BREAKING UP THE ENCAMPMENT.
“To-day shall be spent in drinking,—
We need not spare the ale,—
And we will set sail on the morrow,
Nor will our good luck fail.”
_Svenska Folk-visor._
The whole party found their quarters in the Soberud valley so extremely
comfortable, and the game so very abundant, that they were readily
induced to prolong their stay; and the Parson struck up quite a
friendship with the worthy Pfarrherr, and talked theology with the
Candidatus. Torkel, who had had long, and, apparently, very interesting
conversations with old Torgenson, the import of which did not transpire,
had asked a temporary leave of absence, which was readily granted—the
Parson having, no doubt, his own suspicions from what he saw at the
sœter, but prudently holding his tongue about them. Indeed, he was no
loser; for Torkel’s place, in every respect, except as an interpreter,
was amply supplied by Karl Torgenson, who, having served his time of
drill, had been just discharged from the corvette _Freya_, and had
arrived, somewhat unexpectedly, on the Sunday evening. Karl spoke a
little English, though not enough for conversation; but, on the other
hand, he was as good a sportsman as Torkel himself, and much better
acquainted with the localities of his own home.
Under his guidance, the Parson’s flies lured many a trout from the blue
waters of the lake; but the best fish—such fish, indeed, as he had never
before seen—were caught by a discovery of his own.
The lake lying in a broad valley, many of its shores were shelving
and sandy, or slightly muddy, instead of plumping down in rocky
sublacustrine precipices, and all these shallows were fringed with
weeds. Coming home late in the evening, he saw a number of children in
the water, ladling out, with tins and buckets, and vessels of every
description, hundreds and thousands of little white glittering fish,
which were feeding on the weed. These were the young of the fresh-water
herring, which, whenever they can get them, which is not often, the
Norwegians make into soup. The full-grown fish are not taken till later
in the year, and this is never done except by nets, for they will rise at
no bait of any kind big enough to put on a hook.
The Parson was looking at the little glittering things as they sparkled
in the moonlight,—and no fish is so brilliantly white as the fresh-water
herring,—when, amid the shouts and screams of the children, a huge
trout was tumbled on shore out of one of the buckets. “O! by George!”
said the Parson to Karl Torgenson, who smiled as if he understood every
word, “that is worth noting; that fellow came to make his supper off the
herrings, and having ventured in too far, has got entangled in the weeds.
There will be some of his great relations come to supper, also, for
certain. Let us try.”
A light fly-rod, such as the Parson carried, was not the weapon best
adapted for the purpose; but he forthwith unlooped his casting-line, and
taking a trace out of his fly-book—for he was never without trolling
materials—fitted one of the little glittering gwineads on the litch; and
wading quite as deep as was prudent, and a good deal deeper than was
pleasant, considering the time of night and the coldness of Norwegian
waters, he cast beyond the edge of the weeds; the bait had hardly began
to spin, when a fish took him, such as required all his skill to master
with his fly-rod, and long and arduous was the struggle before he
succeeded in leading him captive through an opening in the weeds, and
drawing him quietly into shoal water.
The fact was, that the whole coast, like that of France during the
late war, was in a state of strict blockade; the little gwineads, like
the chasse-marées, were dodging about in-shore, while the great trout,
unable, from their draught of water, to pursue them into the shallows,
were grimly cruising about and snapping up any adventurous little
youngster that showed his nose outside. The fly-rod was too feeble to
do much execution that evening, for it took half an hour to master a
fish with it; but the discovery was not lost on the Parson, and the next
evening saw him with a twenty-two foot cane trolling-rod, commanding, at
easy cast, the whole fishable water, and supplying the præstgaard, as
well as the hall, with such trout as they had never dreamt of.
The Captain and Birger were no less assiduous in their own particular
calling, and from the quantity of game, including deer, which they
brought in, might very fairly be said to have paid for their keep. The
fjeld of Soberud was much more open, and better adapted for game, than
the valley of the Torjedahl and its surrounding mountains, and also, as
there were fewer thick trees, better adapted for getting at it.
Pleasant as all this was, time wore on, and it became necessary for the
party to resume their knapsacks and retrace their steps, Torgensen having
first exacted a promise that they would visit Soberud once more before
their departure. “Perhaps,” said he, mysteriously, “I may have occasion
to muster all the friends of my house before the winter comes on, and
whenever that occasion happens, I hope the present party will honour my
roof-tree.”
Tom, who interpreted this speech, could not conceive what it alluded
to, though it seemed to make him very merry; but the mystery, if ever
there was one, was soon explained by Lota’s blushes, when the Captain,
on seeing her and the missing Torkel together, as the party arrived at
the Aalfjer sœter that evening, shook his head at them with a knowing
smile. In fact, Torkel had made such excellent use of his time, that
while the party were occupied with the fish and game of the Soberud
valley, he had contrived to settle, and definitely arrange, with the full
approbation of Torgensen, that his marriage should take place in the
autumn. No Norwegian ever thinks of marrying till the work-day summer is
past; besides, Torkel was making a very good thing of it with his present
employers, and if he were not, it is not altogether certain that even
Lota’s attractions would have been sufficient to draw him away from the
sports in which he was engaged. Apparently, he did not find those things
which he had to settle with Lota herself, so easy of arrangement as those
which had been the subject of his discussions with her father; for though
the first Sunday evening was quite long enough to settle everything with
him, it took him three or four whole days at the sœter to arrange matters
with her; indeed, there the party found him when they encamped there on
their return, and, notwithstanding this, he had so much more to say on
the last morning, that the fishermen had arrived for some hours at their
old encampment on the Torjedahl, and had had time entirely to change the
whole plan of the campaign before they saw anything of him.
During their absence the post had arrived, bringing letters for them
all; these Ullitz had forwarded, and their first occupation, while their
attendants were preparing the supper and exchanging news with those who
had been left behind, was to read their respective letters. Birger had a
whole heap—which he did not deserve—from a host of relations and friends,
whom, in his ardour for sport, he had grievously neglected; all of
these he postponed for a great, square, official looking document, with
“Kongs ofwer Commandant’s Expedition” written in the corner: this he did
deserve, for it contained, along with an acknowledgement for his valuable
portfolio of military drawings, an extension of leave, which the dutiful
lieutenant had asked for on the plea so well known in the British army,
“family arrangements.”
“Hurrah,” said the Captain, “here’s a letter from Moodie; he wants us
to meet him at Gotheborg, where he is bringing down a cargo of elks and
reindeer, and Northern wild beasts, for the Zoological Gardens; and then
we are to go back with him, he says, to some place which I can neither
spell nor pronounce, where, the chances are, we shall get a crack at a
bear.”
“You have always had a weakness that way,” said the Parson, “I believe
getting a crack at a bear, as you call it, was your principal reason for
coming here at all.”
“Well, but Moodie says there is capital fishing on the Gotha; the salmo
ferox, my boy! what do you think of that? and you know the fish are
beginning to run small here, there was not a full-mouthed salmon caught
the last day we fished here, nothing but miserable grauls.”
“Grauls give very pretty sport, though, and as for the salmo ferox, it is
nothing but an ill-conditioned, over-grown trout, that has got a cross of
the pike in it, and consequently will take nothing but the spinning bait.
But I must say I should like to see old Moodie again.”
“Will you go then?”
“Ask Birger.”
“Hey! what?” said Birger, looking up from his letters, which, after all,
seemed to be more interesting than he had expected. “Moodie? ah! yes!
that’s the fellow my friend Bjornstjerna mentions; a terrible fellow
he says, a very Hercules against the wild beasts—there is never a skal
without him; Bjornstjerna says he had rather have him than a hundred men,
any day.”
“And who is Bjornstjerna?”
“One of the Ofwer Jagmästerer, the officers, that is, whose business it
is to call out the peasantry to keep down the wild beasts; he is very
good authority on such matters, and I vote we accept your friend Moodie’s
invitation, it is much the best chance we have of seeing sport.”
The Captain looked a little puzzled; he was anxious enough to go, but the
invitation had been to him and the Parson, and of course had not included
Birger, whose existence was necessarily unknown to Moodie; in fact, the
Captain had not thought of that difficulty. Birger, who had spent a
good part of his leave in England, where he had some friends, burst out
laughing.
“Ah, that is just your English way, you think you cannot take me, because
your friend has not sent me a written invitation in due form—that is
not the way we go on here; my friend’s friend is my friend, and if
your countryman has not learnt that in the four years during which,
Bjornstjerna tells me, he has been living in the country, it is high time
he should learn. When does he drive his flocks and herds to Gotheborg?”
“Why, if we would meet him, we must start directly, for he comes next
week.”
“Well, why not start directly? come Parson! one river is as good as
another.”
“Scarcely that,” said the Parson, laughing; “but I do want to see how
Moodie carries on the war in your barbarous country; so let us go—Tom,”
raising his voice so as to be heard from below, “when does the next
steamer sail for Valö?”
“The day after to-morrow, at day-break,” said Tom, whose head was a
perfect register of naval events.
“That will never do,” said the Parson, who contemplated a farewell visit
to the Torjedahl salmon.
“Not do!” said Birger, “why it is the very thing. Strike the tents
to-morrow, early,—down the river without stopping at Christiansand
Bridge,—run alongside the steamer, take our berths,—stow our goods,—and
then we shall have half the day to land and visit our stores at Ullitz’s,
kiss Marie, and make what changes we want in the baggage department. I
must take my uniform for Gotheborg; we are not ashamed of our uniform in
our country,” he added, significantly nodding at the Captain, who, like
most English soldiers, was rather addicted to mufti; “and you too will
want more baggage, now that you are going into a civilized country.”
“Do not let Torkel hear you say that. He considers Christiansand the
emporium of fashion and the centre of civilization. By-the-bye, what are
we to do with our men? I will not leave Torkel behind,—I have quite an
affection for the fellow.”
“Leave Torkel behind!” said Birger; “why should you? you do not think
the Swedes will eat him, do you? I mean to take Piersen myself; these
Norwegians, rascals as they are, all of them, are a great deal smarter
and handier in forest work than our Swedes; their education fits them for
Jacks-of-all-trades; they get kicked out of doors, with a pack on their
back, at ten years of age, to earn their livelihood, and learn smartness
and knowledge of the world,—and they do learn it, and precious scoundrels
they grow up:—however, they answer our purpose, for they can turn their
hands to anything.”
At that moment Torkel came up, looking a little confused and ashamed of
himself, and not the less so that the Parson asked significantly for the
latest news from the sœter of Aalfjer.
His love, however, did not prevent him from being wild to go, as soon
as he heard of the change of plans—a sentiment in which the rest fully
participated; indeed there was not a dissentient voice in the camp,
except that of the boatmen, who were to be discharged at Christiansand,
and whose fun was thus prematurely cut short. A small pecuniary
gratification set matters right in that quarter also, and when the
evening closed on the last day of the encampment, the hopes and eager
anticipations of a brilliant future had already effaced all regrets for a
happy past.
The sun was hardly above the horizon, when the whole camp was astir,
and active preparations for departure were begun. These did not occupy
any very great deal of time; they had not come up the river in very
heavy marching order, and there were a good many hands at the work. The
principal part of it was securing the smoked salmon, of which they had
now a very fair cargo. This is a very acceptable present everywhere;
for though salmon are plenty in Norway, the means of catching them are
very imperfectly understood. There was also a goodly array of forest
preserves, which, being too heavy for transport, and subject to a heavy
duty into the bargain from jealous Sweden, were destined to swell the
ample stores of Madame Ullitz.
While all this was going on, the Parson, rod in hand, took a melancholy
farewell of his favourite throws, in the course of which he caught two
fish—both grauls, though, as the Captain took care to remark. By ten
o’clock everything was ready, and the boats shoved off on their downward
voyage.
“Well, certainly it is much pleasanter to go with the stream than against
it, in all the affairs of this life,” said the Captain, as the boats
closed again, after racing down the upper rapids which had cost them so
much time and so much trouble to ascend. “Here we have undone in half an
hour and at our ease, what it took us half a day to do, and with harder
work than I wish to meet with very often.”
“Not an uncommon thing in this wicked world of ours,” said the Parson.
“_Facilis descensus_;—you know the rest. However, that which is pleasant
is not always safe,—so look out. Here we are, at the head of the Oxea
rapid, and a touch of these rocks, going down stream, you will find a
very different thing from a touch going up. Give way, boys! let me have
good steerage-way through the water.”
And he dashed into the very midst of the racing current—rocks, trees, and
banks flying past him, till, before they seemed to be well in it, the
three boats were floating side by side in the broad flat below, at the
lower end of which the encampment had been made on the first night of the
expedition. A short halt here, which they made, more for the pot than for
sport, secured them a good catch of trout and a graul or two; and their
rapid course down the deep, full-flowing stream was resumed, leisurely
indeed—but so swift was the current under the deceitful show of its calm
and quiet surface, that notwithstanding a little difficulty at the lower
rapids, where there was not water enough in the boat canal to float them,
the sun was still high when they rounded the dockyard point, and opened
the harbour of Christiansand.
“Hullo, Tom, where is the steamer?”
Tom rubbed his eyes, for he could not believe them, but no amount of
rubbing will produce a vision of that which is not, and the fact became
indisputable as they pulled on—there was no steamer in the harbour.
The Parson, who after all, had left very unwillingly, and rather in
compliance with the wishes of his companions than in accordance with his
own fancy or judgment, began to feel sulky; the Captain, who had proposed
the change, began to feel anxious, and to labour under the weight of his
responsibility; and even Birger, who had nothing to reproach himself for,
was not entirely at his ease.
Things however, were not so bad as they had anticipated; there was no
steamer certainly, but Ullitz, who was lounging on the quay—where indeed
the good man spent the greater part of his summer hours, looking out for
travellers and seeking whom he might entertain, and who certainly did
not approve of a change of plans which deprived him of a very profitable
commissariat,—informed them that the day had been changed, and that the
steamer would not arrive till the following evening, nor sail till the
day after.
“Never mind,” said Birger, “let us have one good supper, and one
comfortable night’s rest more than we expected; I will be bound we strike
out something for to-morrow, and after all we shall lose nothing, we may
as well be at Christiansand as at Gotheborg.”
Ullitz did not say, but looked as if he thought they had much better.
“The sea is as calm as glass,” said Torkel to Tom. “Would not this do for
eider duck-hunting.”
“It is a great pity that Fröken Lota has to make up her stores of eider
down now,” said Tom, “and she to be married in the autumn.”
Torkel could afford to laugh, for he knew very well—indeed, none had
cause to know it better, he having supplied a good half of them—the
extent of Miss Lota’s eider stores. All this was an aside, and Tom
resumed aloud, “To be sure, there could not be better weather, we shall
not have ripple out in the haaf[33] any more than in the fjord; and
besides, we can take some cod-lines, and when we have killed or driven
off the ducks we can fill our boats with rock cod.”
“What is all that?” said the Captain.
Tom explained.
“Upon my word I think it will do very well; what say you, Birger?”
“Nothing better, I have never been duck-hunting myself, but they say it
is capital fun; there are three or four fellows of ‘ours’ who always get
leave in the duck season, and pass a month or two on the islands of the
Baltic; they say it is first-rate sport—I vote we go.”
And so it was settled, and the details of the expedition were arranged as
they walked up those sandy deserts of streets which they had traversed on
the first night of their landing.
Marie received them with smiles, and when she learnt the object of their
sport, so worked on the Captain’s susceptible heart, that he vowed she
should have every feather that fell to his gun. The Parson was rather
affected to Lota, but Torkel, who had been a little stung by Tom’s joke,
magnanimously transferred the offer to Marie, who, “poor thing, might
perhaps want the down, and Lota would not know what to do with it, she
had a great deal more than she could make up already;” which, considering
his own fame as a hunter, as well as that of young Svensen, between whom
Miss Lota had been coquetting (so Tom averred) till she ought to have
been ashamed of herself, was not unlikely to be literally true.
It must be remarked that this is the sporting way of collecting
eider down. The business way is robbing the nests, which is
done in spring, and is very slow work—though sufficiently
dangerous.