducks, and got a little shooting
there, and finished the day by walking round the shoulder of the lower
fjeld about the time that the ryper were coming there to feed, and so
back to Gjendesheim. Altogether the walk was most enjoyable, and as we
returned and gazed over Gjendin, the contrasts of storm and sunshine,
tumbled clouds and rough waters, and occasional glimpses of the highest
mountains gleaming through rifts in the surrounding blackness as the
bright sunbeams lighted up their peaks of snow, formed the most striking
picture of wild and desolate grandeur that can be imagined.
Esau’s shooting is remarkably unerring, and we feel so annoyed with him
sometimes when he _won’t_ miss even a palpably difficult chance, that we
were quite glad a few days ago when he took such a long shot that it
strained his gun, and the Skipper exclaimed, ‘Ah, I told you you would,
I’ve been expecting it all along.’
[Illustration: John and the Skipper upsetting in the Canoe]
John had an unstrung kind of day. Starting down the river to fish soon
after breakfast, he became so engrossed in his sport that he forgot all
about lunch, and did not return till dinner-time, when he walked
abstractedly into the room where we were sitting, and pulled out his
watch; then after studying it and making calculations for a short time
he remarked slowly, ‘I left here at six minutes past ten, and hanged if
it isn’t ten minutes past six now; my watch must have stopped.’ Then he
wandered off upstairs to his room, still ruminating over this
extraordinary occurrence to his watch; but in his absence Ragnild had
changed all his things into another cabin without telling him anything
about it, so that he found his old habitation swept and garnished, and
began to think, like Clever Alice, ‘This is none of I.’ However, he got
over this difficulty and came down to dinner, still looking a trifle
abstracted, but with his usual appetite. Afterwards the Skipper paddled
him across the river to fish, and when coming back, John upset the canoe
and nearly drowned them both in the presence of Esau and every native in
the district, who joined in mocking them in the Norwegian tongue from
the bank.
Finally he informed us that during his wanderings he had composed a
short poem, ‘which,’ said he, ‘as you have not heard it, I will now
proceed to recite.’
So we went to bed.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
RAPID-RUNNING.
_Sunday, September 5._--To-day the Skipper and Esau determined to try to
run the canoes down the river to Sjödals Lake, where we intend to leave
them during our stay at Rus Vand.
All things being ready, the Skipper started about eleven o’clock on his
perilous voyage, closely followed by Esau. The river is full of
impracticable falls, some of them twenty or thirty feet high, but
between these places there are splendid rapids, and the excitement of
running them is delightfully fascinating. When we came to a bad fall we
carried the canoes round, and enlisted the services of our two men to
help us in this part of the performance. Öla did not like this at all,
for carrying a canoe of 80 lbs. weight over very rough ground is hard
work, and Öla loveth the fireside and the odour of roasting coffee
better than hard work on the Sabbath.
Presently we came to a place which the Skipper wanted to run, but which
Esau declared to be too dangerous; it was a very swift and rocky rapid,
with two extremely sudden turns, the lower of which was only a few yards
above a high fall. Esau only ran past the first turn, which was quite
nervous work enough, and then got to shore and waited on the bank for
the result of the Skipper’s exploit.
Down he came at about fifteen miles an hour, took the first turn most
successfully, and then, by some extraordinary strokes of his paddle,
which no man living but himself could have performed, and aided by a
species of miracle, he got round the second; but then an eddy caught the
canoe, and she became unmanageable, so that instead of stopping in a
little creek of quiet water as he intended, he came straight on at a
terrific speed, and ran high and dry on a ledge of rock just above the
fall, losing his paddle at the shock. Wonderful to relate, the canoe was
not a bit injured, but the paddle whirled over the abyss and disappeared
for ever; and the Skipper was pleased because he had not done the same.
We spent five hours in this kind of amusement, and enjoyed it almost
more than anything else we have done. The constant danger of a smash or
an upset, the sensation of speed, the delight of the sudden rush to the
gliding dip over a fall, with the water roaring past a rock on each
side; the big waves below the fall, which catch the canoe and toss it
from one to another till you feel as if you must be thrown out; and the
curious appearance that the hurrying foam-flecked waters all round
present, combine to make Sunday rapid-running a very popular pursuit.
While we were doing the last bit above Sjödals Lake, our men, instigated
no doubt by Öla the Lazy, seized the opportunity given by a long rapid
to go home, and as we were pretty well tired out with our exertions, we
left the canoes above the lowest fall and walked back to Gjendesheim.
But we cannot recommend this river to future voyageurs; there are too
many places that cannot be run; and we hear that we are regarded as
decidedly mad for having attempted it.
[Illustration: Making a Portage by the Sjoa River]
Öla, our stalker, is a man whom we do not much admire. He is a big,
handsome fellow, with a light beard and moustache, and rather a weak
face; and his good qualities are extreme cleverness at almost any kind
of work--carpentry, smith’s work, needlework, and saddlery, all seem to
come alike to him--and as a deer-stalker he is first-rate, and never
makes a mistake. But we fear that his profession at home is to be an
independent gentleman, and he is very lazy, and nearly always sulky.
This sulkiness annoys us more than anything else, but we also get very
angry with him for being afraid of everything. He is afraid to go in the
canoes, and nothing has ever induced him to enter either of them. He is
afraid of rowing against a wind, or going out stalking on two successive
days, lest he should tire himself; and he is afraid of washing up plates
and pans lest he should lose dignity, but it does not bore him to sit by
and watch other people perform the operation.
The Gjende fly was a marvellous sight to-day; we thought him numerous
before, but we little knew the accumulated villany of which this noxious
creature is capable. Every fly that we saw here a week ago has now got a
large and healthy family of some hundreds, and a darkness which may be
felt broods over the river and its shores. And now that the cold weather
has set in, he begins to perceive that his short but effectual career of
annoyance draws near to its close, and the whole face of nature is
covered with torpid crawling things, that make one turn in disgust from
everything one touches. May his end come soon, for we love him not.
[Illustration: A Norwegian Fire-place]
We are very comfortable here at night sitting round the noble fireplace
in the corner of the room. These corner fireplaces are found in every
sæter and homestead in this part of the country, and are very
picturesque and cheery, vastly superior to the modern stove, that may be
seen standing up gaunt and inhospitable in every house in more civilised
regions. Most of them have the chimney supported by a crooked piece of
birch wood coming down from the roof and hooked underneath the
projecting angle of stonework, but in some there is instead an upright
iron bar from the hearth. Generally speaking, they are placed quite
against the wall in the corner, but we have seen several with a space
behind large enough to walk through, and one which even had a bed
behind it.
_September 6._--The sea on Gjendin has organised something remarkably
like a ground swell under the influence of the continuous storm, and its
fury is more magnificent than ever; no boat here would have a chance of
living in it.
Esau spent the morning packing his bird-skins in a wooden box for their
journey home, as we hardly expect to get much more in the way of
specimens. Then we had another afternoon at ryper, not quite so lucky as
yesterday, but still satisfactory. When we returned we found that
Andreas had brought from Besse Sæter a vast pile of literature which had
been accumulating at the Vaage post office for the last month. After
dinner, when we were all buried in our respective letters and papers,
occasionally reading out particularly interesting scraps of news,
Ragnild came in and informed us that a certain Norwegian, whom we may
call Mr. Fox, had come there to fish. This was a man who had done some
business for us here two years ago, and we had had a little
correspondence with him before coming out this year. Thinking we might
have given him some trouble, and not having any great liking for his
character, we naturally wished to be especially civil to him; so we
asked Ragnild to bring him in and stay to interpret for us.
Presently he entered the room, and after greeting us sat down and
refused to have anything to drink: this astonished us so much that it
completely drove our small stock of smaller talk out of our heads. The
commonplaces of polite conversation sound perfectly ridiculous when
gravely uttered to an interpreter for transmission to the proper
recipient, and so Ragnild seemed to think, for her translation always
sounded much shorter than our flowery sentences. We tried a variety of
feeble questions to which we already knew the answers, somewhat in the
following style:--
‘We presume, Mr. Fox, that you like Norwegian cheese?’
‘Does your brother also like Norwegian cheese?’
‘Do you speak German?’
‘No? but your brother, we believe, plays the Norwegian german-flute?’
‘The friends of your sister’s children are also our friends. They live
in England, but we believe they still like Norwegian cheese.’
‘We like much the cheese of the country, and have never suffered
asphyxia from it.’
‘We shall take a small quantity with us to England for the destruction
of rats;’ and so forth.
Presently Esau, getting impatient, suggested in a loud voice that we
should ‘ask him some questions out of Bennett’s Phrase-book.’ Then he
was covered with shame, as he feared that Ragnild would immediately
translate this to Mr. Fox; but fortunately she did not.
On reference later to the said Phrase-book we find that some very
appropriate and useful sentences may be gleaned from its fertile pages.
For instance, ‘Who are you? What sort of weather is it to-day?’ (these
two remarks are introductory, as it were, and to inspire confidence in
the person addressed). Then we come to the point: ‘Will you lend me a
dollar? Be quick! Thank you, you are very kind.’ Here the speaker would
turn to Ragnild and proceed thus: ‘Put this in my carpet bag. Make haste
and bring me a light, open, four-wheeled phaeton carriage, drawn by one
horse.’ Then to Mr. Fox, ‘Good morning; I must go, but I shall return in
a month.’ Then the speaker might wink at John and depart.
Now came the most awful pause that the history of the world in its
darkest moments can yet point to. We coughed and glared at each other,
and felt in our pockets as if we might find something to say there; and
then the Skipper had a brilliant idea, and said, ‘Ask Mr. Fox how long
he intends to stay here.’ But Ragnild at once replied, ‘Only two days,’
without referring the question to him at all; so that remark was wasted,
and our embarrassment became worse than ever; for now not only had we to
invent subjects of conversation, but also to put them in such a form
that Ragnild should not be able to answer them without taking Mr. Fox
into her confidence. He all the time was most annoying, as he would do
literally nothing to keep up his end of the conversation, and replied to
our lengthiest and most brilliant efforts of exuberant verbosity by
monosyllables and inarticulate grunts.
At last, in desperation we presented him with a very nice new English
knife, for which he did not seem to care at all; and so we parted, both
sides feeling that the interview had been a failure.
The following note is extracted from one of the journals:--‘The common
cheese of Great Britain is unknown in Norway, but in the roadside inn,
the smallest sæter or farmhouse, and the humble cottage dwelling, the
traveller can always obtain that excellent substitute, the goat’s-milk
cheese of the country.’ The colour of this excellent substitute is that
of Windsor soap; its consistency, leather; and its scent, decomposed
glue, which causes the natives to keep it under a glass shade. If you
eat it, your own dog will shun you; if you avoid it, you starve.
_September 7._--Esau always wakes up in the most boisterous spirits, and
as the partitions between the cabins are only made of thin boards full
of knot-holes, he can be heard all over the house the first thing in the
morning jeering at John, who sleeps next door, whistling, and crowing
like a baby in his cot: he continues these little games long after
breakfast-time, and though he is wide awake, will _not_ get up. All this
sounds very pleasant and cheery to talk about, but the Skipper, who
usually wakes in a temper the reverse of angelic, being influenced by an
unequal liver, wishes that these walls were twice as thick, and that
Esau was at Hong Kong.
Generally he tries little stratagems to induce Esau to get up, dressing
operations having a tendency to quiet him. Sometimes he enters the room
sniffing, and remarks, ‘How deuced good the coffee smells roasting!’ or
‘We’re going to have a tip-top fish for breakfast, but there’s very
little of that pie left; enough for two of us p’raps’ (this would mean
about eight pounds). Or he looks out of the window, and assuming an
attitude of intense surprise, hanging on to the frame like Irving in
‘the Bells,’ says, ‘By George, Esau! there’s a fellow just below looking
through a binocular that can give yours six lengths for mechanism.’ If
all these expedients fail, he gives in, and dresses quickly with his
ears full of tow, leaving Esau aloft, and gets into the eating-room,
where the floor and ceiling between put a soft pedal on operatic
selections.
Esau says all this ill-feeling arises because the Skipper cannot whistle
Berlioz’s ‘Faust,’ and is jealous.
Andreas and Ragnild are making preparations for their departure, which
takes place to-morrow; then Gjendesheim will be closed, the door
fastened, the windows shuttered, and the place will be left to itself
until next June. Very soon now Gjendin will be covered with ice and
snow: most of the good folks in the sæters have already gone to the
valleys for the winter.
We thought it would be more convenient for them if we took our departure
to-day, so packed our goods on the pony and said ‘Farvel’ to
Gjendesheim. Our last view of Gjendin, as we turned to look from the top
of the pass, was just as it appeared when we first saw it--black,
gloomy, and forbidding, with the cold north wind sweeping in a hurricane
over its waters, and heavy rain-clouds hanging over its mountain
shoulders, making a scene as awfully lonely and desolate as it is
possible to depict.
[Illustration: Jens and his Pony on their way over Bes Fjeld]
After the pony had gone with the last load we suddenly discovered that
the tent had been forgotten: it and its appurtenances make a package
weighing about 70 lbs. Now we _all_ hate carrying 70 lbs., but
fortunately at this crisis a _deus ex machinâ_ appeared in the person of
a stranger. At first we thought it must be one of our own men returning
for something after changing his coat, but on his nearer approach we
found that he was the rest of the population of the district, whom we
had not seen before, coming down in a body. This was Hans Kleven, who
has the reputation of being the best hunter in the country. He is a
small sturdy man, with amazing shoulders and a pleasant, good-humoured
face, and a most gorgeous check shooting-coat, of a pattern so enormous
that there are only three squares on the whole of his back, which is a
pretty broad one. This coat was given to him years ago, apparently about
1840, by an English sportsman, and he is as proud of it as ever Joseph
was of his celebrated garment. To him we committed our tent, which he
carried over to Besse Sæter, three miles away, without turning a hair.
We rewarded him with a shilling, and from his profuse gratitude we
conjecture that he only expected fourpence for the job.
Our first step at Besse Sæter was, as usual, to demand food; and John
asked for a dish called ‘Tuk melk,’ which had been recommended to him as
very Norwegian and very good. A woman at once went to fetch it from the
other sæter, a quarter of a mile away, and presently brought it in a
large wooden milk-tub about the size and shape of a sitz bath. How that
poor woman carried it we know not; it occupied half the table, and was
so scrupulously clean that we feared to touch it with our sordid hands.
John and Esau at last attacked it in the orthodox manner, which is to
sit on opposite sides of the table, and to draw a line across the
surface of the milk with a spoon before beginning, and then to ‘eat
fair’ up to that line. It would have amused some of our friends at home
if they could have seen these two young men of fashion at the moment
when both of them were engaged with abnormally large wooden spoons,
silently ladling down ‘Tuk melk’ out of a tub as big as a drawing-room
table.
They reported that it was on the whole good; something like curds, but
with a sourer taste, and it was much improved by sugar; but though they
ate a large quantity of it, being men of great courage and
determination, they could not persuade the Skipper to risk his life in
experiments with untried articles of food. He, however, gave utterance
to the following refined expression of his sentiments:--‘I wouldn’t
touch that beastliness if you gave me fourteen pence a spoonful to
swallow it.’ No one offered the reward.
Out shooting on the other side of the lake, we put up a snipe just at
evening, which went down again close to us. This species of game is not
common up here, although we find his cousin the woodcock fairly often;
consequently we were much excited, and advanced upon the foe with
insidious step, and bloodthirsty weapons almost at our shoulders in
order to slay him as soon as he should rise. All went well, and at the
right moment up he got, and promptly did the Skipper fire and miss him;
while Esau’s gun for the first time on record missed fire, and left him
using language that ought to have ignited any cartridge. So the happy
bird zigzagged off into the dim shades of sheltering night, and we went
on our way full of thought and sorrow.
Arriving again at the sæter after narrowly escaping shipwreck in the
passage, we found that Jens had come to meet us, and as he will enter
our service from this date, we shall no longer need Ivar, and paid him
off, arranging, however, that he is to come to help us home when we
leave Rus Vand.
We like Ivar very much now, though we did not by any means dote upon him
at first. Ivar is a good fellow, but an idiot, perfectly willing to do
anything in the world, but not understanding _how_ to do anything. His
budding reputation was blasted in our eyes the first time that we left
camp and entrusted everything to his care: we were away for three days,
and in that time he consumed nearly four pounds of our best butter; on
our return we decided that he was a knave, but we have since learnt that
it was only his natural impulsiveness that led him to commit such an
outrage; and now that we have found how eager he is to oblige us in
everything, we like his strange nature better than Öla’s awful laziness
of character. He came into the room this morning to stand for his
portrait, and the easy, graceful attitude that he assumed for the
occasion was inimitable. His waistcoat and boots were perhaps his
greatest charm, but his open countenance and genial smile (six inches in
diameter) played no small part in causing him to become beloved by us as
he was.
Ivar always laughed like a nigger on a racecourse, and whenever we took
him out ryper-shooting he was exactly like an unbroken retriever: if a
bird was killed, he _would_ rush in to gather it, and we had to shout,
‘Back, Ivar, back! Lie down! Down charge!’ to prevent him disturbing any
birds that might have chanced to remain during the yells and convulsions
of Christy Minstrel mirth into which the death of a ryper always sent
him. His behaviour usually made us laugh so much that we attributed any
missing to the unsteadiness caused by constant hilarity. We gave him our
spade as a parting present, and dismissed him with our blessing.
CHAPTER XXIX.
RUS VAND.
_September 8._--This morning we crossed the fjeld to Rus Vand in a gale
of wind. Waving a ‘Farvel’ to the kindly folk at Besse Sæter, we have a
stiff climb up by the side of the torrent which comes gadareneing[*]
down from Bes Lake, high above our heads, and presently we stand on the
open fjeld above the sæter. Below lie the green waters and birch-clad
banks of Sjödals Lake; far away to the east the great fall and larger
trees that mark the outlet of the lake; and still further, glimpses of
lower Sjödals Lake, with its forests of pine, haunt of the black game
and capercailzie. But we cannot stand long to look, for the side of a
Norwegian mountain, though eminently suited to hurricanes, is extremely
_un_suitable for human beings while the stormy winds do blow. En avant,
Messieurs, en avant! and we fight our way across the flat top to the
opposite brow. Here we must pause, though Æolus himself say nay. ‘What a
glorious sight!’ Straight in front, the cloud-girt peak of
Nautgardstind, all glistening white with newly fallen snow, but of him
only the top can be seen; his middle is hidden by a never-ending rush of
scudding clouds. Higher still and westward the jagged summits of
Tyknings Hö and Memurutind, also pure white where the snow can lie, but
with huge black lines and chasms where the steep rocky face stands up
gaunt and repellent, so sheer that snow can never lodge; nearer the
tremendous mass of Bes Hö frowns above us; and far below in front the
Russen River winds its way through barren rocks and patches of willow,
to warmer and more hospitable regions, leaving with a leap of joy the
cold storm-rocked Rus Lake, which has been its cradle since its birth in
the mighty glaciers around.
[Footnote: Gadareneing, _i.e._ rushing violently down a steep
place.]
Such was the scene lying before us on the north side of the mountain,
grand beyond description, perhaps the finest in Norway, but not exactly
inviting to shivering hungry mortals, so not much time was spent on it.
Down we went, with the wind worse than on the other side, howling past
our ears and screeching in the gun-barrels, and at last arrived at the
lake to find Jens hauling for his life at the boat which, though filled
with water by the breakers, had fortunately not been battered to pieces
on the rocky strand. He had left it dragged up on the beach out of the
water, but the sea had increased so much in his absence, that if we had
been a little later it would without doubt have been smashed.
However, we soon baled her out, and with Öla as Charon commenced the
passage. Rusvasoset, as the outlet is called, is not more than 60 yards
across, but the waves had had seven miles of very open water to get up
in, and they came rolling down to this end in a very alarming manner.
With great difficulty we shoved off, and then with Öla sculling his
hardest, and the Skipper keeping our head to wind, we at last got safe
across with no mishap but the loss of Öla’s hat and a thorough ducking
for all of us.
[Illustration: A Stormy Crossing at Rusvasoset]
Öla was very sorrowful about his hat, which was of pure Leghorn straw,
double seamed, extra quality lining; and being further embellished with
a black braid ribbon, it was a great source of pride to him; but we
mocked when it flew away, and are inclined to bear its departure with
equanimity, and hope it will be accepted as a propitiatory offering by
the angry Lady of the Lake.
All the things were at last safely housed, and we soon made ourselves
comfortable in our new abode, which is luxury itself in this weather
when compared with a tent.
There are two huts, one by the edge of the lake, the other about 20
yards away, and it is the latter which we occupy. We enter by a door
about five feet high, invariably knocking our heads against the lintel
and swearing as we do so. The first room is about nine feet square, with
a narrow dresser under the solitary window on the left, and an iron
cooking stove in the nearest corner to the right, the more remote one
being tenanted by a bed. Round the room at various heights are shelves
and hooks adorned by cooking utensils of all kinds, very kindly left for
us by their worthy owners; two or three stools complete the furniture;
and on the floor are to be seen carved the effigies of departed trout of
fabulous weight, with dates and the initials of their captors. Passing
on through a still smaller doorway we find ourselves in another room of
the same size, but with three beds instead of one, and an open Norwegian
fireplace; the same kind of pegs and shelves, and hooks for guns on the
wall; more profile fishes, and walls covered with records in pencil of
game killed by former inhabitants, with occasional amusing notes. This
is our dining, drawing, and bed room; the other is only used as kitchen.
The men’s hut near the water is also divided into two rooms: the outer
and much larger compartment is used as a cellar, larder, and general
store-room, and presents, to say the least of it, a somewhat untidy
appearance, as bottles, barrels, and boards, a grindstone, reindeer
bones, a saw, a side-saddle, and old nets are piled together without any
attempt at order. The inner room is very small, about nine feet by four,
and there our two men sleep; and there also is a large oven built of
stone, and heated by a fire inside it. As we had no bread, we proceeded
to bake, and our ignorance of the manners and customs of this oven
caused the bread to have a terribly trying time of it; for we did not
make it hot enough at the first attempt, and the bread was left lying on
the top covered by a cloth for over an hour while the oven was being
heated a second time.
All’s well that ends well, and this batch of rolls turned out the very
best that frail man ever tasted, and consequently at supper we ate
enough bread and butter and jam to supply a school feast of the
hungriest description.
While the Skipper and John attended to the loaves Esau looked after the
fishes, and very soon got a nice dish of half-pounders in the river.
As he came back something in the middle of the stream caught his eye.
‘It is, yet it can’t be--yes, by George, it is, Öla’s hat!’ wedged in
between two rocks, and slightly out of shape, but with the
double-seamed, extra quality lining uninjured, and the pure Leghorn
straw in very fair condition. The effusion with which Öla received it
was a sight to be seen, but no one else exhibited much enthusiasm.
An inventory of our remaining stores reveals the fact that we have heaps
of everything except coffee and bacon, which can only last about a week
longer. In view of this happy state of things the Skipper proposed to
spend a week of wild and reckless profusion and sinful extravagance.
Esau at once pictured himself seated on a grassy slope giving way to
Epicurean indulgence, surrounded by three untouched pots of jam, and
eating from a fourth with a table-spoon; at his side a cup of tea
blacker than ink, and flavoured with condensed milk thicker than cream,
while he flipped lumps of sugar into the water instead of pebbles, and
commanded Öla to sand the floor of the hut with pepper.
John suggested as an amendment that we should make some exception to
show that we possess the power of self-denial. ‘Let us,’ said he, ‘deny
ourselves in some one thing. Not in luxuries, which are getting scarce;
in that there would be no merit. No; rather let us exercise our virtue
in respect of what we have in the greatest abundance, and thereby show a
great and shining example to the world. Let us abstain entirely from
water.’ (He had ascertained that there was plenty of whisky.)
Esau rose to oppose the remarks of the honourable gentleman. ‘Such
self-denial would be a good action, but the constant performance of
virtuous actions tends to make one haughty. I dare say you fellows don’t
know this, but I do, because I’ve tried it. I prefer to be wicked and
humble.’
The motion was not pressed to a division.
We are well provided with all kinds of food, for we found in the larder
a shoulder of venison, and we have any amount of ryper, which, as John
says, ‘will save our bacon, though they could not save their own;’ and
so with a comfortable hut to live in, a river full of fish at our door,
and a blazing fire to sit round, life assumes a rosy hue, and we go to
sleep in real beds with bright hopes of the future.
The Skipper was heard to murmur as he turned over to sleep, ‘I say, what
bread that is! When I get home I shall publish a pamphlet, and teach all
the world to bake like that.’
It is rather rough on the Skipper’s pamphlet to publish his recipe here,
but this is copied from his journal:--
‘Take dough in large quantities and place it on a tin. Heat the oven
till you are sick to death of piling on wood. Smoke a pipe, and remove
the ashes. Place the dough in the oven, and leave home for an indefinite
period. If you ever return, remove the decomposed particles, and let
them get warm in the sun, or else freeze in the snow, it really don’t
matter a bit. Now heat the oven and recommit them. Brood over the oven
exhibiting the tenderest solicitude. They will soon be done, and perhaps
will be good, perhaps not; nobody can tell.’
_September 9._--Last night was very cold, and this morning there was ice
on the lake, and the bilge-water in the boat was frozen solid. Esau and
Jens went up the lake in the boat to stalk, and the Skipper accompanied
them to fish, while John fished nearer home.
About six o’clock the boat was seen returning loaded with the head and
skin of a very fine buck, and Esau gave us his history thus:--
‘As soon as we landed halfway up the lake we found the spoor of two very
large bucks and a smaller one which had swum across the lake in the
night. They seemed to have gone towards the Tyknings glacier, so we went
in that direction also. The wind was as bad as it could be in that
valley, for we were obliged to walk exactly with it at first instead of
against it, in order to get round a sufficiently large piece of country,
and then work back against the wind. We walked a couple of miles without
seeing anything, and at last got close to the Tyknings glacier and the
iceberg lake at its foot. You know that lake well enough, Skipper, full
of lumps of ice, some of them as big as this hut, which keep breaking
off from the projecting glacier as it slides down; and I dare say you
remember what an awful deathly stillness reigns there and what a dismal
sight the lake is, cold and black under the shade of the crags which
close in its sides.
‘Well, we sat down there and used the glasses for a long time----’
‘What do you mean by “using the glasses?”’ interrupted John; ‘drinking
whisky and water?’
Esau withered him with a look and went on.
‘Well, “spied,” if you like, spied for a long time without seeing
anything; and we had just walked on again a few yards, when the silence
was suddenly broken by a cry from Jens of “Reins,” and there, 300 yards
in front of us, was a noble buck which had evidently been concealed from
our view by some rocks, and had now smelt us and was departing at a
stately trot, apparently despising undignified hurry.
‘I fancy his intention was to trot away at that long swinging pace, and
get into Asiatic Russia in time for tea; so I grabbed the rifle from
Jens, as of course, now that he was alarmed, a long shot was our only
chance; sat down on a stone, and with the faintest hopes of hitting him,
fired twice, and, of course, missed.
‘Now here was where my luck came in. If that buck had not been so proud,
he could have run straight away from us to the glacier beyond the lake,
but we were “betwixt the wind and his nobility,” and he wanted to get a
clean breeze, and run against it instead of down it. Consequently, when
he was about 350 yards away he turned to the right, apparently intending
to make a circle round us, and so get the wind in his face.
‘Directly he turned broadside to us Jens gave a shrill whistle, and the
buck stopped short for a moment, so that I had just time to make a
careful shot, and the bullet hit him in the ribs. At the shot he
stumbled, but recovered himself instantly, and made off a good deal
faster than before, evidently perceiving that things were getting
serious, and that “this here warn’t no child’s play.” Before I could
fire again he got into the ravine which runs down towards Rus Lake, and
was out of our sight.
‘We thought there was just a chance of cutting him off in that extremely
rough ground, though, of course, we could not tell whether he was much
hurt or not; so we ran as hard as we could for about a quarter of a
mile, loading as we ran. Suddenly I caught sight of him going very
slowly, but luckily he did not see us, so we dodged into a little gully,
and after another short run came in sight of him standing still, no
doubt owing to his wound, and about 250 yards away.
‘This time he saw us, and darted off as fleetly as ever, no longer with
his side to us, but straight away. I was dead beat, and Jens had thrown
himself down, and was panting like--like----’
‘A concertina?’ suggested the Skipper.
[Plate: DEATH OF THE ‘STOR BOCK’ AT THE ICEBERG LAKE, TYKNINGS HÖ.]
‘Yes, just so. Anyhow, we could not run another yard; you know what it
is on those stones, so I sat down again, and with the rifle going like a
pump-handle, fired, and, by the greatest luck, hit him close to the
tail, and the bullet went clean through his body and smashed his
shoulder. Down he went, and we raised a yell of triumph, whereupon he
jumped up again and went off at a slapping pace in a most extraordinary
manner. I believe if he could have reached the snow he would have done
us even now, but we were between him and the glacier, and he had nothing
but rocks to go on, bad enough for a deer with the proper complement of
legs and ribs, and very trying indeed to one crippled like this, I’m
sure.
‘However, he kept going at a great pace for a few hundred yards, and we
lay in a state of exhaustion and watched him through the glass. Soon he
began to move more slowly, and then to go round and round in a small
circle, and at last he lay down. By that time I had partially recovered
my wind, so I stalked him with great care and got within a hundred yards
of him, took a steady aim for his heart, and pulled. To my horror he
bounced up again, and ran like a hare for a dozen yards, and then rolled
over and over as dead as Julius Cæsar.
‘How Jens and I whooped and shook hands and laughed can be imagined by
any one who has seen a grand deer almost escape him, and then, by a bit
of luck and a breakneck run, just nailed him when the chance seemed
hopeless. After that we lay on our backs and panted for some time, but
after finishing the whisky and a large portion of the iceberg lake we
recovered sufficiently to skin our prize and cut him up. He is a most
splendidly fat “stor bock,” Jens says by far the best that has been
killed in these parts this year; a beautiful skin, and, best luck of
all, his horns have got rid of the velvet, and are fit to take home: and
they have fourteen points. I measured the fat on his loins, and it was
two and a half inches thick. Jens tried to bring home a hind quarter as
well as the head and skin, but before he had gone twenty yards he found
that it was too much for him, so turned back and buried it with the
rest.’
At this time of year the biggest bucks of a herd seem to separate
themselves from the rest and roam about, either alone or perhaps a
couple together. We think they act wisely in this respect, as the calves
are now old enough to run as fast as their mothers in case of danger,
and do not need any paternal protection; and the bucks would no doubt
become horribly bored if they remained with their wives and children all
the year round; whereas by this system they are quite independent for a
time, and roam all over the country, seeing a lot of life and living
uncommonly well. Very much like a married man, when he gets away on
board a friend’s yacht for a couple of months, and comes back quite
brightened up at the end of his trip, and positively agreeable and
good-tempered to his wife and family, insomuch that they are right glad
to see him home again.
Of course the stalker’s great object in life is to shoot one of these
big bucks; but it is a desire seldom realised, as they are very
restless, and only haunt the most secluded and difficult country. We
have only met with two others in this expedition, and those the Skipper
saw retiring at a good swinging trot over the heights of Memurutungen.
We have obtained some interesting information from Jens about the horns
of the reindeer. As every one knows, both the bucks and does have horns,
but they shed them at different times: those of the does and smaller
bucks are now in velvet, and will not get properly hard until October;
they will then remain on all through the winter, and be shed in the
spring. But the large bucks have their horns hard now, and will shed
them in the winter, and so be defenceless during the time when the snow
lies thickest.
All this is undoubtedly true, for Jens is thoroughly trustworthy in his
facts, but what is the reason?
Jens does not know, but he gives us another fact. In the winter, when
the ‘stor bocks’ have no horns, the snow is often so deep that only the
strongest deer can scrape it away to lay bare the moss which at that
season forms their food. Then come the does and smaller bucks, and with
their horns push away the unfortunate big ones, and so are saved from
starvation, while the ill-treated ‘stor bocks’ have to work double tides
in order to get anything to eat.
We present this fact in all humility to Mr. Darwin as a solution of the
problem, ‘Why has the female reindeer horns?’ Evidently, they originally
had none, but by constant pushing at their lords and masters they
developed them by degrees; then, by the survival of the fittest, those
does with the longest and sharpest horns prospered most, and soon there
were none of the hornless does left, and all calves began to have horns
as a matter of course.
Esau is inclined to the belief that, by the same line of reasoning, the
big bucks, constantly being shot at through untold ages, have developed
cast-iron ribs, and that that is the reason why they take such a lot of
killing.
Possibly we have worked the theory in the wrong direction. It may be
that originally all deer of every kind had horns, and the reindeer doe
is the only female which now keeps them, because she alone has to fight
for her living; but the snow and the horns together are cause and
effect, of that we are convinced.
The _pièce de résistance_ at dinner was a ryper curry, executed in the
Skipper’s best manner, and worthy of a place amongst the old masters,
though providentially none of them were here to help us with it. John
also contributed his share to the menu, a roley-poley pudding, which,
when it came to table, looked a trifle doughy at the ends, as even the
best of such puddings generally do.
John turned to Esau, and in his sweetest manner said, ‘Do you like end,
old fellow?’
He, a little astonished at this unwonted politeness, replied with equal
courtesy, ‘No, thank you, I don’t think I care about end.’
‘Ah,’ said John, ‘well, the Skipper and I _do_;’ and thereupon cut the
pudding into two portions, and was giving one to the Skipper and the
other to himself, when the proceedings were interrupted by a brief but
energetic scene of riot and bloodshed, which was terminated by a treaty
of peace on the basis of the _status quo_ as regards the pudding, and
subsequent re-division of the same into three parts by a mixed
commission.
Among the fish brought in to-day was one enormously long brute which
ought to have weighed five pounds, but was only three pounds. The
Skipper captured this prize at the outlet of the lake, which seems to be
a favourite place for sick and dying fish like this.
Matters of food are generally referred to Esau, because he cares more
about eating than the other two, as _they_ say, or because he has got
more sense than they have, as _he_ says. The two explanations are
probably identical.
When this fish was brought to him for judgment, he promptly said, ‘Give
it to the men.’ The Skipper replied, ‘My dear chap, whenever we collect
any kind of food that isn’t quite nice, you always “give it to the
men.”’
Esau became grave at once, and answered ‘You forget we are not in
England. At home, truly, we give the best of everything to our servants,
and are thankful for the worst ourselves; but Norway is a country where
the canker of civilisation has not yet crept in to taint everything it
passes over, and where the noisome worm of increasing independence does
not blossom in the heart of every tree. Our men would be proud and happy
to chew this aged fish, and we have had instances to convince us that
they would be prouder and happier if the aged fish were nearly putrid.’
CHAPTER XXX.
LUCK.
_September 10._--The Skipper caused great sorrow this morning at
breakfast by announcing his intention of leaving Rus Lake on the day
after to-morrow, which ought to be a Sunday, according to our reckoning.
It seems that his conscience upbraids him for leaving a brother to be
married without his assistance, and the House has sadly approved his
decision.
While Esau was having a great day with the trout in the river, the
Skipper went after deer, and came back cursing Fortune and all her
emissaries and signs, which means ravens, horseshoes, spiders, and so
forth. A few days ago, when he was starting on a stalk, he heard a raven
croaking overhead, so refrained from looking up lest he should catch its
eye, and have bad luck; but that raven was not to be balked of his
victim, and obtruded himself so that the Skipper _had_ to see him, and
of course no deer came that day. The next day _two_ ravens crossed his
path, both cawing in the loudest and most jubilant manner; so he was
greatly delighted, thinking that this was a sure precursor of good
sport; but something was wrong, and again no deer resulted. But to-day
two ravens came and cawed in a gentle, soothing, confident manner just
outside the window before we got up: this gave the Skipper great belief
in the turn of luck, and he started with a rope in his pocket to tie up
the deerskins withal, his knife sharpened like a razor, and his bag full
of cartridges. Once again he saw nothing, and was nearly withered away
by the cold wind and rain. Coming home he picked up a horseshoe,
probably the only one in the Jotunfjeld; but the times are out of joint,
and these barometers of fortune have become depressed by the prevailing
bad seasons and the state of the weather, so that they cannot be
depended on.
In spite of the absence of sport he came back raving about the glorious
views of the mountains, which quite repay any one for a long walk now
that they are newly covered with snow. From Nautgardstind looking
northwards, away from the glaciers, a splendid panorama is spread
out--hill, forest, and lake, lighted up by the bright gleams of the
September sun, still shining out bravely at intervals although winter
has begun. Down to the right is the hilly woodland country through which
we journeyed on our way hither, and on the left a vast plain of rolling
ground. Far beyond this rises a towering cluster of high-peaked
mountains, over whose heads float bands of fleecy clouds, while up their
weather-worn sides the cloud-shadows drift and seem to nestle in sleep.
They say these peaks are called Ronderne, but surely when seen on such a
day, ‘a dream of heaven’ is a better name; for where else on earth can
man be so near heaven as in a lofty solitude like this, where he can
gaze his fill on nature’s most beautiful loneliness untouched and
undisturbed by human hand? Öla’s ignorance of English enables one to
gloat in silence over such a scene, without any danger of being rudely
recalled to earth by a jarring exclamation of ‘Ain’t it lovely?’ or
‘That’s about as good as they make ’em, eh?’
[Illustration: Gloptind Rock, at the Western End of Rus Lake]
_September 11._--The Skipper made a last stalk, with his usual luck, not
seeing even a track, though he went into ground that we always
considered a sure find, near the west end of the lake. Near there, and
under the shelter of the curious sugar-loaf rock called Gloptind, there
is a little ruined hut, which was built by a former occupier of Rus Vand
for greater convenience in shooting near that part of the ground. When
we were here before, Esau was obliged to go home prematurely, and the
Skipper and Jens went to stay in this den after his departure, and got
several deer while there. This evening we persuaded the Skipper to tell
us all about it, and after he had put himself in what he considered a
comfortable attitude on the bed, and lighted his pipe, he began.
‘Well, when Esau went home, Jens and I were left up here, and got on
very comfortably considering the disadvantages under which the human
race has laboured ever since that unlucky business of the Tower of
Babel.’
‘What _does_ he mean?’ whispered John anxiously to Esau.
‘How should _I_ know?’ replied the latter. ‘Just listen a bit longer,
and I dare say we shall find out.’
The Skipper went on: ‘We went out several days, and walked enormous
distances without seeing any deer, so one day we decided to put a frying
pan, some firewood, and a change of clothes into the boat, and row up to
that little tumbledown stone hut at the other end for a night or two, as
it is in the heart of the most unfrequented country, and there is
nothing near to scare the most timid deer.
‘We packed everything into the boat and rowed off one fine morning, the
clouds, however, beginning to hang ominously over the distant mountains.
Jens rowed slowly, so that I could fish on the way, and our progress was
further delayed by a head-wind.
‘Very soon the clouds closed in all round, and the sky got very dark.
Jens kept rowing on steadily, from time to time looking up at the high
mountain ridges that wall in the west end of the lake, while I devoted
my attention to whipping the water from the stern, hoping to entice some
unwary fish before the approaching rain should stop our chance of
getting some fresh food. Suddenly he stopped rowing, and uttering the
magic word “Reins,” pointed up to an apparently deserted mountain slope
on the Bes Hö side, and handed me the glass, by the aid of which I soon
discovered two reindeer bucks feeding about a mile away, and almost
straight above us.
‘I had on a blue serge suit, so the first thing to be done was to change
to my stalking suit then and there in the boat; meanwhile the threatened
rain began to descend in torrents, and the wind swept by in such squalls
that Jens had to work hard to keep the boat in her place. At last the
change was completed, the serge suit stowed away under a mackintosh, and
we got to shore and began our stalk.
‘It was a difficult task to keep out of sight while advancing, and we
could only move at intervals when the deer shifted for a few moments
behind a rock or into a hollow in their search for food, so that we had
first to run, when opportunity offered, for a quarter of a mile over
very bad ground, then crawl another quarter over more broken ground; and
at length, after an hour of this, being pretty close to the deer, they
happened to come more into view, and we had to lie prone on our bellies
for nearly twenty minutes (while they fed their way into the next
hollow); and the heavy rain pelted down on us till we were soaked,
sodden, and nearly perished with cold.
‘I thought that time of cramped penance would never end, but at last the
hindermost buck got his head safe behind a welcome ridge, and then we
were soon up and after them.’
Here the Skipper stopped to strike a match on his trousers and relight
his pipe, and then resumed: ‘Now we knew we must be close to them, and
with rifles cocked, and hearts beating uncomfortably, advanced
expectant. I forgot to tell you that after Esau went home I allowed Jens
to take his rifle out, he was so desperately keen about it.
‘Suddenly we came on the bucks only forty yards away, conscious of
danger, but not knowing what they feared; too unsettled to feed, too
uncertain to move.
[Plate: GOOD SPORT, BAD WEATHER. THE SKIPPER’S TWO ‘STOR BOCKS.’]
‘I fired first, and immediately afterwards, as pre-arranged, Jens fired,
and both deer bounded into the air and disappeared like lightning over a
ridge beyond them. We followed at our best pace, I cramming in a couple
of cartridges as we ran, and saw them again directly, still running, and
a good deal further away. I fired two more shots, and one buck fell dead
at once, while the other galloped on about twenty yards further, and
then suddenly stumbled and fell head over heels.
‘I fancy that our first shots killed them, and that one was really
killed by Jens, but may I never know for certain! The yell that we gave
when we saw them both lying dead woke the echoes of that dreary
solitude, and must have been worth hearing by any student of human
nature: in a wild shout of triumph there is only one language for all
nations, and Jens and I joined our voices in the same glorious tongue
for once.
‘Both these deer were “stor bocks,” six years old and fat. We skinned
them there, and leaving the bodies as usual safe under stones, returned
to the boat with the heads and skins. By the way, John, you must have
seen the horns of these two deer on the wall of Besse Sæter, for I had
no means of getting them home, and Jens put them up there.
‘The day was drawing to a close when we reached the little stone hut
which was to be our lodging: its roof was full of holes, and let the
rain through like a sieve; but we stretched the two deerskins over it,
and so made it habitable for a time. Inside there is, as you know, only
just room for two men to lie side by side touching each other; and here,
after a liberal meal and a contemplative pipe, we turned in and slept
like honest men.
‘Next morning after breakfast, while I was making up a fresh cast for my
rod, I saw a man approaching the hut. As this was the only intrusion
from human beings that we had suffered for more than a month, I was not
a little surprised. Where the deuce could a man come from? and what the
dickens could he want? It soon proved to be old Tronhūus with a note for
Jens.
[Illustration: The old stone Hut near Gloptind]
‘I must explain that Besse Sæter where Jens lives belongs to a man who
comes from Christiania, and Jens is only his tenant there. This man had
arrived at his sæter two days before this with a young English nobleman,
whom he was proud to have as his guest, and to whom he naturally wished
to show some sport; but he had been unable to do so for want of a good
stalker. This was of course very unfortunate for him and his guest, but
it by no means justified his present conduct. He had addressed a letter
to Jens, but written it in English, so that I should read it, sending
merely a verbal message to Jens by his father, to ensure our both
knowing the purport of the letter, which was to the following
effect:--“Jens. If you do not return with the bearer of this letter to
Besse Sæter to show myself and Lord ---- some deer, you will at once
lose your tenancy of Besse Sæter.” I could not keep Jens and thus cause
him to be unfairly ejected from his home, so having no paper with me,
I wrote in pencil on the back of the note that Peter had brought: “As
you must be aware that Jens is acting as my servant this summer, and
that by calling him away you leave me absolutely alone at the stone hut
on Rus Vand, I hope that you will not detain him after receiving this
note.”
‘With this missive Jens departed, and soon old Peter followed him, and
left me, like Robinson Crusoe, alone on my desert highland. I am bound
to say that I felt inclined to inquire with Selkirk, “O solitude, where
are the charms?” as I turned to perform the duties of the day,
absolutely deserted in that desolate spot, with no companions but the
lake and solemn mountain heights around me; so after a short time I put
the Lares and Penates----’
‘Hollo, what’s that?’ broke in Esau; ‘you never said anything about
bringing that with you before.’
‘You duffer!’ said the Skipper; ‘it’s Norwegian for the frying-pan and
tea-kettle: do you mean to say you’ve been all this time in the country
without learning that?’
‘Oh, all right,’ grunted Esau, ‘go on.’
‘Well, I put them into the boat and sculled the seven miles back to this
hut, as I did not feel inclined to remain alone in that little stone
hutch for the night.
‘Three days passed before they let Jens return to me; and during that
time I was certainly rather dull, and at night felt a trifle creepy, but
the days did not pass as slowly as you might have imagined; for being
without assistance my time was fully occupied in catching my daily
supply of fish, chopping firewood, cooking, washing, and so on. At night
the wind howled dismally round the cabin walls, but after the hard work
of the day I soon fell asleep, and at last began almost to like the
solitary life. Still I longed for Jens to come back, as I could not go
out stalking alone; the season was far advanced, and the weather very
cold.
‘How I cursed that Englishman’ (gentle murmurs of ‘Bet you did’ from the
other two) ‘as I cleaned out the tea-pot and scoured the frying-pan! and
how I pictured him to myself wandering with my faithful Jens over the
best reindeer-fjeld, and scaring away all the deer with his
loud-sounding Bond Street express!’
‘I say, Skipper,’ put in Esau, ‘did _his_ Bond Street express make any
more row than _yours_? because if----’
‘My dear fellow,’ said the Skipper, ‘you always put that kind of
expression into narrative; it’s Homeric; an educated man would be
pleased with it.
‘I was always expecting Jens; every sound, real or imaginary, caused me
to look up over the deserted lake, and hold my breath while I listened
to make out his voice in the distance; and when I went down the river I
heard his cheery shout in the rush of every rapid and the roar of every
fall.
‘After all it was only three days, and then one afternoon I found him
waiting for me at the hut. I was glad to see him--gladder than I am to
hear the dinner-bell at home, as glad as a bee is to get into the open
air after bunting its head against a window-pane for three days’
(‘Beautiful simile!’ from John), ‘and especially glad to see how pleased
old Jens was to return to me again. I was also not particularly sorry to
hear that he had found a herd of deer and taken Lord ---- within shot;
and the only result was a calf, which Jens himself shot after the
Englishman had missed.
‘After this I had a good time with grand fishing and more deer, but we
did not stay much longer at Rus Vand; as you know, I was back in England
by the end of September.’
The story ended, we called the men in and had a great settlement of
wages and milk bills, and arranged how the Skipper’s baggage should be
transported tomorrow, and the rest next week.
[Illustration: A Night at Rusvasoset, after a Day at Haircutting]
Then we filled up glasses round with whisky and drank a solemn Skaal
(pronounced Skole) to every one, and then to Gammle Norgé, and finished
the evening with ‘Auld Lang Syne.’ It must have been a ludicrous sight
as we stood tightly packed in that tiny room, with heads all bent
towards the centre to avoid the rafters, our hands crossed in orthodox
fashion, and roaring at our highest respective pitches as much of the
words as we knew, while we swayed our arms up and down in the manner
essential to the proper rendering of the good old song.
When the men cleared out, Esau produced a gorgeous counterpane which he
had commissioned Peter to buy in Vaage six weeks ago, and which the old
man brought over from Besse Sæter to-day. Its manufacture is peculiar to
this district; it is woven in most tasteful colours, red, magenta, blue,
and green being the most prominent, with a kind of diamond pattern in
white running diagonally across it; but, from the ‘What’s the next
article?’ air with which Esau exhibited it, we began to suspect that he
was rather disappointed with it, and wanted to induce some one to buy
it. Suffice it to say that its introduction was received with coldness.
This was a bad day for sport; we caught very little, and shot less. We
did spy a reindeer directly after breakfast, but as he was about six
miles away, close to the top of one of the highest mountains, and
running as if Loki were after him, no one cared about pursuing him.
John fishing in the lake managed to lose a ‘twa and saxpenny’ minnow,
trace, and twenty yards of reel line, and was quite discontented.
At night the wind had increased to a storm, and the clouds were right
down on the water, and hurrying past in endless wreathing drifts like
witches trooping to their nocturnal Sabbath.
CHAPTER XXXI.
NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE.
_September 12._--Early this morning we sorrowfully packed the Skipper’s
things on the pony, and then we three and Öla marched off down the river
towards civilisation. The Skipper hoped to get over about twenty-five
miles before night; Esau wanted to try the river a long way down; and
John said he ‘always liked a stroll on Sunday,’ and with that object
accompanied the Skipper for the first eleven miles of his journey,
returning to Rusvasoset in time for dinner.
About four miles below Rus Lake, the river, which is there about thirty
yards wide, suddenly disappears into a narrow cleft in the rocky bed,
and runs in this curious rift for several hundred yards, and then again
emerges into daylight. The sides of this rocky prison are just over a
yard apart at the narrowest place, though the gap only appears to be a
few inches wide; but the force with which the immense body of water is
squeezed through the tortuous passage far down below, whirling huge
boulders along with irresistible force, and covering the surrounding
rocks with moisture from the ever-rising misty spray, makes it a severe
trial to the nerves to step across the cleft; the ceaseless din of the
rushing water is of itself sufficiently appalling.
This channel has evidently been gradually worn down through the solid
rock, which here appears to be a reef of softer nature than the usual
formation of this country. On the top and in niches all the way down are
still to be seen the turn holes caused by stones working round and round
in an eddy; but the curious fact is that while at the top the cleft is
only a yard across, it widens regularly out as it gets deeper, and at
the bottom is fully ten yards in width. Now it seems unlikely that the
Russen River could ever have been content to run in a bed so much
narrower than its present one, and from the appearance of the strata we
imagine that as it worked down and undermined the cliffs at each side,
they have gradually toppled forward to meet each other. Probably soon
they will actually touch, after which a very short time will see the
natural arch so formed covered with vegetation, and the river will run
in a subterranean passage.
Through this channel no fish could pass alive, so there Esau bade
‘farvel’ to the Skipper, and, encumbered with rod and fishing bag,
leaped like a goat across the intervening Devil’s Dyke, and was soon
lost to view as he fished his way up stream.
The other two pursued their journey steadily, and found it pleasant to
gradually walk down from the Scotch mist which overhung everything up at
Rus Vand, into, firstly, dull dry weather just below the clouds, and
then a little further into real sunshine and warmth. About one o’clock
they reached Hind Sæter, the tenants of which were still there, but just
in the act of removing to the valley. Here they feasted together on
fladbrod, and then the things were packed on a cart, and the Skipper,
following them as they jolted away under Öla’s guidance through the pine
forest, was seen no more by his disconsolate comrade.
When John returned to Rusvasoset a little before dinner-time, we found
it necessary to bake bread and a pie, our invariable rule ‘when in
doubt.’ This was not a case that admitted of any hesitation, for the
Skipper had taken all the food that he could annex for his sustenance on
the journey, as he did not expect to find any people in the sæters on
his path.
The evening was spent in general tidying, and mending various articles
which had gone wrong; holes in landing-nets, rents in trousers and
coats, and inserting new screws in Esau’s boots for the stalk he hoped,
but hardly expected, to make on the morrow. At night the outlook was
anything but encouraging, dense clouds folding all nature in their cold
embrace, and the pitiless rain beating down on our poor little hut as if
it took a pleasure in the occupation.
_September 13._--Rain, and nothing but rain.
[Plate: CHEERFUL! THE HUTS AT RUS LAKE.]
_September 14._--We never knew when sunrise and daybreak took place
to-day, or whether they happened at all, for the prospect was more
hopeless than ever, and the rain still fell with unabated vigour.
We were at the end of our indoor resources, but fortunately Öla returned
with some English papers which he had found waiting for us at Ransværk,
the sæter at which he and the Skipper passed the night, and at which
this bundle of literature had been deposited about a fortnight ago by
the latest traveller from Vaage. But for this, there would certainly
have been bloodshed in this remote spot, our tempers not being equal to
the strain of two days in succession without being able to see ten yards
in front of us, or to stir out without becoming water-logged.
Even the fish were apparently at last disgusted at not being able to get
into a dry corner by jumping out of the water, and our efforts to
persuade them to try the interior of a waterproof bag only met with
indifferent success.
The stubborn resistance of our well-tried roof has at last been
overcome, and soon after turning in last night we had to turn out again
to rig up various hydrostatic appliances with a view to diverting the
course of some of the superfluous rainfall, and irrigating the floor
therewith instead of letting the beds get it all. The latter really
needed it much less than the boards, which were somewhat dusty; but
probably the mistake arose from John sitting on one of them while he
mixed the dough, so that it might have been taken for a flour-bed.
_September 15._--At last we were relieved by a change in the wind, soon
followed by a cessation of rain, and then the mist began to lift, and by
noon the sun was actually beginning to glimmer feebly, and the mountains
to be visible for half their height.
[Illustration: Rus Lake from the Western End: Nautgardstind in the
Distance]
John went on a general tour of mountaineering and prospecting in search
of scenery, and came back delighted with himself, having made a higher
climb than usual, and seen Nautgardstind in all the perfect beauty with
which the newly fallen snow had endowed him.
It has already been mentioned that John does _not_ like walking uphill,
and when he makes a self-sacrificing and voluntary ascent as he did
to-day, he comes home brimming over with an excess of conscious virtue
which does not pass away until the genial influence of a good meal and a
pipe has reduced him to the level of all humanity.
On his way home he heard a feeble squeak in a bush, and peering in
discovered a small animal which he at first took for a guinea-pig; but
soon, perceiving that it must be a lemming, his natural impulse was to
poke it with a stick. This was his first interview with one, though they
are common enough up here; and he is disposed to think them morose in
disposition; but really he ought to have recognised the fact that the
thin end of a walking-stick is not a means of intercourse at all likely
to arouse the sympathy of any animal, least of all that of a juvenile
lemming, who is obviously overcome with drowsiness, and wants to be let
alone.
The winter is now coming on apace, and already every fall of rain down
here is a snowstorm in the mountains, and every clear night means a
biting frost up there. Esau, scaling the heights of Bes Hö with Jens in
search of deer, found none on account of the mist, and in addition to
the danger of getting lost, a new peril was added by the snow. It
appeared that during the night a severe frost had immediately followed
the rain and coated everything with ice, then snow had fallen to the
depth of three inches, and on the top of that rain and sharp frost
again. The result was that at every step they broke through the crust of
ice on the top, and sank through the three inches of soft snow on to the
lower stratum of ice. This was all very well as long as they were on
rough ground; but the snow making every place look the same, in one
instance they got on to one of the steep little glaciers which are
common on Bes Hö, without knowing that they had done so: and suddenly
Jens lost his footing and began to slide downwards at a terrific speed.
It seemed to Esau that he would shoot straight down into Rus Vand,
looking very blue and cold three thousand feet below; but a friendly
boulder intervened, and by its assistance, and by spreading himself out
like a gigantic spider, he managed to arrest his wild career, and they
got safe across the treacherous glacier.
They had to cross another on their return, which was done with fear and
trembling; but although the difficulties of this kind of stalking when
unaccompanied by deer may seem to outnumber the pleasures, still
occasionally they were on fairly safe ground, and could get their hearts
out of their mouths for a few brief moments. At such times the splendid
view of all our old Gjendin mountains rising tier after tier behind each
other, a boundless sea of peaks and domes and jagged crags, all robed in
purest white, with the sun lighting up the virgin snow almost too
brightly for the eye to rest on; the keen frosty air; and the solemn
stillness, only broken now and again by the twittering of a flock of
snow buntings, amply repaid them for the arduous climb.
Then a few minutes of glorious excitement as, by the aid of glissades,
they shot down the steeps that it had needed hours of hard labour to
surmount, and they were back on the shores of Rus Vand, where at present
the snow had hardly begun to lie.
[Illustration: Glissading home after a blank day]
In spite of the cold we had some first-rate fishing, and Esau caught a
trout which he asserted to be the very best fish for shape, condition,
and colour, that ever came out of Rus Lake, or anywhere else. Though not
as large as many we have caught, being only 2½ lbs., it certainly was a
beauty, and resembled the perfect fish that are occasionally seen in an
oil painting, but very seldom encountered in tangible, edible form.
The Rus trout, like those of Gjendin, are quite silvery, almost as
bright as a salmon, but with a few pink spots instead of black ones, and
uncommonly pretty they look when fresh out of the water.
[Illustration: Rus Lake from the Eastern End: Tyknings Hö and
Memurutind in the distance]
Too soon evening put an end to our sport, and when the last rays of the
setting sun had tinted the distant snow with a delicate pink hue which
lingered, paled, and faded as the cold silvery light of the moon began
to assert its sway, the keen air drove us home, and made us content to
enjoy from the hut door the lovely clear night which succeeded so bright
a day.
CHAPTER XXXII.
A LAST STALK.
_September 16._--The morning did not belie its fair promise, but opened
as brightly as the most exacting hunter could require.
[Illustration: Off! A Reindeer recollecting an engagement]
Esau and Jens made a last laborious and fruitless stalk, trying not only
the whole Rus Valley, but crossing the mountains northwards into
Veodalen and traversing all the slopes of Glitretind, a most splendid
sight just now with his towering pyramid, 8,140 feet high. Such a walk
would have been impossible but for the snow, which had been reduced by
the wind to the consistence of hard sand, and made the going as good as
it could be.
Esau, who saw nothing all day, was a little annoyed on his return to
hear that John had wandered but a short distance up Nautgardstind to
gloat over the view, and there walked almost into a reindeer buck;
which, as John was armed with no more deadly weapon than a
double-barrelled field glass, had escaped uninjured. ’Twas ever thus.
However, the mention of this buck opened on John’s devoted head the
floodgates of Esau’s memory, and he insisted on telling about his last
stalk here two years ago, as follows:--
‘By George! I shall never forget how Jens and I turned out that morning
across the same precipice that you passed to get up Nautgardstind: we
started pretty early because it was my last day, and I had sworn to
catch something or perish.
‘About ten o’clock we saw four deer, a fine buck and three does, on a
long narrow snow-drift on the east side of the mountain: they were about
a mile off and moving away, with the wind blowing straight from them to
us; so we went after them as fast as we could, without much attempt at
concealment at first.
‘Presently they left the snow and turned to the left, as if to skirt
round the mountain, we still following and getting rather nearer to
them. They seemed very restless and kept moving, and at last began to
trot, and soon got out of our sight.
‘We were half an hour without seeing them again, and at last Jens
discovered them far down below us in the large valley where you saw that
one to-day. The place where they were was quite unapproachable, but Jens
pointed out a sort of pass by which he thought it was likely they might
leave the valley, and so we went and hid ourselves in a convenient nook
fifty yards to the leeward of that place.
‘There we lay in a bitterly cold wind for an hour, and then the deer
began to come in our direction. Now was the critical moment: there were
two practicable routes in the pass; would they choose the nearer one,
which would give me a shot, or the other? They stopped a little time to
look for food, and provokingly grazed their way very slowly towards the
wrong one, and then all of a sudden seemed to make up their minds and
turned to the right one. The cold and cramp were forgotten as the deer
came within three hundred yards and were nearing us quickly, and, with
rifle cocked, I was already wondering whether the buck’s horns were in
velvet or not, and thinking what a splendid coat he had; when without
any warning a storm of sleet swept down upon us, and a dense mist
drifted over the mountain and shut out from our gaze the rocky pass and
deer alike wrapped in impenetrable gloom.
‘For fully half an hour this lasted, and then the mist cleared as
quickly as it had come, the sleet stopped, and the sun shone out, making
the ground fairly smoke: but, alas! the deer were gone. We looked for
their tracks, and found that they had actually passed within forty yards
of us during the storm; but our chance was missed, and there was nothing
for it but to renew the search.
‘Another hour of walking, and Jens’ quick eye caught sight of them, this
time high above our heads on some snow near the top of Nautgardstind,
and at last, thank goodness, lying down. There seemed to be a
possibility of getting to them, and we spent another hour crawling like
serpents in the attempt, only to find our way barred when we were within
four hundred yards by a ridge over which we could not pass unseen.
‘However, from there we saw plainly that we could approach them by going
up the mountain, and then coming quite straight down above them, with
hardly any difficult ground to traverse. So we performed that weary
crawl back again, until we were safely out of sight, and then went up
Nautgardstind at a speed that has never been equalled.
‘Half an hour took us to the top, and then Jens made the only mistake in
a stalk that I ever saw: he got his bearings wrong somehow, and thought
that the deer were on one bit of snow, the top end of which we could
see, while I thought they were on another. Of course I had much more
confidence in Jens’ opinion than in my own, but it turned out that he
was wrong, and in crawling to the place where he expected them to be, we
unluckily came into full view of the snow where they really were--a fact
which was made unpleasantly apparent to us by our suddenly catching
sight of four deer galloping down the drift two hundred yards away.
‘I took a careful aim at the buck, but fired too low, and the bullet
broke his fore-leg, which did not prevent him from following the does,
though at a reduced pace. Now I think our best chance would have been to
remain perfectly still, and trust to his stopping in time in some place
where I could get to him; but Jens was terribly excited, begging me to
shoot, and my own head was by no means as cool as it should have been,
so I sat on a rock and fired away all my remaining cartridges except
two, at the gradually receding form of the reindeer: I suppose at the
last shot he was five hundred yards away, and I don’t think I ever hit
him again.
‘Presently he got round the corner to the right, and into the next
valley, where a few days before I had killed two deer; and as I ran to
the right above him an astonishing sight met my gaze. The valley was
full of deer, about fifty altogether, in three distinct herds, and they
were all running about frightened by the firing, and not sure in which
direction it would be safe to go.
‘While we watched them from our peak a mile above, a buck and two does
with a calf left the herd, and began to come towards the very snowdrift
on which the four deer were lying when we made the fatal mistake. What
became of the rest we never knew, nor whither our wounded buck went; for
when we saw this fresh four making for the drift, it occurred to us to
run towards the top and try to intercept them if they should attempt to
ascend the mountain on the snow, as we expected they would.
‘Off we ran at top speed over terribly rough ground, and before we got
nearly in shot of the top of the long drift we saw the deer get on to it
at the bottom, and begin to gallop up with their untiring stride. It was
simply a race, with long odds on the Running Rein; and soon we saw them
standing at the top, while we were still over two hundred yards from it.
Then for the first time they saw us (for the drift was in a ravine, and
out of our sight as we ran), and they turned to flee, but Jens somehow
managed to find breath enough to whistle, and the deer stopped for a
moment.
‘I fired my last two cartridges, but in the condition to which I was
reduced by the run I could not have hit a haystack, and no damage was
done. So we turned homewards with deep and abiding sorrow in our hearts,
too despondent to look again for our wounded buck, or to see what became
of the other herds.
‘In those days I always took out seven cartridges, which I fondly
imagined to be a lucky number; but after this I solemnly registered two
vows: firstly, never to go out with so few again; and secondly, never to
shoot them all away at absurd distances in the forlorn hope of killing a
wounded deer.’ Esau here paused for a moment or two, and then resumed:
‘By Jove, I did make myself agreeable to the Skipper when I got home
that night. I remember he said----’
But John thought it was _his_ turn to have a few weeks’ conversation,
and rudely interrupted Esau’s reminiscences by calling his attention to
some writing which, like Belshazzar, he had detected on the wall above
his bed. It was in pencil, and seemed to have been written in
prehistoric times, for it was all illegible except the first two lines,
and even those required a great deal of deciphering by the aid of a
dripping candle, while Esau knelt on his bunk and flattened his nose
against the log wall, before he could read them. Then after licking the
tip of a pencil for a long time in meditative silence, he scrawled the
remainder of the poem underneath, so that the whole composition read as
follows:--
A reindeer three miles off you spy,
And to shoot that reindeer you will try.
First a mile at the top of your speed you go,
Then you climb a mile up loose rocks and snow,
Then a mile on your hands and knees you crawl,
And----
(when you have executed these little manœuvres and arrived at the place
with your garments all in tatters and your whole body a mass of bruises
in all probability you will either find that the insidious animal has
removed himself to the uttermost ends of the earth five minutes before
your appearance on the scene, or else you _do_ get a shot at him and)
----you miss that reindeer after all.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
HOMEWARD BOUND.
_September 17._--Our ears were gladdened by the sound of Ivar’s hoarse
cachinnation some time during the night or early morning, and on turning
out he informed us that he should have been here yesterday, but his cart
had been smashed on the road beyond Hind Sæter: however, he had patched
it up and got it to the sæter; so we distributed our goods on the two
ponies, after seizing our last chance of a ‘square meal,’ by eating an
enormous breakfast of venison pie, cutlets, and trout.
All our stores came to an end yesterday, except candles and soap. The
latter article has for some time been lying in great bars on a shelf as
a reproach to us, and we were glad to get it out of our sight to-day,
and ‘give it to the men,’ as we would anything else that is repulsive to
our feelings. There were a few scraps of other delicacies which we
divided among the retainers, and then taking with us a fore-quarter of
‘stor bock’ for our own consumption on the journey, and a hind-quarter
carefully sewn up in the sail of Esau’s canoe, and intended as a present
for Mr. Thomas, we regretfully took leave of the little hut, and started
for Besse Sæter.
Öla and Jens were sent down the Russen River, which is the nearest way
to Hind Sæter; and Ivar was to meet us at the eastern end of Sjödals
Lake as soon as he could get there.
We paused at the brow of the hill to have a last look at the beautiful
lake and quaint little huts, and to take off our hats to grand old
Nautgardstind, to whom we hoped we were not bidding an eternal ‘farvel;’
and then we turned across the fjeld, and, losing sight of the Rus
valley, were soon looking forward again to the change and uncertainty of
the homeward journey.
From Besse Sæter, which was reached at noon, we launched our craft into
the lake with a nasty side-wind blowing, which delayed our progress
considerably, so that we took an hour to reach the lower end of the
lake, a distance of not quite four miles.
There we found Ivar with his pony and sleigh, on which the canoe was
conveyed to the junction of the Sjoa and Russen Rivers, where Esau
launched her again and ran the rapids down to Ruslien Sæter, a very fine
bit of stream, in which the canoe could only just manage to live.
Finding that the sæter girls were still here, we went in and asked for
milk. They suggested cream: amendment carried without a division. A huge
bowl of the thickest and most delicious cream was set before us, which
we, armed with two enormous spoons, attacked and soon consumed utterly,
with an indefinite amount of fladbrod and cheese. Charge for the whole,
sixpence! We have no hesitation in saying that the cream alone would
have been worth its weight in gold in Piccadilly.
We then regained our craft, and had a delightful cruise down to Hind
Sæter, the stream going at mill-race speed all the way, so that we did
the two and a half miles in fifteen minutes, arriving long before our
cavalcade of men and ponies, who started twenty minutes before us, while
we were discussing the cream.
The sæter was deserted for the winter, but Ivar produced his cart from
the bed of a stream where he had left it to improve the wheels, and at
half-past five we, with Jens and one cart, resumed our journey, leaving
the other two men with the canoe to follow us.
We had originally intended to make the journey to Lillehammer from here
entirely by canoe down the Sjoa until it joined the Laagen, but the
premature departure of the Skipper knocked that little scheme on the
head.
It would have been a tremendous enterprise, for the Sjoa is such a
turbulent river that there would have been a great deal of portage to be
done; but we had agreed to allow a fortnight for it, and were looking
forward to it with great delight. The Laagen is a fairly navigable river
all the way, with the exception of a few very large falls; but there is
a good road by its side, so that we should have had no difficulty if we
had been lucky enough ever to reach it. However,
The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft a-gley;
and we were reduced to the prosaic necessity of walking, and helping to
hold our luggage onto a jolting cart.
As we gradually descended into the birch-woods we were much struck by
the beautiful effects of the variegated autumn tints, and soon the
brilliant reds and yellows of the birches began to contrast with the
dark green of the fir trees, the light greyish green of the lichen, and
rich brown and purple of the ground and undergrowth. It was so long
since we had seen any trees, that their beauty seemed to come to us
quite as a new sensation.
Below Hind Sæter the road lay through dense forests of pines for mile
after mile, with hardly any change except where we got occasional
glimpses of the Sjoa tearing madly along far beneath us--so far that
only a faint murmur came up from the leaping, hurrying waters. Hour
after hour we walked, and still the same dark forest gloomed above us,
so remote from the busy haunts of men that it seems not to be worth any
one’s while to cut the trees except for use in the immediate
neighbourhood, and hundreds of them lie naked and dead as they have
fallen before the fury of the gale, and slowly rot or are devoured by
insects until their place is ready for a successor.
As the shades of evening began to close, we were several times startled
as the huge body of a capercailzie darted across the road at a pace
which seemed impossible to such an enormous bird, and with an absence of
noise that appeared equally unnatural.
About half-past eight we came to a more open part of the forest, and
soon we saw a glimmering light ahead: Jens cheerily said, ‘Ransværk;’
and in a few more minutes we pulled up at the door of a large sæter.
Without knocking Jens opened the door, and we walked in and struck a
light. There was the usual fireplace and table, and in the further
corner a bed, which, as we presently perceived, was occupied by two
girls. This discovery embarrassed us a little; but no one else, least of
all the girls themselves, appeared to be at all disconcerted.
In our favoured land a woman would probably be slightly concerned if she
were aroused from sleep by the unceremonious entrance into her room of
three men, two of them ruffianly-looking strangers of foreign exterior;
but not so these artless beings. The elder one at once got out of bed
and proceeded to dress, while her sister remained where she was and soon
fell asleep.
When the dressing commenced, we, being innocent young bachelors, retired
and remained outside till it was finished, but we do not believe she
appreciated our delicacy at all.
Then this poor girl, no doubt very tired after a hard day’s work at
cheese-making, proceeded to relight the fire, prepare coffee, and broil
some venison for us. And just as we finished a hearty meal, Öla and Ivar
arrived, so that she had to begin all over again for them. Finally, in
spite of our remonstrances, she dragged her sister out of the bed, and
insisted on our having it, while they went and slept in another building
a few yards away. So John took the bed they had vacated, while Esau made
a couch for himself in the cheese-room, and we slept the sleep of the
hard-worked, virtuous, penniless wanderer.
Verily they have a better idea in Norway of true hospitality than in any
other country under the sun.
_September 18._--How strange that our return to the haunts of men should
be chiefly marked by the sparseness of the fare provided for breakfast!
A tin of sardines took the place of the usual trout; and although
Ransværk consists of a group of several sæters, and almost attains to
the dignity of a village, and our quarters were in the largest and most
imposing mansion, there were no forks or spoons to be obtained, and we
had to fish our sardines out of their native oil with a Tollekniv,
assisted by a finger, and convey them to our mouths with the same
implements.
After breakfast Esau and Jens turned out in pursuit of capercailzie,
which abound in the forest here; but though they persevered until three
o’clock, and got several shots, the annoying birds all ‘went on,’ as an
English keeper generally says when you ask, ‘Did you see if I killed
that rabbit?’
Esau had used up all his large shot at ducks up at Gjendin, and his
cartridges were perfectly ineffectual at such a strong bird as the
capercailzie. Besides this, they are extremely wary, and always rise
about thirty yards from the shooter; they fly quite straight, and so are
very easy to hit; but though Esau knocked clouds of feathers out of them
at every shot, and did bring one to the ground which, from the closeness
of the underwood, could not be gathered, he was obliged to submit to
disappointment for once.
In one part of the forest they heard a raven shrieking angrily
(‘skriking,’ Jens called it, which has the same meaning in North country
dialect), and going to the place were in time to see a goshawk gliding
swiftly away with some victim in its grasp. In another place there were
a lot of squirrels, which Jens induced Esau to shoot for some purpose of
his own. What that purpose was we could only guess by seeing him gather
a bunch of beautiful wild currants and some flowers just before reaching
the sæter, and then brush his hair and march out with his bouquet,
berries, and squirrel-skins to some place unknown.
Soon after three o’clock we resumed our march, and almost directly
quitted the good Vaage road along which we travelled last night, and
took to a cow track on the right. The cart with the canoe had a very
rough time of it for the first five or six miles, jolting and bumping in
and out of holes, bogs, and ruts, and over boulders and logs in a most
appalling manner; then we had a piece of decent road again, and at the
finish another mile of rough track.
Soon after starting we passed the sæter where Jens lives when he is not
hunting in the mountains, and Esau wishing to see what kind of
snow-shoes they use in this part of the country, Jens ran up to the
house and fetched his ‘skier.’ To give an idea of the absurd honesty
which prevails here, we noticed that though Jens had been absent from
home for the last two months, and the windows were shuttered up, yet the
door was only latched; and after the inspection of the snow-shoes, Jens
would not trouble to take them back, but simply left them by the side of
the road, to wait his return three or four days hence.
Another instance illustrating the same simplicity occurred to us once
when travelling in quite a different part of Norway. When changing
carioles at a station our baggage was all heaped together on the
road-side, and as we wanted to stay there an hour or so for dinner, and
this was a main road with a fair amount of traffic, we suggested to the
landlord that our goods had better be brought inside the station. He
merely looked up at the sky with a weather-wise eye, and replied, ‘Oh
no, I’m sure it won’t rain.’
Our route to-day through the forest was most beautiful, at one time
descending to the level of the Sjoa, and even struggling along its bed
where the going on the bank seemed to be inferior, at another climbing
up and up and ever higher, until we stood on the summit of the range of
hills which confine this valley on the northern side. It is called
Hedalen, and is one of those strikingly beautiful half-cultivated
Norwegian dales which occupy the space between civilisation and the
untouched realms of nature.
This evening, the setting sun throwing a rich golden glow over the
scene, and lighting up the brilliant autumnal colours of the trees, gave
us an opportunity of seeing it quite at its best.
Gradually the forest began to get more open, and the road to improve.
Several peasants in picturesque garb were seen on the wayside: rough
buildings became more frequent, and fields and fences quite common; at
first only pasture land, but soon corn-fields and patches of potatoes.
Then at last in the twilight we make a swift descent from the ridge
along which the road runs; a short plunge through a thicket, down a
grassy track; a bridge over a little stream; and as we breast the
opposite bank, a pile of buildings looming in front and looking
perfectly gigantic to our eyes, so long accustomed to the tiniest of
huts; and Jens points up, cracks his whip, and says, ‘Bjölstad.’ The
pony boils up something like ‘a trot for the avenue,’ and rattles the
cart into a large square courtyard, tenanted only by two huge dogs; and
as a cheery old Norseman rushes out in great excitement to welcome us
and lead us into a bright, clean, curtained room, we feel that we have
said farewell to the delights of savage life, and will probably have to
put on a necktie to-morrow.
Here we parted with our faithful Jens, and very sorry we were to do so,
as we think him a first-rate fellow: a man with a bright eye and stolid
demeanour; naturally silent, but game for anything; a keen sportsman and
wonderful stalker, and without a particle of the laziness and sulkiness
which characterised Öla.
Here, for the first time since leaving Lillehammer in July, we slept
between sheets.
Our own and only Ivar has volunteered to what he calls ‘transportare’
all our baggage in his cart down to Lillehammer, distant about eighty
miles hence, for the sum of twenty-two shillings. This sounds
unreasonable, but it was his own suggestion, so we did not argue the
point, only stipulating that he should be there by noon on Tuesday,
to-day being Saturday, and leaving the details to him.
Our thoughts were here recalled to the Skipper and his adventures by
finding the following note from him:--
‘DEAR ESAU,--I have left behind me here certain of what the Romans
so appropriately called “impedimenta,” and hope that you will be
able to bring them home for me. I got an old, old man with a small
cart to bring my luggage down from Ransværk. It was a wet day.
I walked the first nine miles while the old man and the rain were
both driving. This ancient driveller seemed to imagine it was a
fine day, and had hung on his best coat and hat, further
aggravating his appearance with a spotted kerchief and a light
heart. He seemed remarkably cheerful, as carolling he drove his
carjole and cajoled his horse through the dripping pine forests.
I arrived here at midday, and the owner, Ivar Tofte, came out to
meet me. He took a great fancy to me, and we finished together a
bottle of the most delicious aquavit, which he produced from a
cellar where it had been laid down in the time of the Vikings.
It is a pity neither of you can speak the language!
‘Yours haughtily,
‘THE SKIPPER.’
We found that the ‘impedimenta’ of which the Skipper had spoken were 147
loaded cartridges wrapped up in a flannel shirt, the whole being
enveloped in a partially cured reindeer-skin.
We were further reminded of our lost one by looking in the Day-book (or
traveller’s name-book), where his was the last English name. This was
not surprising, for though Bjölstad is a posting station, it is a very
out-of-the-way place; but we looked back for two years without finding
that any other Englishman had been here, and then the Skipper’s name
occurred again. Between these dates the names were all Norwegian, and
there were not very many even of them.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
BJÖLSTAD.
_Sunday, September 19._--Bjölstad is an ancient Norwegian homestead, and
consists of several separate buildings surrounding a central rectangular
court. The house that we slept in bears the date of 1818, and is the
most modern as well as the largest of the group; it is really a suite of
state apartments for the use of the king on the rare occasions when he
visits this part of his dominions.
On the left-hand side of the courtyard as we stand at the door of our
state apartments, is a very quaint and picturesque old house with a
handsome porch, built in the Byzantine style, date 1743, and in this the
owner lives whenever he comes to this farm.
Opposite to us is another building even more curious in its
architecture, and considerably older than the other; and the remaining
side of the yard is occupied by another more modern edifice, used
chiefly as a storehouse. Besides these there are several other detached
outbuildings, in which sleighs, ploughs, spare cooking utensils, rugs,
and various other useful and useless articles are kept, including all
the fittings and even the weathercock of an ancient church which used to
stand close to the farm, but which is now demolished and partly reduced
to firewood.
[Illustration: Old Buildings in the Courtyard at Bjölstad]
The owner of all this grandeur is one Ivar Tofte, a wealthy yeoman who
has several other farms in other parts of the country, one of which is
much larger and more important even than Bjölstad; and we were lucky
enough to find this Northern Crœsus at home, for it turned out that he
was the cheery old man in the shocking bad hat who had run out to
welcome us last night.
This morning he came into our room after breakfast, with a bottle of
aquavit in his hand wherewith to drink our health. Now to refuse this
ceremony is an unpardonable insult, but we had tasted aquavit before,
and had a wholesome dread of the nauseous compound, reeking of carraway
seeds and aniseed, which we were accustomed to expect out of an aquavit
bottle. So we poured out very small glasses, clinked them in approved
manner, and raised them to our lips as we uttered the magic word Skaal,
more with a feeling of disgust than any other sensation. And then it was
beautiful to see a heavenly smile steal over Esau’s ingenuous
countenance; while John, softly murmuring, ‘Chartreuse, by George!’
reached for the bottle, and with a shout of ‘Skaal Ivar Tofte,’
proceeded to fill himself a bumper. It was a perfect liqueur, soft,
delicate, and mellow, as probably age alone could have made it; and we
drank Skaal to ‘Gammle Norgé,’ and England, and Kong Oscar, and Queen
Vict_oo_ria, and Ivar Tofte again, and then ourselves again; whereupon
the old man perceived that we appreciated his ‘cuvée de réserve,’ and
went for another full bottle, which he left in our room, so that we
could ‘put it to our lips when we felt so dispoged.’
After this, John, feeling at once genial and liberal, announced his
intention of buying a sheenfelt (sheepskin rug) for importation into
England; and Tofte with an aged retainer volunteered to show us his
stores of sheepskins.
First our guide procured a bunch of enormous keys, such as Bluebeard
would have hanging from his waist in a pantomime, labelled ‘Key of the
Wine-cellar. Umbrella stand. Fowl-house. Potted shrimps. Cupboard where
the jam’s kept,’ &c., &c. Then he marched off to one of the buildings,
followed by us and the other old man, whose profession was apparently to
exalt Bjölstad sheenfelts, and to debase--as far as extreme volubility
and strict inattention to the elements of truth would enable him to
accomplish that object--an ancient one which John wished to give in part
payment.
Bluebeard led us up some stairs to the Blue Chamber, where we saw
hanging in a row the skins, not of his deceased wives, but of many
‘timid-glancing, herbage-cropping, fleecy flocks,’ to use the beautiful
and touching language of the Greek poet. Then the two accomplices
selected the sheenfelt which they intended us to buy, and began to
expatiate on its beauties in terms of undisguised admiration; and after
half an hour’s huckstering and haggling, of course they persuaded John
to take that and no other. However, it was a beautiful specimen of this
kind of rug, of a dark grey colour, and very thick, warm, and heavy; so
both sides were highly satisfied, and proceeded to the drinking of more
aquavit in celebration of the bargain.
The weather was so unpleasant, and Bluebeard and his aquavit were so
engaging, that we decided not to leave here till to-morrow. Our host was
delighted to hear this, and at once went for more aquavit, which he
appears to consider the first necessity of life; and then he proceeded
to show us round his ancestral halls, as though he were a sober old
verger of Westminster Abbey.
There was a sort of old-world Rip van Winkle sleepiness about Bjölstad
very soothing to men who like us have lived in the nineteenth century
for some few years. All the varlets and handmaidens were dressed in the
old native costume, so appropriate to the ancient wooden buildings with
quaintly carved eaves and doorways, about which they hovered. In the
courtyard were two enormous dogs, that barked loudly whenever we
appeared, but at the same time wagged their tails and looked imbecile
and good natured. There were also four geese, who meant to be sitting
basking in the rain, but as soon as anybody came to one of the numerous
doors, or crossed the yard, they all stood up and quacked solemnly
fourteen times each, then hissed once, and sat down again; and as some
one was always moving about the court, the quiet rest of those birds was
more anticipatory than real; but they alone of all the living creatures
at Bjölstad appeared to have any fixed employment which demanded
constant attention.
Bluebeard first took us through the state apartments, which contained
many curious and interesting things of all ages, from an axe nearly a
thousand years old, to a Birmingham plated teapot won at the Christiania
horse show in 1860.
The Toftes boast themselves descended from Harald Haarfager, and are so
proud of their ancestry, that from time immemorial they have never
married out of their own family. If dear old Bluebeard may be accepted
as an ordinary result of this system, it must be confessed that it has
its advantages.
The things that he chiefly delighted to show us were those which had
been used by the king during his occasional visits, the most curious
being a large stone table made of one enormous slab not more than
three-quarters of an inch thick, but very hard and elastic, more like a
steel plate than stone; gorgeously embroidered counterpanes and chairs;
some very old ploughs and sleighs; and a brass-bound box with a
marvellous representation of Adam and Eve, very evidently before the
Fall, and the most remarkable thing in serpents which the wildest flight
of human imagination has yet conceived. There were some very nice silver
utensils and ornaments, but not many, as most of his plate is kept at
his largest farm. All that he had here was in a cupboard with a rubbishy
unlocked deal door, standing in John’s bedroom; a fact which speaks
volumes for the trusting simplicity and total inability to read a man’s
character from his appearance, caused by a millennium of marrying your
cousin once removed. Poor Bluebeard! he little thought what a viper he
was nurturing in his bosom, or rather in his chest (his plate chest),
and that in that room lay one who could perhaps, if he would, answer the
questions--
Who took the Gainsborough?
Who has the Dudley diamonds?
Who stole the donkey? and
Where’s the cat?
N.B.--John has now a large collection of ancient Norwegian silver,
counterpanes, belts, tankards, knives, and ornaments to dispose of at
very low prices if no questions are asked. --ADVT.
_September 20._--We left Bjölstad in carioles on a real road about nine
o’clock, Bluebeard himself assisting in the operation of harnessing the
ponies and packing the baggage. Just as we were driving off,
a brilliantly original idea occurred to him, and he said, ‘Come in and
taste my aquavit.’ We did not like to refuse an old grey-haired man’s
simple request, so descended and drank another Skaal to all the usual
loyal, patriotic, and festive toasts, and then we drove off murmuring
somewhat indistinctly, ‘Shkaal Iva’ Tofte Shhkaal Iv Toffie Shko Toffy.
Jolly good fler-ole-shole-Toffy.’
All day we drove, and ever as we descended the Hedalen valley with the
noisy Sjoa on our right hand, the farming kept improving, and the
country becoming more populous; and we saw many families digging
potatoes, many pigs roaming free and unmolested as they do in Ireland,
and a few men bringing up stores from the town for the long season of
snowed-up dreariness now so near at hand. Jens told us that in winter,
even so far to the south as Vaage, the sun only rises about eleven, and
sets at one o’clock, giving barely three hours of daylight in midwinter;
though he said that in the mountains where he spends his time hunting,
there is rather more light than in the valleys.
It may be well to explain in what manner so much information was
obtained from men whose language was unknown to us, and to whom ours was
equally incomprehensible.
The glorious principle of co-operation did it all. The Skipper spoke
Norse with great elegance and fluency, but did not understand it at all.
Esau could understand it perfectly, but was unable to express himself in
that tongue to even a limited extent; and John could neither speak nor
understand a word. Consequently our united accomplishments were equal
to meeting any emergency that might arise, even to the disentanglement
of such a coil as--
_Brandforsikringsselskabet_, or--
_Sommermaandernepassagerbekvemmeligheder_,
or any other of the little complex words that an educated Norwegian can
construct. It is wonderful to hear the natives launch out into one of
these cataracts: they do it fearlessly, and steer through the whole with
unflagging fortitude, and very seldom with any fatal results.
The hay harvest seemed to be quite finished except on the roofs of the
houses, where some people were still cutting and carrying their crops.
The barley had just been reaped, and was now being dried by the process
of impalement, a dozen sheaves, one above the other, being transfixed by
a pole stuck into the ground, just as a naughty boy sticks a row of
moths on a long pin, or as the unfortunate Bulgarians were supposed to
be exhibited during the ‘atrocity’ scare. Can it be possible that those
stories arose from the distant contemplation of a barley-field?
[Illustration: Barley Sheaves: A Norwegian ‘Atrocity’]
The Norwegians also dry their hay in a different manner from that
usually practised in England. They erect high hurdles made of larch
poles in lines at intervals all over the field, and on these they hang
the hay to dry as we hang towels on a horse, and it is by this means so
well exposed to both air and sun that it dries very quickly. No doubt
the hurdles are also very useful in spring as a shelter for the young
lambs.
The weather kept improving so much that we grew quite jubilant, and the
ever-changing scenes that opened before us seemed full of life and
brightness, and we looked with a certain amount of pleasure on even the
magpies, which sat on the fences in scores, pluming their black-green
feathers, and talking things over quietly to themselves. So different
from the wary magpie of England, who, knowing that he is an Ishmael,
glories in the fact, and shrieks defiance to mankind at the top of his
voice and a tree.
For three hours we followed the brawling Sjoa through scenery that would
bear comparison with Switzerland, and then we reached the spot where it
joins the mighty Laagen, and crossing the latter by a picturesque but
discouraging bridge, soon struck the main road, and pulled up for our
first change of ponies at Storklevstad, nineteen miles from Bjölstad.
At another place further on we found a shop kept by a Norwegian Yankee,
and entered it to buy some sugar-candy, wherewith to appease our
cariole-boy. This storekeeper informed us that the emigration from
Norway to the States was enormous just now, especially to Minnesota and
Wisconsin, and that no less than sixteen men had gone this year from the
little village of Vaage--a place which does not strike one as being
likely to contain that number of able-bodied men at one time. Öla had
told us that five of his brethren were in Minnesota, but that he himself
had no intention of leaving his native country; and this we thought to
be well, for if he were to join them we are convinced that any
enterprise in which they might be engaged would inevitably fail with his
invaluable co-operation and assistance--unless perhaps the Skipper could
be induced to go out there and occasionally exhort him.
At Listad we lunched off a real white tablecloth; that is to say, we ate
not the cloth, but everything eatable that was placed on it.
We also found a note from the Skipper asking us to bring along one or
two little things that he had been obliged to leave behind in his
hurried flight, just as the allied armies kept finding Napoleon’s
belongings at different places after Waterloo. The present loot
consisted of a coat, sleeping rug, and a towel.
At Kirkestuen we quitted the track for the night, having made fifty
miles in about ten hours. This, according to our experience, is a fair
rate of progression in Norway; in fact, the traveller is more likely to
find the average below this than above, unless he drives the good little
ponies faster than they like to go, which is wrong.
Here the three women who kept the station were immensely amused because
we asked for coffee with our food, and one of them took upon herself the
task of rebuking us for such dissipated habits, and explained at great
length that no respectable people ever did such a thing. ‘Coffee,’ she
said, ‘should only be drunk during the day, gruel after sunset.’ But we
persisted in our reckless demand, and they finally gave in, and produced
the delicious compound that may be expected at any wretched little
dwelling throughout the country.
This was the first place where the papered rooms and iron stoves of
modern Norway obtruded themselves on our notice; but in spite of these
we were very comfortable, and think that Kirkestuen deserves all the
praise which we cannot find lavished upon it in any of the guide-books:
it is cheap, comfortable, and clean, and the food is excellent. If the
three young ladies who preside over its arrangements wish to send us any
little remuneration for this advertisement, we are agents for several
Central African Missions, to which we could hand it over; or, as ‘best
aquavit’ is a good deal appreciated by the missionaries themselves when
they are suffering from certain diseases peculiar to the Central African
climate, we would receive that liqueur in cases of not less than three
dozen in lieu of money.
CHAPTER XXXV.
DOWN TO CHRISTIANIA.
_September 21._--The steadily improving weather of our homeward journey
is very pleasant, and already we are beginning to almost forget those
‘Miseries in Cold and Grey’ which were so conspicuous during our last
few days at Rus Vand.
To-day we noticed that the whole population of the country appeared to
be engaged in the seductive pastime of potato-digging. One family that
we passed consisted of papa, mamma, and eight children of different
ages, all absorbed in this pursuit. The parents had gardening tools, the
elder children were using pickaxes and trowels, the younger ones
fire-shovels and wooden baking spades, and the mere babies were hard at
work with spoons and toasting-forks.
Here and there we detected a few people still making hay, presumably
because they had no potatoes. In Norway the hill-sides are so steep and
rocky that there is not overmuch room for the cultivation of grass, so
they have to collect it from every available corner where a few sprays
of anything green can contrive to exist. As we have mentioned, they are
now curing grass on the house-tops, and to-day we saw a man with a
scythe about eighteen inches long, mowing in amongst the stones on the
river bank, and in some of the places where he went the scythe blade was
the only blade visible to the naked eye. One thing seems certain, that a
Norwegian _will_ make hay while the sun shines, even if he can only find
rocks out of which to make it.
On this part of our journey we passed a great many spotted black and
white pigs: these pigs move with a greater dignity of bearing than the
ordinary white pig of Scandinavia, and altogether seem to consider
themselves superior to him, although they have not a curly tail.
Personally we think there is a certain subtle charm about the curly tail
of the white pig, a something that sets him off and renders him more
pleasing to the eye of the beholder than is a spotted pig with a
straight tail. However, our humble opinion does not seem at all to
affect the swagger of the spotted pig.
Near Formö we overtook a rosy-cheeked girl of about eighteen, astride a
bare-backed pony: the pony was seized with a spirit of emulation, and
insisted on accompanying the carioles for some distance in spite of her
efforts to stop it.
The weather was now delightful; the roads were dry and dusty, and the
sun was so hot that the long cool shadows of the pine woods which at
frequent intervals hedge in the road were quite a welcome relief both to
us and our shaggy steeds.
Ever as we followed the almost imperceptible descent of the road, the
great river Laagen became wider, deeper, and bluer, as it gathered
increased volume from the numberless tributaries which flow into it from
every hill, till at length at Fossegaarden it plunged over a series of
ledges in a splendid succession of falls, and after winding awhile amid
fir-clad islands and shaded grassy banks, it flowed into the Mjösen Lake
and was lost, while we on the road above, rounding the last corner and
turning to the east, soon found ourselves in Lillehammer, which really
looked quite a towny little town.
Esau stopped at Fossegaarden a couple of hours to throw a fly in the
tempting-looking water below the falls, and was rewarded at the first
cast by a rise from a fish whose peculiar wriggling and rolling soon
showed him to be a grayling; and before leaving, the bag was filled with
some very fine specimens of this beautiful and delicate fish.
We were greeted as old friends at the Victoria Hotel, where Ivar had
already arrived with our things. Then we ordered our own dinner, and
told the host to supply Ivar with whatever he wanted regardless of
expense (the result of this reckless munificence was a bill for nearly
two shillings); and in the happy frame of mind produced on both sides by
this course we settled our accounts with him, and giving him all our
worn-out garments and some candles and matches, we parted with the last
of our henchmen.
By the way, we here found a note from the Skipper asking us to bring
home a pair of shooting boots, three socks, and the remains of what had
apparently been a pocket handkerchief; but the obvious course that
suggested itself was ‘give ’em to the men,’ and we insisted on Ivar
taking these valuables.
_September 22._--With the utmost difficulty, by threats and coercion
Esau was induced to leave his bed, and dragged to the steamer in time
for her departure, as, if left to his own inclinations, he would have
remained in his insidious couch until this globe had performed its
diurnal revolution.
As it was, the ‘Skiblädner’ was indulging in a final premonitory shriek
before leaving the pier when we came hurrying and stumbling down the
hill at all paces, and we only stepped aboard just as she threw off the
last detaining rope.
The steamer was at first very empty, but more people joined us at every
stopping-place, of which there are about a dozen on the lake. Some of
these are little villages, with only the bright roofs and church spire
peeping out from among the fir trees; others no more than a
landing-stage projecting into the blue waters, and no other indications
of life save perhaps a couple of idle fishing boats and a flagstaff.
The morning was so calm and fine, that the grayling playing under the
shore made the only break in the otherwise unruffled surface of the
lake, and it seemed strange to find ourselves back in summer again,
having left winter with its snow and frosts far above us up at Rus Vand
only a few days ago.
At Hamar some English people came aboard, so that we had some one to
talk to. At every place where the steamer stopped and fresh passengers
came off in boats to meet us, it seemed to be customary that they should
take off their hats to the captain on the bridge as they pulled up
alongside: even when we passed the smallest places without stopping,
merely throwing the mail bag into a boat as we darted by, the
fresh-water sailors on the steamer all took off their hats to the
fresh-water sailors ashore, the latter always returning the salutation;
and considering the fact that two steamers pass every day, this
indicates no small degree of politeness.
There is a great amount of character to be noticed among the natives
during a voyage on the lake, and although they are badly and even
grotesquely dressed (for the pretty old costume has quite disappeared in
this part of the country, and its modern substitute is hideous), still
their old-fashioned manners and simple courtesy are very striking; and
in spite of their love of a little mild ostentation they are so quiet
and well behaved, that they would appear to great advantage if
contrasted with the crowd that may be found say on a Greenwich steamer.
At Eidsvold we left the steamer for the train which was waiting to
receive us, and about nightfall were once more in Christiania, and after
a sumptuous supper went to rest in sumptuous beds, thinking ere we fell
asleep of how to-morrow we should again have to submit ourselves to the
yoke of civilisation, to discard our flannel shirts for linen ones and
stick-up collars, to throw aside our shooting boots, and again bite off
our nails, which have grown to their natural length under the soothing
influence of a long spell of unworried conscience.
_September 23._--We found Christiania this morning almost as hot as we
left it, the streets all dry and dusty, and the trees parched for want
of rain; and the sunshine was very pleasant as we wandered about the
town into the various shops, purchasing articles by the assistance of
which we hoped to attain popularity among our relatives on our arrival
in England.
The shopkeepers were almost all very slow; in fact, the transaction of
any business is not the hardy Norseman’s strong point. We copy this
extract from the Skipper’s journal:--
‘I went to the bank this morning to get some circular notes changed, and
they kept me there fussing over them for fifty minutes before I got the
money. During this time of expectation I read two letters from home
through, and had a chase after a torpid fly on the floor with my stick:
considering his languid condition this fly showed great spirit, but
after following him about three feet along the floor and nine inches up
the wall, I made a fortunate dash at him, and concluded his existence.
Then I thought for a while and stared all round the room, and cut my
nails with my knife. Then I counted how many boards there were in the
floor, and how many nails there were on an average in each board, and
made a little calculation on these figures to discover how many nails
there were in the whole room, and what they weighed, how much they cost,
how many miles they would reach if laid end to end, and how many men at
how much an hour for how long it had taken to drive them all in. Then
again I thought for a while, but still the money did not come, and my
moral reflections on men and things had just led me to the conclusion
that all mortals were but desolate creatures, and that I of all men was
most desolate and abandoned, when at the end of forty minutes an
official arrived with a sort of cheque. And after that it took ten
minutes more to change the cheque into money in a lower room, where the
clerks had their hair so beautifully brushed and were so haughty, that
instead of being angry I could only thank them profusely for giving me
the money at all.’
After finishing our hunt for curios, it occurred to us that we ought to
see the vikings’ ship recently unearthed somewhere on the fjord, so we
walked down to the University, where we were told by a student that it
was not yet open to the public, but that if we would ask the Professor
of Archæology, whom John profanely designated ‘the boss that runs the
antiquity show,’ he had no doubt that, being strangers, we should be
allowed to see the ship.
Would the fact of a man being a foreigner obtain his admission to a
private view of an English curiosity, save perhaps the plans and
mechanism of an iron-clad or torpedo? Probably not.
Revolving these thoughts within our minds we sought the professor, and
he at once left the work upon which he was engaged and took us to the
ship, which was locked up inside a wooden building that has been erected
for it.
Very interesting it was, the preservation of the wood and also the
ironwork being wonderful. Unfortunately, some archæologists of earlier
date than the present had also made some excavations in search of
memorials of the past. They had cut a large hole in the side amidships,
for the purpose of carrying off the ornaments and other valuables by
which the dead viking was surrounded, in the chamber constructed for his
body right in the centre of the boat. The modern archæologists call
their predecessors ‘sacrilegious robbers,’ but we are averse to the use
of strong language among men of science.
However, the rest of the ship was perfect, even to the shields which
used to adorn the gunwale, which are now seen to have been made of thin
wood, and were probably only ornamental. She was a good big boat, rather
flat-bottomed and low in the water, but with great breadth of beam, and
built on lines that left no room for doubt as to her seagoing qualities.
The whole day was occupied by this shopping and sight-seeing, and we
went to bed more exhausted than by a hard day’s stalking at Gjendin, and
not half so much satisfied with our achievements.
It is almost unnecessary to mention that we found at the hotel a note
from the Skipper, begging us to bring home a waterproof sheet and a few
clothes that he had been obliged to leave there. We think that this
young man must have shed nearly all his raiment before leaving Norway,
and gone home clad in a yellow ulster which we know he had left at the
hotel in July; for, judging from the fragments that we have picked up
from time to time on our homeward route, he cannot have much other
property with him except his gun, rifle, and fishing-gear.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
HOME AGAIN.
_September 24._--To-day our Norwegian friends who lent us the hut at Rus
Vand came to dine with us, and then saw us safely aboard the ‘Angelo,’
and at five o’clock, in the presence of an immense crowd which covered
the whole quay, some of the people cheering, but many more weeping, we
steamed out of the harbour.
As the sound of the last bell died away, and the last gangway fell with
a crash on to the landing-stage, a hatless, breathless man rushed up the
companion and darted at the spot where he supposed the gangway to be:
seeing that he was too late, he yelled to the people on shore, and made
as though he would have cast himself into the water, but was restrained
by the passengers. Meanwhile a fleet of little boats endeavoured to
catch a rope and be towed until he could be lowered into one of them;
but all failed, and the unfortunate man was carried off to
Christiansand, so that on his involuntary voyage he would have leisure
to meditate on the folly of a too prolonged farewell.
With a gentle breeze we steamed down the fjord, which never looked more
lovely than on this evening; and so beautiful was the night, so warm, so
radiant, and with such a depth of glorious colouring from the departed
sun, that people crept away into the shade out of the _moonlight_, from
pure force of habit, after the heat of the summer.
The influence of such a night, together with a certain sense of
something completed; the calm ocean all round us, and the soothing,
monotonous throbbing of the untiring screw, produced a longing for
confidence in John’s bosom, so that he gave utterance to his sentiments
as he leant with Esau over the rail of the hurricane deck, and watched
the ever-sparkling phosphorescent lights caused by the passage of the
vessel through the quiet water.
‘Yes, I’m sorry to be leaving Norway, for, you know, there’s something
delightful to me about the simplicity of the people’ (Esau’s mind
reverted to Ivar Tofte and his plate cupboard); ‘they seem to place a
childlike confidence in a stranger, which is quite incomprehensible to
me. Then there is an unwordable calm, an indescribable tranquillity,
which seems to cling both to the country and its inhabitants; even the
houses seem to possess an imperturbable serenity of demeanour which you
will not find on any other island in Europe. In fact, y’know, Esau, it’s
a country where one might live quietly and die in peace, where “moths do
not corrupt, neither do worms break through and steal,” don’t you know,
Esau? And I’m deuced sorry to have to count among past memories the time
we have spent here, where the unbroken harmony of existence is that
repose for which my soul has longed these many years; but never until
now, no, by George! never, has it been able to discover the most
uncertain tracings of its ideal.’
Here Esau, who had his deck shoes on, seeing what sort of a mood John
was in, stole away quietly towards the cabin, and left him prosing on to
the German Ocean. He paused, however, a moment before descending the
companion stairs, and caught a few more words which, as the moon had now
set, John was confiding to the darkness.
‘A couple more days, and we shall be back in England, where, y’know,
I think civilisation is overdone. My existence there is a perpetual
state of toadying and being toadied: you see, it’s a place where the
serpent of social emulation creeps into our very beds, and hangs
suspended over our heads by a mere thread when we least expect him; and,
y’know, Esau----’ But Esau had slunk down the stairs, and the rest of
this impassioned outburst is, we fear, lost to humanity.
_September 25._--We woke up to find ourselves just leaving
Christiansand, and soon reached the lighthouse at what the Skipper calls
‘the bottom left-hand corner of Norway,’ but remained in bed while we
glared at it through the port.
We were taking out a great number of emigrants for America, fine,
sturdy-looking young fellows, probably as hard as nails, and quite equal
to coping with the difficulties of a new country. They all looked so
cheery and full of hope and expectation, that we could not help thinking
rather sadly of the day when they will wake up to some of the unpleasant
realities of Yankee life, and wish themselves back again in their native
hills among their own simple-minded friends.
The day passed in the manner usual at sea when the water is smooth and
the ship goes merrily homeward bound. Hardly any one missed a
meal--rather a difference from the ordinary state of affairs in the wild
North Sea; and at evening the sun went down in a blaze of scarlet and
gold, which was reflected from the perfectly calm surface; and we turned
in with tranquil minds, even Esau being now reasonably hopeful of seeing
the Humber without suffering the pangs of starvation.
Esau is not a good sailor. On the last occasion of our return from
Norway he crossed by the ‘Angelo’ a fortnight before the Skipper; and
the latter, on arriving on board prepared for the voyage, saw the
steward, and asked him, ‘What sort of a passage did you have last trip,
George?’
‘Beautiful, sir. I never see a smoother sea.’
Then the Skipper went on, ‘Did you see anything of Mr. Esau on the
voyage?’
To which George replied, ‘I seen him come aboard.’
And this brief remark of George’s conveyed a world of untold fact.
_September 26._--We dropped anchor outside Hull at half-past five this
evening, in the remainder of the very same drizzling rain that was going
on when we left England in July.
Hull on Sunday in a soaking rain is not a place to grow romantic about,
so we omit all reference to our first sensations and maledictions on our
return to our native climate, and proceed to a more agreeable
subject--dinner.
It was a merry meal in company with four of our fellow-passengers, who
were likewise returning from sport in Norway--two from salmon fishing,
two from red-deer stalking, and with whom there was consequently a bond
of sympathy.
With these kindred spirits, after British beef had been washed down with
British beer, a Skaal drunk in British champagne, and tongues were
loosened by the confidential pipe and British cigar, we chatted long and
pleasantly; wandering again with rod and gun among the rugged mountains
of that wild north land, recalling exploits performed, and perhaps
indulging in those mild and harmless exaggerations of doughty deeds
which no traveller or sportsman can resist. Already we found ourselves
forgetting the few disagreeable incidents that occurred during our trip,
and viewing everything through that rosy mist which happily arises
before all past hours of pleasure and discomfort alike. Too soon bedtime
put an end to our retrospect, and we slept the sleep of the wearied
traveller, with dreams of trout, ryper, and reindeer--steamboat,
cariole, and sleigh--mountain, lake, and river--tent and sæter--paddle
and pony--hurrying through our brains in wild confusion.
To-morrow, alas! we commence again a life of gilded misery and gloomy
magnificence. Give to us the untrammelled freedom of ‘Gammle Norgé,’ and
the humble crust of fladbrod----_with_ JAM.
[Illustration: ‘FARVEL.’ [Three at Home Again]]
_Spottiswoode & Co., Printers, New-street Square, London._
[Map: THE JOTUNFJELD
Showing various Routes to it.
E. Weller _Lith._]
* * * * *
* * * *
* * * * *
Typographical Errors (noted by transcriber):
The word “invisible” means that there is an appropriately sized blank
space, but the character itself is missing. Some names are written
differently in the List of Illustrations than elsewhere in the text;
these are not individually noted.
_... to that of all other sons of Adam._’ [_final . missing_]
a delicious meal off trout, strawberries and cream
[_text unchanged: may be error for “of”_]
It is eleven miles long; very deep; very blue [_comma invisible_]
the name is a little difficult to pronounce [pronouce]
a delicious meal nearly ready cooked by Esau [delicions]
and often gets his deserts. [_final . missing_]
a hole in the ground [he ground]
they expected to meet their boat. [_final . missing_]
‘I ran straight on, and following round the shoulder of the hill
[_open quote missing_]
to assist in the operations there going on. [_final . missing_]
while Öla undertook the labour. [_final . missing_]
taking the north side of the lake, Esau the south. [lake.]
Skipper: ‘Let me blow it out.’ [_close quote missing_]
without the deer seeing us [dear]
[Footnote 9: ‘Pandecāges,’ pancakes.]
[Pandecāgos _corrected from main text_]
to have our ‘spise.’ ... gravy from the ‘boss pie’ ...
[_single inner quotes as shown_]
‘Öla also seemed to devour his food [_open quote missing_]
‘We packed everything into the boat [_open quote invisible_]
carolling he drove his carjole and cajoled his horse
[_anomalous spelling “carjole” unchanged: may be intentional_]
as the moon had now set, John was confiding [_comma invisible_]
Phonetic spellings:
“Pandecāges” with macron on second “a”:
the vowel is broad, as in “father”.
“căno” with breve over “a”:
the speaker pronounced the word as “can” + “oh” (that is, neither
the Norwegian nor the correct English pronunciation).
“Gammle Norgé” ... “Queen Vict_oo_ria”
both represent Norwegian pronunciation: final “e” is not silent,
and “o” is pronounced like “continental” u.
Norwegian:
Written Norwegian has three extra vowels: æ, ø, å. At the time _Three in
Norway_ was published, the language generally used Danish spelling. Many
words written with “æ” would now use simple “e”, and the letter “å”
(pronounced like “continental” o) was written “aa”.
The letter “ø” is equivalent to “ö” (“o umlaut”); the correct letterform
may have been unavailable to the printer.
The spelling “Ragnild” (expected form “Ragnhild”) is used consistently.
The forms “Bred Sjö” : “Bredsjö”, “skin tukt” : “skintukt” (see
Berries), and Jotun Fjeld : Jotunfjeld each occur.
Double vowels representing a single long sound are rare except in a few
names; the macron on the first “u” in “Tronhūus” is redundant.
The inconsistent capitalization of “Ryper” : “ryper” is unchanged. The
plural form “ryper” is used throughout for both singular and plural.
Consistent o/ö (ø) errors:
Öla (the name) _for_ Ola
brod, fladbrod _for_ brød, fladbrød
Formö, kröne, mölte bær, spör, Strömkarl _for_ Formo, krone,
moltebær, spor, Stromkarl
Other uses of ö (ø) are correct: öl, öre, hö, sjö and any place names.
Words:
The men had been complaining that it was a ‘dole vei’ (bad road)
soon after the start, now they said it was ‘schlamm’
[dårlig vei; slem]
Skoggaggany ... is merely the Norwegian for a scaup duck
[_one Norwegian translation says, in paraphrase, “we called it
Skoggaggany because we thought it sounded so Norwegian”. If the
word is real, it should end in _-and_, “duck”._]
‘Nei’ was again the answer, and an ominous whisper of ‘landsmand’
(the policeman) was plainly audible.
[lensmand, _now written_ -mann]
‘Ingen dyr, ingen fresk spör, ingen gammle spör,’ as the Norsk jäger
would remark
[_The spelling with ä for æ is anomalous. Modern Norwegian would
have “jeger”, though “jæger” is correct for the time. The spelling
“spör” is here an error for “spor” (tracks)._]
the “jarraf,” as they call it
[jærv, _now written_ jerv]
John, feeling at once genial and liberal, announced his intention
of buying a sheenfelt (sheepskin rug) for importation into England
[skinnfeld, _now written_ -fell]
Berries:
Most of the berries of the country are now just at their best, and
Memurudalen is a grand valley for all of them, except of course the
strawberry and raspberry, which will not grow at this altitude. But we
have ‘klarkling’ (the English crowberry) in great abundance; blau bær
(wimberry), the finest and best ever seen, in quantities; also ‘skin
tukt,’ another blue berry rather larger than a wimberry, and with a
thicker skin and wonderful bloom on it; this we think does not grow in
England. Then less numerous are a berry something between a raspberry
and a red currant, but of better flavour than either of them; and the
great and glorious ‘mölte bær’ (cloudberry); to say nothing of ‘heste
bær,’ and ‘tutti bær,’ and several others of unknown names. The last one
grows in England, but we have forgotten its name; they make jelly from
it here, and prize it highly for its acid taste.
‘klarkling’ (the English crowberry) [krekling]
blau bær (wimberry) [blåbær (_etymologically “blueberry”, but not
the same as the American blueberry_)]
‘skin tukt,’ another blue berry
[_probably “blokkebær”, also called “skinntryte”_]
something between a raspberry and a red currant [rips]
‘mölte bær’ (cloudberry) [moltebær, _also written “multebær”_]
‘heste bær,’ [_possibly “heggebær”_]
‘tutti bær,’ [tyttebær]
we have forgotten its name
[_English “lingonberry”, from its Swedish name “lingon”_]
Song:
[Footnote 4: ‘Brod,’ bread. The word does not rhyme to god, being
pronounced something like Broat, but it looks as if it rhymed.]
[_The Norwegian word is “brød”. Here the writers almost seem
to be talking about the German equivalent “Brot”._]
[Footnote 8: ‘Stor,’ big, pronounced Stora before a consonant.]
[_The writers have misunderstood a rule. The word does vary
between “stor” and “store”, but the difference is grammatical,
not phonetic._]
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Three in Norway - by Two of Them" ***
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