"Hullo! look where?" inquired all the rest.
"There, close astern, it's a--a--"
"Whale!" shouted the whole ship's company.
That it really was a whale, and a big one too, became very apparent
three minutes later, for it thrust a great blunt nose, like the end of a
large boat, out of the water, and gave a prolonged puff. A few minutes
later, and the nose appeared close off the starboard bow, then it came
up not far from the larboard quarter; so they were convinced that the
creature was taking a survey of the yacht. Perhaps it took it for
another whale, and felt inclined to be social. After one or two
circuits it drew nearer, and at last the huge fish could be seen as if
in the depths of a bad looking-glass, swimming round and round the
yacht, ever and anon coming to the surface, and showing the whole length
and depth of its bulky body.
They were considerably excited, as may be supposed, at such an
unexpected visit, and the near approach of such a visitant. As they
gazed at him with eager eyes, he suddenly turned his head straight
towards the side of the vessel, and, sinking down sufficiently to clear
the keel, dived right under it, and came up on the other side.
So clear was the water, and so near was the fish to the surface, that
they saw its great fins driving it along, and observed its comparatively
little eyes looking inquisitively up at them. On clearing the yacht he
came to the surface not more that thirty yards from the side. In fact
he had shaved it as near as possible without actually touching.
"Familiarity breeds contempt," saith the proverb. The longer this whale
played round them, the more did he exhibit a growing tendency to play
_with_ them, and as there was no saying what fancies he might take into
his great head, Fred resolved to give him a shot.
Accordingly, the rifle--a double-barrel--was brought up, and, watching
his opportunity, Fred put two leaden balls into the back of his head.
The insulted monster wisely took the hint, gave a final flourish of his
tail, and disappeared for ever!
On another occasion they landed at the head of a remote fiord, where the
natives seldom had the chance of seeing strangers, and were, therefore,
overjoyed to receive them. Here Sam Sorrel had a small adventure. His
companions had left him to sketch. While thus engaged, a fat, hearty,
good-natured fellow found him and insisted on him paying a visit to his
cottage. The houses of the people in Norway, generally, are built of
wood, and are roofed with red tiles. Floors, walls, ceilings, tables,
chairs, beds, etcetera, all are of wood, and usually unpainted. All
have iron stoves for winter use; no carpets cover the floors, and no
ornaments grace the walls, save one or two prints, and a number of large
tobacco-pipes, for the Norsemen are great smokers and chewers of
tobacco.
The language here perplexed our artist not a little. Being a lazy
student, he had left Fred to do all the talking, but now he found
himself for the first time alone with a Norwegian! fairly left to his
own resources. Well, he accompanied his fat friend, and began by
stringing together all the Norse he knew (which wasn't much), and
endeavoured to look as if he knew a great deal more; but his speech
quickly degenerated into sounds which were quite unintelligible either
to his new friend or himself; at last he terminated in a mixture of bad
Norse and broad Scotch! Having dwelt many years in Scotland, Sam found
his knowledge of Lowland Scotch to be of use, for there is great
similarity between it and the Norwegian tongue.
For instance, they call a cow a _ko_ or a _coo_. _Bring me meen skoe_
(I spell as pronounced) is, Bring me my shoes. _Gae til land_ is, Go
ashore. _Tak place_ is, Take place, or sit down. If you talk of
bathing, they will advise you to _dook oonder_; and should a mother
present her baby to you she will call it her _smook barn_, her pretty
bairn or child, _smook_ being the Norse word for _pretty_. And it is a
curious fact, worthy of particular note, that _all_ the mothers in
Norway think their bairns smook, _very_ smook! and they never hesitate
to tell you so; why, I cannot imagine, unless it be that if you were
_not_ told, you would not be likely to find it out for yourself.
Well, Sam and his fat friend soon became very amicable on this system.
The Norseman told him no end of stories, of which he did not comprehend
a sentence, but, nevertheless, looked as if he did; smiled, nodded his
head, and said "Ya, ya," (yes, yes), to which the other replied "Ya,
ya," waving his arms, slapping his breast, and rolling his eyes as he
bustled along towards his dwelling.
The house was perched on a rock, close to the water's edge. It was very
small, quite like a bandbox with windows in it. Here the man found
another subject to rave about and dance round, in the shape of his own
baby, a soft, smooth copy of himself, which lay sleeping like a cupid in
its cradle. The man was evidently very fond--perhaps even proud--of
this infant. He went quite into ecstasies about it; now gazing into its
chubby face with looks of pensive admiration; anon starting and looking
at Sam with eager glance, as if to say, "Did you ever, in all your life,
see such a magnificent cherub?" His enthusiasm was quite catching. Sam
afterwards confessed that he actually began to feel quite a fatherly
interest in the cherub.
"Oh!" cried the father in rapture, "dat er _smook_ barn" (that's a
pretty baby).
"Ya, ya," said Sam, "_smook_ barn," though it must be confessed that if
he had called it a smoked bairn he would have been nearer the mark, for
it was as brown as a red herring.
In proof of his admiration of this baby our artist made a sketch of it
on the spot, and presented it to the delighted father, after which he
was introduced to the Norseman's wife, and treated to a cup of coffee.
When Sam returned from this visit, he told his companions that he was
quite amazed at having got on so well with the language, and was warm in
praise of his host, who, he said, laughed more heartily than any man he
had ever met with. It is just possible that the Norseman may have had
more occasion afforded him for laughter than usual, for Sam had waxed
very talkative, and had been particularly profuse in the use and abuse
of his pet phrase, _ver so goot_.
Soon after this the yacht's head was turned into the Nord Fiord, at the
head of which dwelt the father and mother of Hans Ericsson. Here Hans,
to his unutterable delight, found the fair Raneilda on a visit to her
mother; for Raneilda was a native of that remote valley, and had gone to
Bergen only a year before this time.
Here, too, Sam Sorrel found splendid scenery to paint, and Grant
obtained numerous specimens of birds for his museum.
This reminds me, by the way, that our naturalist, who was amiable and
eccentric, on one occasion nearly drove his comrades out of the yacht.
One day he shot a young unfledged gull or puffin, or some such creature,
whose brief existence had only conducted it the length of a down coat, a
little round body, and a pair of tremendously long legs. Well, this
object was laid carefully past [sic] in a spare berth of the yacht, in
which they used to stow away all manner of useless articles--chairs and
stools that had broken their legs, etcetera--and which went by the name
of the infirmary in consequence. About a week after, there was a most
unaccountable smell in the infirmary. Several stuffed birds hanging
there were suspected and smelt, but were found to be quite fresh. One
or two of them were put out to air, but still the smell grew worse and
worse, until the most obtuse nose did not dare to go near the infirmary.
At last they became desperate. A general and thorough investigation
was instituted, and there, in a dark corner, under a hair mattress, and
flat as a pancake, lay the poor puffin, alive!--but not with the life
wherewith it had lived before it was shot--and emitting an odour that is
indescribable, a description of which, therefore, would be quite
unprofitable. The puffin was pitched overboard, and it was half
insinuated that they ought to pitch the naturalist overboard along with
it!
At the head of this fiord, also, Fred Temple, to his inexpressible joy,
found a mighty river in which were hundreds of salmon that had never yet
been tempted by the angler with gaudy fly, though they had been
sometimes wooed by the natives with a bunch of worms on a clumsy
cod-hook. Thus both Fred and Hans found themselves in an earthly
paradise. The number of splendid salmon that were caught here in a
couple of weeks was wonderful; not to mention the risks run, and the
adventures. Space will only permit of one or two examples being given.
On the day of their arrival, Fred seized his rod, and taking Hans to
gaff the fish and show him the river, sallied forth, accompanied by
about a score of natives, chiefly men and boys, who were eager to see
the new style of fishing. They soon came to a fine-looking part of the
stream, and Fred put together his rod. He was much amused at the looks
of the men when they saw the thin supple point of the rod. They shook
their heads gravely, and said, "He cannot hold a big fish with that."
They were right so far, but they did not understand the use of the reel
and the running line. Presently Fred cast, and almost immediately a
large salmon took his fly, the rod bent like a hoop, and the reel
whizzed furiously as the line ran out.
Sam Sorrel, who was there at the time, afterwards said that he was
divided between interest in the movements of the fish, and amusement at
the open mouths and staring eyes of the natives.
This fish was a very active one; it dashed up, down, and across the
river several times, running out nearly the whole of the line more than
once, and compelling Fred to take to the water as deep as his waist. At
last, after a fight of half an hour, it was brought close to the bank,
and Hans put the gaff-hook cleverly into its side, and hauled it ashore,
amid the shouts of the astonished people, for the salmon weighed
eighteen pounds.
After a time the natives began to understand the principles of
fly-fishing with a rod, and regarded Fred Temple with deep respect. On
all his fishing excursions in that fiord, he was attended by a band of
eager admirers, to whom he gave most of the fish; for he caught so many
of all sizes that his friends and his crew were not able to eat the
quarter of them. The catching of his largest salmon was a stirring
incident.
It happened on the evening of a very bright day. He had been
unfortunate. The sun being too bright, the fish would not rise. This
annoyed him much, because on that particular day he had been accompanied
by the Captain and Bob Bowie, as well as his two companions, all of whom
were anxious to see him catch fish, and learn a lesson in the art. Fred
was up to his middle in a rough part of the river. It was all he could
do to retain his foothold, the water was so strong.
"It won't do," said he, "the sun is too bright."
His friends on shore looked grave and disappointed.
"I sees a cloud a-comin'," said Bob Bowie glancing upwards.
"Hallo! hey!" shouted Grant, who observed that at that moment Fred's
legs had been swept from under him, and he was gone!
Before any one could speak or act, Fred reappeared a little farther down
the river, holding tight to the rod, and staggering into shallower
water.
"None the worse of it," cried Fred, bursting into a laugh.
Just as he said this, and while he was paying no attention to his rod, a
salmon rose and seized the fly. In an instant Fred and his comrades
utterly forgot all about the ducking, and were filled with the
excitement of the sport.
Fred's rod bent like a willow wand. His eyes seemed to flash, and his
lips were tightly pressed together, for he felt that he had on a very
large fish. Suddenly it darted up stream, and did what the large fish
seldom do--leaped quite out of the water.
"A whale! stand by!" roared Bob Bowie.
There was a cry from the others, for at that moment the salmon set off
down stream,--a most dangerous proceeding at all times. Fred made for
the bank, and let out line as fast as possible. When he gained the bank
he ran down the stream, leaping over bushes and stones like a wild goat.
The places he went over in that run were terribly rugged. It seemed a
miracle that he escaped without broken bones. Presently he came to a
steep rock that projected into the water. There was no getting round
it, so in he dashed. It took him only up to the knees. This passed, he
came to another place of the same sort. Here he put a strain on the
fish, and tried to stop it. But it was not to be stopped. It had
clearly made up its mind to go right down to the sea. Fred looked at
the pool, hesitated one moment, and then leaped in. It took him up to
the neck, and he was carried down by the current fifty yards or so, when
his feet caught bottom again, and he managed to raise his rod, fully
expecting to find that the salmon had broken off. But it was still on,
and lively. Meanwhile, his comrades on the bank were keeping pace with
him, shouting and yelling with excitement as they ran.
"The rapid, mind the rapid!" roared Grant.
Fred saw a foaming rapid before him. He became anxious. It was
dangerous to venture down this. If he should touch a rock on the way
down, the chances were that he would get a limb broken. The banks here
were so thickly covered with bushes that it was impossible to pass. The
fish still held on its headlong course. "What shall I do?" thought
Fred. "If I stop he will break all to pieces, and I shall lose him.
Lose him! no, never!"
"Don't venture in, Fred," shrieked Sam Sorrel.
But the advice came too late. Fred was already in the foaming current.
In a moment he was swept down into the comparatively still water below
the rapid. His friends lost sight of him, for they had to run round
through the bushes. When they got to the foot of the rapid, they found
Fred on the bank, panting violently, and holding tight to the rod, for
the salmon had stopped there, and was now "sulking" at the bottom of a
deep hole. For a full hour did the fisher labour to pull him out of
that hole in vain; for in this kind of fishing nothing can be done by
main force. The great beauty of the art consists in getting the salmon
to move, and in humouring his movements, so that you tire him out, and
get him gradually close to your side.
At last the fish came out of the deep pool. Then there was another
short struggle of quarter of an hour, and the fisher's perseverance and
skill were rewarded. The salmon at last turned up its silvery side.
Fred drew it slowly to the bank (in breathless anxiety, for many a fish
is lost at this point). Hans struck the gaff in neatly, and with a huge
effort flung it floundering on the bank, amid the hearty cheers of all
present.
This salmon weighed 34 pounds, and was about four feet long! It was a
magnificent fish, and it may well be believed that Fred Temple did not
grudge the two hours' battle, and the risk that he had run in the
catching of it.