Bernard hurries along the shores of the Arlanza. He is like a lion
rushing from his den, seeking the hunters, and resolved to conquer
them or die. The brave and resolute Spaniard sets forth. With a
quick step, in his hand a heavy spear, in which he puts his trust,
Bernard traverses the ruins of Arlanza.--_Old Spanish Romance._
On descending from the tower from whose summit he had seen Munkholm
light, Ordener looked in every direction, until he was exhausted, for
his poor guide, Benignus Spiagudry. He called him repeatedly, but only
echo answered. Surprised but not alarmed by this inexplicable
disappearance, he attributed it to some panic which had seized upon the
timid keeper, and after generously blaming himself for having left him,
even for a few moments, he decided to spend the night upon the cliff, in
order to give him time to return. Then he ate something, and wrapping
himself in his mantle, laid down by the dying embers, kissed Ethel’s
ringlet, and soon fell asleep; for an anxious heart cannot keep awake a
man whose conscience is clear.
At sunrise he rose, but found no trace of Spiagudry except his wallet
and cloak, which had been left in the tower, showing that his flight had
been very hasty. Then, despairing of his return, at least to Oëlmœ
Cliff, Ordener resolved to set off without him, for it was on the next
day that he hoped to meet Hans of Iceland at Walderhog.
It has been stated in the earlier chapters of this story that Ordener
had accustomed himself to the hardships incident to a roving and
adventurous life. Having already travelled through northern Norway
several times, he did not need a guide, now that he knew where to find
the robber. He accordingly turned his lonely steps toward the northwest,
no longer having Benignus Spiagudry at his side to tell him just how
much quartz or spar each hill contained, what traditions were connected
with every ruin, and whether this or that gaping chasm was caused by an
ancient flood or by some volcanic action. He walked a whole day through
those mountains which, proceeding at intervals like foot-hills from the
principal chain traversing the length of Norway, slope gradually down to
the sea; so that the coast of that country is a mere succession of
promontories and fjords, while inland it is nothing but a series of
mountains and valleys, a strange conformation, which has caused Norway
to be compared to the skeleton of a great fish.
It was no easy matter to travel in such a region. Sometimes he was
forced to follow the stony bed of a dry stream, sometimes to cross, by
an unsteady bridge made of a tree-trunk, over a road which torrents born
but the day before had chosen for their bed.
Sometimes, too, Ordener would journey for hours without seeing any sign
of the presence of man in these wild places, save an occasional glimpse
of the sails of a windmill upon the top of a hill, or the sound of a
distant forge, whose smoke blew hither and thither like a black plume,
as the wind shifted this way and that.
Now and again he met a peasant mounted on a little gray pony, its head
down, and scarcely more untamed than its master; or a dealer in furs and
skins, seated in his sledge, drawn by reindeer, a long rope fastened
behind, the end covered with knots, meant to frighten away wolves, as it
rebounded from the pebbles in the road.
If Ordener asked this trader the way to Walderhog cave, the travelling
merchant, familiar only with the names and positions of the places to
which his business took him, would answer indifferently: “Keep to the
northwest till you come to Hervalyn village, then cross Dodlysax ravine,
and by night you will reach Surb, which is only two miles from
Walderhog.”
If Ordener put the same question to the peasant, the latter, deeply
imbued with the traditions of the country and the fireside tales, would
shake his head again and again, and stop his gray horse, as he said:
“Walderhog! Walderhog cave! There the stones sing, the dry bones dance,
and the demon of Iceland dwells; it cannot be to Walderhog cave that
your worship wishes to go?”
“Yes, indeed,” Ordener would reply.
“Has your worship lost your mother, or has fire destroyed your farm, or
has one of your neighbors stolen your fat pig?”
“No, truly,” the young man would answer.
“Then some magician must have cast a spell over your worship’s senses.”
“My friend, I asked you to tell me the way to Walderhog.”
“I am trying to answer your question, sir. Farewell. Keep to the north!
I can tell you how to go there, but I do not know how you will get
back.”
And the peasant would ride off, crossing himself as he went.
To the gloomy monotony of the road was added the inconvenience of a
fine, penetrating rain, which took possession of the sky toward noonday,
and increased the difficulties of the way. No song-bird dared venture
forth; and Ordener, chilled to the bone beneath his cloak, saw only the
goshawk and the falcon hover above his head, or the kingfisher fly up
from the reeds of a pond with a fish in its claws, startled by his
tread.
It was after dark when the young traveller, after making his way through
the forest of aspens and beeches which lies close to Dodlysax ravine,
reached the village of Surb, where (as the reader may remember)
Spiagudry had asked leave to establish his headquarters. The smell of
tar and the charcoal smoke told Ordener that he was approaching a
seafaring population. He advanced to the first hut which he could see
through the darkness. According to Norwegian custom, the low, narrow
entrance was closed by a large, transparent fish-skin, tinged at this
moment by the flickering red light of the fire. He knocked on the wooden
doorpost, saying,--
“It is a traveller!”
“Come in, come in,” answered a voice from within.
At the same instant an eager hand raised the fish-skin, and Ordener was
admitted to the cone-shaped home of a Norwegian ’longshore fisherman. It
was a sort of circular tent made of wood and earth, in the centre of
which blazed a fire, where the purple glow of turf was mixed with the
white light of the pine. Beside this fire the fisherman, his wife, and
two children dressed in rags were seated at a table set with wooden
plates and earthen cups. On the opposite side of the fire was a pile of
nets and oars; a couple of reindeer were asleep on a bed of dried leaves
and skins, which by its ample size seemed intended also as a
resting-place for the family and any guests whom it might please Heaven
to send them. It took more than one glance to make out the arrangement
of the hut; for a thick, pungent smoke, which found but scanty outlet
through a hole in the pointed roof, wrapped everything in a misty but
almost impenetrable veil.
As soon as Ordener crossed the threshold, the fisherman and his wife
rose, and returned his greeting in a frank and friendly manner.
Norwegian peasants welcome travellers perhaps as much from a lively
feeling of curiosity inherent in their nature as from their native
inclination to hospitality.
“Sir,” said the fisherman, “you must be cold and hungry; here are fire
to dry your cloak and excellent bark bread to satisfy your appetite.
Afterward your worship may be willing to tell us who you are, where you
come from, where you are going, and what stories the gossips relate in
your native place.”
“Yes, sir,” added his wife; “and you might add to that bark
bread--which, as my husband says, is excellent--a delicious bit of salt
fish, seasoned with whale oil. Sit down, stranger.”
“And if your worship does not like Saint Usuph’s[15] fare,” added the
man, “and will have patience for a few moments, I can promise you a
splendid piece of venison, or at least a pheasant’s wing. We are
expecting a visit from the best hunter in the three provinces. Isn’t
that so, good Maase?”
“Maase,” the name which the fisherman gave his wife, is a Norwegian word
meaning “sea-gull.” The wife did not seem in the least offended, either
because it was really her name, or because she took it as a term of
endearment.
“The best hunter! I should say so,” she answered with great emphasis.
“He means my brother, the famous Kennybol. God bless all his
undertakings! He has come to spend a few days with us, and you shall
drink a mug of good beer with him. He is a traveller like you.”
“Many thanks, my kind hostess,” said Ordener, with a smile; “but I must
be content with your tempting salt fish and a bit of this bark bread. I
have not time to wait for your brother, the mighty hunter. I must set
off again immediately.”
Good Maase, flattered by the stranger’s praises of her fish and her
brother, and vexed at his hasty departure, exclaimed: “You are very
kind, sir. But why should you leave us so soon?”
“I must.”
“Must you venture among these mountains at this hour and in such
weather?”
“My business is important.”
These answers roused the native curiosity of the young man’s
entertainers as much as they excited their surprise.
The fisherman rose, and said: “You are in the house of Christopher
Buldus Braal, fisherman, of the village of Surb.”
The woman added: “Maase Kennybol is his wife and servant.”
When Norwegian peasants wish to ask a stranger’s name in polite style,
it is their custom to tell him their own.
Ordener answered: “And I am a traveller, who is neither sure of the name
he bears nor of the road he travels.”
This strange reply did not seem to satisfy fisher Braal.
“By the crown of Gorman the Old,” said he, “I did not suppose there was
more than one man in Norway just now who was not sure of his name. I
mean the noble Baron Thorwick, who is to change his name, they say, to
Count Danneskiold, on account of his famous marriage to the chancellor’s
daughter. At least, dear Maase, that’s the latest news from Throndhjem.
I congratulate you, stranger, upon this likeness between you and the son
of the viceroy, the great Count Guldenlew.”
“As your worship,” added the wife, her face beaming with curiosity,
“does not seem able to tell us anything about yourself, can you not tell
us something about what is going on just now, for instance, something
about this wonderful marriage of which my husband speaks?”
“Yes,” rejoined her husband, with a self-important air, “that’s the very
latest news. Within a month the viceroy’s son will marry the
chancellor’s daughter.”
“I doubt it,” said Ordener.
“You doubt it, sir! I assure you that the thing is certain. I have it on
the best authority. The fellow who told me had it from Mr. Poël, the
favorite servant of the noble Baron Thorwick,--that is, the noble Count
Danneskiold. Can any storm have troubled the waters within the week? Has
this grand match been broken off?”
“I think so,” replied the young man, smiling.
“If that is so, sir, I am wrong. Never light the fire to fry the fish
before it is in the net. But have they really quarrelled? Who told you
so?”
“Nobody,” said Ordener. “I merely imagined so.”
At this frank confession the fisherman could not help transgressing the
laws of Norwegian courtesy by a loud burst of laughter.
“A thousand pardons, sir. But it is easy to see that you are indeed a
traveller, and probably a stranger. Do you fancy that things will turn
out as you happen to wish, and that the sky will be clear or cloudy at
your caprice?”
Here the fisherman, well versed in the affairs of the nation, as all
Norse peasants are, began to explain to Ordener why this marriage could
not fail to take place: it was essential to the interests of the
d’Ahlefeld family; the viceroy could not refuse the king, who desired
it; besides, it was said that the future husband and wife were very much
in love. In a word, fisher Braal could not doubt that the match would
come off; he only wished he was as sure of killing next day that
confounded dogfish which infested Master-Bick pond.
Ordener was little inclined to carry on a political discussion with so
uncouth a statesman, and was delighted when the arrival of another guest
relieved him of all embarrassment.
“It is he; it is my brother!” cried old Maase.
And no less event than the arrival of her brother could have diverted
her from the rapt admiration with which she listened to her husband’s
lengthy discourse.
The latter, while the two children threw themselves noisily upon their
uncle’s neck, quietly offered him his hand, saying,--
“Welcome, brother.”
Then, turning to Ordener: “Sir, this is our brother, the famous hunter
Kennybol, from the mountains of Kiölen.”
“A hearty greeting to you all,” said the mountaineer, taking off his
bearskin cap. “Brother, I’ve had as bad luck in hunting upon your coast
as you would probably have had if you had gone fishing in our
mountains. I think I could sooner fill my game-bag if I chased elves and
goblins in the misty forests of Queen Mab. Sister Maase, you are the
first sea-mew whom I have caught sight of to-day. Here, friends, God
keep you! but this wretched grouse is all that the best hunter in the
province of Throndhjem has got in a whole day’s tramp through the
heather in this weather.”
With these words he drew from his pouch and laid on the table a white
ptarmigan, declaring that it was not worth a shot.
“But,” he muttered between his teeth, “my faithful arquebuse, you shall
soon hunt far bigger game. If you can bring down no more chamois or elk
skins, you shall make holes in green jackets and red jerkins.”
These words, but half heard, struck the curious Maase.
“Eh!” asked she; “what did you say, brother?”
“I said that there was always a goblin dancing under a woman’s tongue.”
“You are right, brother Kennybol,” cried the fisherman. “Eve’s daughters
are all curious, like their mother. Weren’t you talking of green
jackets?”
“Brother Braal,” replied the hunter, with some spirit, “I trust my
secrets to no one but my musket, because I am sure that then they will
never be repeated.”
“There’s talk in the village,” boldly continued the fisherman, “of a
revolt among the miners. Do you know anything about it, brother?”
The mountaineer picked up his cap and pulled it over his eyes, with a
sidelong look at the stranger; then he bent toward the fisherman and
said in a low, stern tone: “Silence!”
The fisherman shook his head several times.
“Brother Kennybol, the fish may be silent, but it falls into the net all
the same.”
There was a short pause. The two brothers exchanged meaning glances; the
children picked the feathers from the ptarmigan as it lay on the table;
the good wife listened, and hoped to guess more than was actually said;
and Ordener studied them all.
“If you have but meagre fare to-day,” suddenly observed the hunter,
evidently anxious to change the subject, “it shall not be so to-morrow.
Brother Braal, catch the king of fish, if you can, for I promise you
plenty of bear’s grease to dress it.”
“Bear’s grease!” cried Maase. “Has any one seen a bear in the
neighborhood? Patrick, Regner, my boys, I forbid you to leave the house.
A bear!”
“Make yourself easy, sister; you will have nothing to fear from him
after to-morrow. Yes, it was really a bear that I saw about two miles
away from Surb,--a white bear. He seemed to be carrying off a man, or
rather an animal. But no, it may have been a goatherd, for goatherds
dress in the skins of animals; however, I was not near enough to tell.
What amazed me, was that he carried his prey on his back, and not in his
teeth.”
“Really, brother?”
“Yes; and the creature must have been dead, for it made no attempt to
defend itself.”
“But,” sagely inquired the fisherman, “if it were dead, how did it stay
on the bear’s back?”
“That’s more than I can say. Never mind; it shall be the bear’s last
meal. As I entered the village I engaged six strong companions, and
to-morrow, sister Maase, I will bring you the handsomest white fur that
ever ran over mountain snow.”
“Take care, brother,” said the woman; “you have seen strange things,
truly. That bear may be the Devil.”
“Are you mad?” interrupted the mountaineer, with a laugh; “the Devil
change himself into a bear, indeed! Into a cat or a monkey, I grant you;
but to a bear! Oh, by Saint Eldon the exorciser, you’re worse than any
child or old woman, with your superstition!”
The poor woman hung her head.
“Brother, you were my lord and master before my revered husband cast his
eyes upon me; do as your guardian angel bids you.”
“But,” the fisherman asked the mountaineer, “where did you meet with
this bear?”
“Between Lake Miösen and Walderhog.”
“Walderhog!” said the woman, crossing herself.
“Walderhog!” repeated Ordener.
“But, brother,” rejoined the fisherman; “I hope you were not travelling
toward Walderhog.”
“I! Heaven forbid; it was the bear.”
“Shall you go there to-morrow in search of him?” broke in the terrified
Maase.
“No, truly; how can you suppose, friends, that even a bear would venture
to take refuge in a cave where--”
He stopped short, and all three made the sign of the cross.
“You are right,” replied the fisherman; “wild beasts would be warned
away by their instinct.”
“My good friends,” said Ordener, “what is there so frightful about this
Walderhog cave?”
They looked at one another in stupid surprise, as if they could not
understand such a question.
“Is that where King Walder’s tomb is?” added the young man.
“Yes,” replied the woman; “a stone tomb which sings.”
“And that’s not all,” said the fisherman.
“No,” she added; “the bones of the dead dance there by night.”
“And that’s not all,” said the mountaineer.
All were silent, as if they dared not go on.
“Well,” asked Ordener, “what else is there that is supernatural?”
“Young man,” said the mountaineer, gravely, “you should not speak so
lightly; when you see an old gray wolf like me, shudder.”
The young man answered, with a gentle smile: “Still, I should like to
know all the marvels which occur in this Walderhog cave; for that is
exactly where I am going.”
These words seemed to turn his three hearers into stone.
“To Walderhog! Heavens! are you going to Walderhog?”
“And he says that,” rejoined the fisherman, “just as I might say I’m
going to Loevig to sell my codfish, or to Ralph’s meadow for herring. To
Walderhog! Great Heavens!”
“Poor young man!” cried the wife; “were you born without a guardian
angel? Have you no patron saint? Alas! it must be so; for you do not
even seem to know your own name.”
“And what motive,” broke in the mountaineer, “can lead your worship to
that fearful spot?”
“I have a question to ask,” answered Ordener.
The astonishment of his hosts grew with their curiosity.
“See here, stranger; you do not seem to be familiar with this part of
the country. Your worship is doubtless mistaken; it cannot be to
Walderhog that you wish to go.”
“Besides,” added the mountaineer, “if you want to speak with any human
being, you will find none there.”
“None but the demon,” rejoined the woman.
“The demon! What demon?”
“Yes,” she added; “the one for whom the tomb sings and the dead dance.”
“Then you do not know, sir,” said the fisherman, dropping his voice and
approaching Ordener,--“you do not know that Walderhog cave is the
favorite abode of--”
The woman stopped him.
“Husband, do not speak that name; it brings ill luck.”
“Whose abode?” asked Ordener.
“That of Beelzebub incarnate,” said Kennybol.
“Really, my kind hosts, I know not what you mean. I was surely told
that Walderhog was the haunt of Hans of Iceland.”
A triple cry of terror arose.
“Well!--Then you do know!--He is the demon we mean!”
The woman drew her woollen kerchief over her face, and called on all the
saints to witness that it was not she who uttered that name.
When the fisherman had somewhat recovered from his surprise, he looked
steadily at Ordener, as if there were something about that young man
which he could not comprehend.
“I did not expect, stranger, that even if I lived still longer than my
father, who died at the age of one hundred and twenty, I should ever
have to show the road to Walderhog to any human being possessed of his
senses and believing in God.”
“Surely not,” cried Maase; “your worship will not go to that accursed
cave; for if one only step foot inside, he must make a compact with the
Devil!”
“I must go, my kind hosts, and the greatest service that you can do me
is to show me the shortest road there.”
“The shortest way to reach the place where you wish to go,” said the
fisherman, “is to throw yourself from the top of the nearest rock into
the next torrent.”
“Should I reach the same end,” quietly asked Ordener, “by preferring a
useless death to a profitable danger?”
Braal shook his head, while his brother looked scrutinizingly at the
young adventurer.
“I understand,” suddenly exclaimed the fisherman; “you want to earn the
thousand crowns reward which the lord mayor offers for the head of this
Iceland demon.”
Ordener smiled.
“Young sir,” added the fisherman, with deep emotion, “take my advice;
give up your scheme. I am old and poor, and I would not sell the remnant
of my life for a thousand crowns if I had but one day left.”
The woman, with a beseeching, compassionate look, watched the effect of
her husband’s entreaties. Ordener made haste to reply: “It is a much
higher motive which leads me to seek this robber whom you call a demon;
it is for the sake of others, not my own--”
The mountaineer, who had not taken his eyes from Ordener, interrupted
him.
“I understand you now. I know why you seek the demon of Iceland.”
“I wish to force him to fight,” said the young man.
“That’s it,” said Kennybol; “you are intrusted with important interests,
are you not?”
“So I just said.”
The mountaineer approached the young man with an air of great
intelligence, and to his utter amazement whispered in his ear: “You come
from Count Schumacker, from Griffenfeld, do you not?”
“Good man,” he exclaimed, “how did you know that?”
And, indeed, it was hard for him to guess how a Norwegian mountaineer
came to know a secret which he had confided to no one, not even to
General Levin.
Kennybol leaned toward him.
“I wish you success,” he observed in the same mysterious whisper. “You
are a noble young man to labor thus for the oppressed.”
Ordener’s surprise was so great that he could scarcely find words to
inquire how the mountaineer had learned the purpose of his journey.
“Silence!” said Kennybol, putting his finger to his lip. “I hope that
you may gain all that you desire from the dweller in Walderhog; my arm,
like yours, is loyal to the prisoner of Munkholm.”
Then, raising his voice, before Ordener could answer, he added:
“Brother, dear sister Maase, regard this worthy youth as another
brother. Come, I think supper is ready.”
“What!” interrupted Maase, “have you persuaded his worship to give up
his plan for visiting the demon?”
“Sister, pray that no harm may come to him. He is a noble and worthy
young man. Come, brave sir, take some food and a little rest beneath our
roof; to-morrow I will show you your road, and we will set out in
search,--you of the Devil, and I of my bear.”