Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: It came nearer and nearer, and at last quite up to the
can of ale.]
FEATS ON THE FIORD
BY
HARRIET MARTINEAU
WITH COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS
BY ARTHUR RACKHAM
LONDON: J. M. DENT & SONS LIMITED
NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
1914
INTRODUCTION
Miss Martineau's Norwegian romance won its way long since into the
hearts of children in this country. The unhackneyed setting to the
incidents of the tale distinguish it from thousands of more ordinary
children's stories; nor is there any other tale so well-known having
its scenes laid in the land of the fiords. It is quite safe to add
that perhaps no other author has felt so strongly and communicated so
convincingly the mystic charm of these northern lagoons with their
still depths and reflections, their inaccessible walls of rock and
their teeming wild-fowl life.
This mystic charm is deepened in the book by the thread of popular
superstition which runs throughout the episodes and, in fact, gives
rise to them. Miss Martineau's _denouements_ were calculated to
shatter the follies of belief in Nipen and other supernatural agents;
but her own crusading traffic in them rather endears them to the
imagination of the reader and certainly supplies a fascination which
the most sceptical of young readers would be sorry to miss.
The author also brings home to the youthful mind the wonder of the
physiographical peculiarities of northern latitudes. The book opens
with the long nights and ends with the long days. The midnight sun and
the northern lights play their parts, whilst the beautiful simplicity
of farm-life in the Arctic circle is unfolded with authoritative
interest.
As for the hero, young Oddo, he is a prince among dauntless boys, yet
he never oversteps the bounds of true boyishness. He would be a hero
anywhere; but as a leading character in this romance, combined with all
the charm of natural effect in which he moves, he makes _Feats on the
Fiord_ a book to be classed among the few best of its kind.
F. C. TILNEY.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
It came nearer and nearer, and at last quite up to the can
of ale . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
In the porch she found Oddo
And that vessel, he knew, was the pirate schooner
He sometimes hammered at his skiff
No other than the Mountain-Demon
At the end of a ledge he found the remains of a ladder
made of birch-poles
In desperation Hund, unarmed as he was, threw himself
upon the pirate
It was Hund, with his feet tied under his horse, and the
bridle held by a man on each side
FEATS ON THE FIORD
Every one who has looked at the map of Norway must have been struck
with the singular character of its coast. On the map it looks so
jagged; a strange mixture of land and sea. On the spot, however, this
coast is very sublime. The long straggling promontories are
mountainous, towering ridges of rock, springing up in precipices from
the water; while the bays between them, instead of being rounded with
shelving sandy shores, on which the sea tumbles its waves, as in bays
of our coast, are, in fact, long narrow valleys, filled with sea,
instead of being laid out in fields and meadows. The high rocky banks
shelter these deep bays (called fiords) from almost every wind; so that
their waters are usually as still as those of a lake. For days and
weeks together, they reflect each separate tree-top of the pine-forests
which clothe the mountain sides, the mirror being broken only by the
leap of some sportive fish, or the oars of the boatman as he goes to
inspect the sea-fowl from islet to islet of the fiord, or carries out
his nets or his rod to catch the sea-trout, or char, or cod, or
herrings, which abound, in their seasons, on the coast of Norway.
It is difficult to say whether these fiords are the most beautiful in
summer or in winter. In summer, they glitter with golden sunshine; and
purple and green shadows from the mountain and forest lie on them; and
these may be more lovely than the faint light of the winter noons of
those latitudes, and the snowy pictures of frozen peaks which then show
themselves on the surface: but before the day is half over, out come
the stars--the glorious stars, which shine like nothing that we have
ever seen. There the planets cast a faint shadow, as the young moon
does with us; and these planets and the constellations of the sky, as
they silently glide over from peak to peak of these rocky passes, are
imaged on the waters so clearly that the fisherman, as he unmoors his
boat for his evening task, feels as if he were about to shoot forth his
vessel into another heaven, and to cleave his way among the stars.
Still as everything is to the eye, sometimes for a hundred miles
together along these deep sea-valleys, there is rarely silence. The
ear is kept awake by a thousand voices. In the summer, there are
cataracts leaping from ledge to ledge of the rocks; and there is the
bleating of the kids that browse there, and the flap of the great
eagle's wings, as it dashes abroad from its eyrie, and the cries of
whole clouds of sea-birds which inhabit the islets; and all these
sounds are mingled and multiplied by the strong echoes, till they
become a din as loud as that of a city. Even at night, when the flocks
are in the fold, and the birds at roost, and the echoes themselves seem
to be asleep, there is occasionally a sweet music heard, too soft for
even the listening ear to catch by day. There is the rumble of some
avalanche, as, after a drifting storm, a mass of snow too heavy to keep
its place slides and tumbles from the mountain peak. Wherever there is
a nook between the rocks on the shore, where a man may build a house,
and clear a field or two;--wherever there is a platform beside the
cataract where the sawyer may plant his mill, and make a path from it
to join some great road, there is a human habitation, and the sounds
that belong to it. Thence, in winter nights, come music and laughter,
and the tread of dancers, and the hum of many voices. The Norwegians
are a social and hospitable people, and they hold their gay meetings in
defiance of their Arctic climate, through every season of the year.
On a January night, a hundred years ago, there was great merriment in
the house of a farmer who had fixed his abode within the Arctic circle,
in Nordland, not far from the foot of Sulitelma, the highest mountain
in Norway. This dwelling, with its few fields about it, was in a
recess between the rocks, on the shore of the fiord, about five miles
from Saltdalen, and two miles from the junction of the Salten's Elv
(river) with the fiord. The occasion, on the particular January day
mentioned above, was the betrothment of one of the house-maidens to a
young farm servant of the establishment. It was merely an engagement
to be married; but this engagement is a much more formal and public
affair in Norway (and indeed wherever the people belong to the Lutheran
church) than with us. According to the rites of the Lutheran church,
there are two ceremonies--one when a couple become engaged, and another
when they are married.
As Madame Erlingsen had two daughters growing up, and they were no less
active than the girls of a Norwegian household usually are, she had
occasion for only two maidens to assist in the business of the dwelling
and the dairy.
Of these two, the younger, Erica, was the maiden betrothed to-day. No
one perhaps rejoiced so much at the event as her mistress, both for
Erica's sake, and on account of her own two young daughters. Erica was
not the best companion for them; and the servants of a Norwegian farmer
are necessarily the companions of the daughters of the house. There
was nothing wrong in Erica's conduct or temper towards the family. But
she had sustained a shock which hurt her spirits, and increased a
weakness which she owed to her mother. Her mother, a widow, had
brought up her child in all the superstitions of the country, some of
which remain in full strength even to this day, and were then very
powerful; and the poor woman's death at last confirmed the lessons of
her life. She had stayed too long, one autumn day, at the Erlingsen's
and, being benighted on her return, and suddenly seized and bewildered
by the cold, had wandered from the road, and was found frozen to death
in a recess of the forest which it was surprising that she should have
reached. Erica never believed that she did reach this spot of her own
accord. Having had some fears before of the Wood-Demon having been
offended by one of the family, Erica regarded this accident as a token
of his vengeance. She said this when she first heard of her mother's
death; and no reasonings from the zealous pastor of the district, no
soothing from her mistress, could shake her persuasion. She listened
with submission, wiping away her quiet tears as they discoursed; but no
one could ever get her to say that she doubted whether there was a
Wood-Demon, or that she was not afraid of what he would do if offended.
Erlingsen and his wife always treated her superstition as a weakness;
and when she was not present, they ridiculed it. Yet they saw that it
had its effect on their daughters. Erica most strictly obeyed their
wish that she should not talk about the spirits of the region with Orga
and Frolich; but the girls found plenty of people to tell them what
they could not learn from Erica. Besides what everybody knows who
lives in the rural districts of Norway--about Nipen, the spirit that is
always so busy after everybody's affairs--about the Water-Sprite, an
acquaintance of every one who lives beside a river or lake--and about
the Mountain-Demon, familiar to all who lived so near Sulitelma;
besides these common spirits, the girls used to hear of a multitude of
others from old Peder, the blind houseman, and from all the
farm-people, down to Oddo, the herd-boy. Their parents hoped that this
taste of theirs might die away if once Erica, with her sad, serious
face and subdued voice, were removed to a house of her own, where they
would see her supported by her husband's unfearing mind, and occupied
with domestic business more entirely than in her mistress's house. So
Madame Erlingsen was well pleased that Erica was betrothed.
For this marrying, however, the young people must wait. There was no
house, or houseman's place, vacant for them at present. The old
houseman Peder, who had served Erlingsen's father and Erlingsen himself
for fifty-eight years, could now no longer do the weekly work on the
farm which was his rent for his house, field, and cow. He was blind
and old. His aged wife Ulla could not leave the house; and it was the
most she could do to keep the dwelling in order, with occasional help
from one and another. Houseman who make this sort of contract with
farmers in Norway are never turned out. They have their dwelling and
field for their own life and that of their wives. What they do, when
disabled, is to take in a deserving young man to do their work for the
farmer, on the understanding that he succeeds to the houseman's place
on the death of the old people. Peder and Ulla had made this agreement
with Erica's lover, Rolf; and it was understood that his marriage with
Erica should take place whenever the old people should die.
It was impossible for Erica herself to fear that Nipen was offended, at
the outset of this festival day. If he had chosen to send a wind, the
guests could not have come; for no human frame can endure travelling in
a wind in Nordland on a January day. Happily, the air was so calm that
a flake of snow, or a lock of eider-down, would have fallen straight to
the ground. At two o'clock, when the short daylight was gone, the
stars were shining so brightly, that the company who came by the fiord
would be sure to have an easy voyage. Erlingsen and some of his
servants went out to the porch, on hearing music from the water, and
stood with lighted pine-torches to receive their guests when,
approaching from behind, they heard the sound of the sleigh-bells, and
found that company was arriving both by sea and land.
Glad had the visitors been, whether they came by land or water, to
arrive in sight of the lighted dwelling, whose windows looked like rows
of yellow stars, contrasting with the blue ones overhead; and more glad
still were they to be ushered into the great room, where all was so
light, so warm, so cheerful. Warm it was to the farthest corner; and
too warm near the roaring and crackling fires, for the fires were of
pine wood. Rows upon rows of candles were fastened against the walls
above the heads of the company: the floor was strewn with juniper
twigs, and the spinning-wheels, the carding-boards, every token of
household labour was removed except a loom, which remained in one
corner. In another corner was a welcome sight, a platform of rough
boards two feet from the floor, and on it two stools. This was a token
that there was to be dancing; and indeed, Oddo, the herd-boy, old
Peder's grandson, was seen to have his clarionet in his belt, as he ran
in and out on the arrival of fresh parties.
[Illustration: In the porch she found Oddo.]
The whole company walked about the large room, sipping their strong
coffee, and helping one another to the good things on the trays which
were carried round. When these trays disappeared, Oddo was seen to
reach the platform with a hop, skip, and jump, followed by a
dull-looking young man with a violin. The oldest men lighted their
pipes, and sat down to talk, two or three together. Others withdrew to
a smaller room, where card-tables were sets out, while the younger men
selected their partners. The dance was led by the blushing Erica,
whose master was her partner. It had never occurred to her that she
was not to take her usual place; and she was greatly embarrassed, not
the less so that she knew that her mistress was immediately behind,
with Rolf for her partner. All the women in Norway dance well, being
practised in it from their infancy. Every woman present danced well;
but none better than Erica.
"Very well! very pretty! very good!" observed the pastor, M. Kollsen,
as he sat, with his pipe in his mouth, looking on. "There are many
youths in Tronyem that would be glad of so pretty a partner as M.
Erlingsen has, if she would not look so frightened."
"Did you say she looks frightened, sir?" asked Peder.
"Yes. When does she not? Some ghost from the grave has scared her, I
suppose. It is her great fault that she has so little faith. I never
met with such a case; I hardly know how to conduct it. I must begin
with the people about her--abolish their superstitions--and then there
may be a chance for her."
"Pray, sir, who plays the violin at this moment?" said Peder.
"A fellow who looks as if he did not like this business. He is
frowning with his red brows, as if he would frown out the lights."
"His red brows! Oh, then it is Hund. I was thinking it would be hard
upon him, poor fellow, if he had to play to-night. Yet not so hard as
if he had to dance. It is weary work dancing with the heels when the
heart is too heavy to move. You may have heard, sir, for every one
knows it, that Hund wanted to have young Rolf's place; and, some say,
Erica herself. Is she dancing, sir, if I may ask?"
"Yes, with Rolf. What sort of a man is Rolf--with regard to these
superstitions, I mean? Is he as foolish as Erica--always frightened
about something?"
"No, indeed. It is to be wished that Rolf was not so light as he is,
so inconsiderate about these matters. Rolf has his troubles and his
faults, but they are not of that kind."
"Enough," said M. Kollsen with a voice of authority. "I rejoice to
hear that he is superior to the popular delusions. As to his troubles
and his faults, they may be left for me to discover, all in good time."
"With all my heart, sir. They are nobody's business but his own; and,
may be, Erica's."
"How goes it, Rolf?" said his master, who, having done his duty in the
dancing-room, was now making his way to the card-tables, in another
apartment, to see how his guests there were entertained. Thinking that
Rolf looked very absent as he stood, in the pause of the dance, in
silence by Erica's side, Erlingsen clapped him on the shoulder and
said, "How goes it? Make your friends merry."
Rolf bowed and smiled, and his master passed on.
"How goes it?" repeated Rolf to Erica, as he looked earnestly into her
face. "Is all going on well, Erica?"
"Certainly. I suppose so. Why not?" she replied. "If you see
anything wrong--anything omitted, be sure and tell me. Madame
Erlingsen would be very sorry. Is there anything forgotten, Rolf?"
"I think you have forgotten what to-day is, that is all. Nobody that
looked at you, love, would fancy it to be your own day. You look
anything but merry. O Erica! I wish you would trust me. I could take
care of you, and make you quite happy, if you would only believe it.
Nothing in the universe shall touch you to your hurt, while----"
"Oh, hush! hush!" said Erica, turning pale and red at the presumption
of this speech. "See, they are waiting for us. One more round before
supper."
And in the whirl of the waltz she tried to forget the last words Rolf
had spoken; but they rang in her ears; and before her eyes were images
of Nipen overhearing this defiance--and the Water-Sprite planning
vengeance in its palace under the ice--and the Mountain-Demon laughing
in scorn, till the echoes shouted again--and the Wood-Demon waiting
only for summer to see how he could beguile the rash lover.
Long was the supper, and hearty was the mirth round the table. People
in Norway have universally a hearty appetite--such an appetite as we
English have no idea of.
At last appeared the final dish of the long feast, the sweet cake, with
which dinner and supper in Norway usually conclude.
It is the custom in the country regions of Norway to give the spirit
Nipen a share at festival times. His Christmas cake is richer than
that prepared for the guests, and before the feast is finished it is
laid in some place out of doors, where, as might be expected, it is
never to be found in the morning. Everybody knew, therefore, why Rolf
rose from his seat, though some were too far off to hear him say that
he would carry out the treat for old Nipen.
"Now, pray do not speak so; do not call him those names," said Erica
anxiously. "It is quite as easy to speak so as not to offend him.
Pray, Rolf, to please me, do speak respectfully. And promise me to
play no tricks, but just set the things down, and come straight in, and
do not look behind you. Promise me, Rolf."
Rolf did promise, but he was stopped by two voices calling upon him.
Oddo, the herd-boy, came running to claim the office of carrying out
Nipen's cake. Erica eagerly put an ale-can into his hand, and the cake
under his arm; and Oddo was going out, when his blind grandfather,
hearing that he was to be the messenger, observed that he should be
better pleased if it were somebody else; for Oddo, though a good boy,
was inquisitive, and apt to get into mischief by looking too closely
into everything, having never a thought of fear. Everybody knew this
to be true; though Oddo himself declared that he was as frightened as
anybody sometimes. Moreover, he asked what there was to pry into, on
the present occasion, in the middle of the night; and appealed to the
company whether Nipen was not best pleased to be served by the youngest
of a party. This was allowed; and he was permitted to go, when Peder's
consent was obtained.
The place where Nipen liked to find his offerings was at the end of the
barn, below the gallery which ran round the outside of the building.
There, in the summer, lay a plot of green grass; and, in the winter, a
sheet of pure frozen snow. Thither Oddo shuffled on, over the slippery
surface of the yard. He looked more like a prowling cub then a boy,
wrapped as he was in his wolf-skin coat, and his fox-skin cap doubled
down over his ears.
The cake steamed up in the frosty air under his nose, so warm and spicy
and rich, that Oddo began to wonder what so very superior a cake could
be like. He had never tasted any cake so rich as this; nor had any one
in the house tasted such, for Nipen would be offended if his cake was
not richer than anybody's else. He broke a piece off and ate it, and
then wondered whether Nipen would mind his cake being just a little
smaller than usual. After a few steps more the wonder was how far
Nipen's charity would go for the cake was now a great deal smaller; and
Oddo next wondered whether anybody could stop eating such a cake when
it was once tasted. He was surprised to see when he came out into the
starlight, at the end of the barn, how small a piece was left. He
stood listening whether Nipen was coming in a gust of wind; and when he
heard no breeze stirring, he looked about for a cloud where Nipen might
be. There was no cloud, as far as he could see. The moon had set; but
the stars were so bright as to throw a faint shadow from Oddo's form
upon the snow. There was no sign of any spirit being angry at present;
but Oddo thought Nipen would certainly be angry at finding so very
small a piece of cake. It might be better to let the ale stand by
itself, and Nipen would perhaps suppose that Madame Erlingsen's stock
of groceries had fallen short, at least that it was in some way
inconvenient to make the cake on the present occasion. So putting down
his can upon the snow, and holding the last fragment of the cake
between his teeth, he seized a birch pole which hung down from the
gallery, and by its help climbed one of the posts and got over the
rails into the gallery, whence he could watch what would happen. To
remain on the very spot where Nipen was expected was a little more than
he was equal to; but he thought he could stand in the gallery, in the
shadow of the broad eaves of the barn, and wait for a little while. He
was so very curious to see Nipen, and to learn how it liked its ale!
There he stood in the shadow, growing more and more impatient as the
minutes passed on, and he was aware that he was wanted in the house.
Once or twice he walked slowly away, looking behind him, and then
turned again, unwilling to miss this opportunity of seeing Nipen. Then
he called the spirit--actually begged it to appear. His first call was
almost a whisper; but he called louder and louder till he was suddenly
stopped by hearing an answer.
The call he heard was soft and sweet. There was nothing terrible in
the sound itself; yet Oddo grasped the rail of the gallery with all his
strength as he heard it. The strangest thing was, it was not a single
cry: others followed it, all soft and sweet; but Oddo thought that
Nipen must have many companions, and he had not prepared himself to see
more spirits than one. As usual, however, his curiosity grew more
intense from the little he had heard, and he presently called again.
Again he was answered by four or five voices in succession.
"Was ever anybody so stupid!" cried the boy, now stamping with
vexation. "It is the echo, after all. As if there was not always an
echo here opposite the rock. It is not Nipen at all. I will just wait
another minute, however."
He leaned in silence on his folded arms, and had not so waited for many
seconds before he saw something moving on the snow at a little
distance. It came nearer and nearer, and at last quite up to the can
of ale.
"I am glad I stayed," thought Oddo. "Now I can say I have seen Nipen.
It is much less terrible then I expected. Grandfather told me that it
sometimes came like an enormous elephant or hippopotamus, and never
smaller than a large bear. But this is no bigger then--let me see--I
think it is most like a fox. I should like to make it speak to me.
They would think so much of me at home if I had talked with Nipen."
So he began gently--"Is that Nipen?"
The thing moved its bushy tail, but did not answer.
"There is no cake for you to-night, Nipen. I hope the ale will do. Is
the ale good, Nipen?"
Off went the dark creature without a word, as quick as it could go.
"It is offended?" thought Oddo; "or is it really what it looks like, a
fox? If it does not come back, I will go down presently and see
whether it is only a fox."
He presently let himself down to the ground by the way he had come up,
and eagerly laid hold of the ale can. It would not stir. It was as
fast on the ground as if it was enchanted, which Oddo did not doubt was
the case; and he started back with more fear than he had yet had. The
cold he felt on this exposed spot soon reminded him, however, that the
can was probably frozen to the snow, which it might well be, after
being brought warm from the fireside. It was so. The vessel had sunk
an inch into the snow, and was there fixed by the frost.
None of the ale seemed to have been drunk; and so cold was Oddo by this
time, that he longed for a sup of it. He took first a sup and then a
draught; and then he remembered that the rest would be entirely spoiled
by the frost if it stood another hour. This would be a pity, he
thought; so he finished it, saying to himself that he did not believe
Nipen would come that night.
At that very moment he heard a cry so dreadful that it shot, like
sudden pain, through every nerve of his body. It was not a shout of
anger: it was something between a shriek and a wail--like what he
fancied would be the cry of a person in the act of being murdered.
That Nipen was here now, he could not doubt; and, at length, Oddo fled.
He fled the faster, at first, for hearing the rustle of wings; but the
curiosity of the boy even now got the better of his terror, and he
looked up at the barn where the wings were rustling. There he saw in
the starlight the glitter of two enormous round eyes, shining down upon
him from the ridge of the roof. But it struck him at once that he had
seen those eyes before. He checked his speed, stopped, went back a
little, sprang up once more into the gallery, hissed, waved his cap,
and clapped his hands, till the echoes were all awake again; and, as he
had hoped, the great white owl spread its wings, sprang off from the
ridge, and sailed away over the fiord.
Oddo tossed up his cap, cold as the night was, so delighted was he to
have scared away the bird which had, for a moment, scared him. He
hushed his mirth, however, when he perceived that lights were wandering
in the yard, and that there were voices approaching. He saw that the
household were alarmed about him, and were coming forth to search for
him. Curious to see what they would do, Oddo crouched down in the
darkest corner of the gallery to watch and listen.
First came Rolf and his master, carrying torches, with which they
lighted up the whole expanse of snow as they came. They looked round
them without any fear, and Oddo heard Rolf say--
"If it were not for that cry, sir, I should think nothing of it. But
my fear is that some beast has got him."
"Search first the place where the cake and ale ought to be," said
Erlingsen. "Till I see blood, I shall hope the best."
"You will not see that," said Hund, who followed; his gloomy
countenance, now distorted by fear, looking ghastly in the yellow light
of the torch he carried. "You will see no blood. Nipen does not draw
blood."
"Never tell me that any one that was not wounded and torn could send
out such a cry as that," said Rolf. "Some wild brute seized him, no
doubt, at the very moment that Erica and I were standing at the door
listening."
Oddo repented of his prank when he saw, in the flickering light behind
the crowd of guests, who seemed to hang together like a bunch of
grapes, the figures of his grandfather and Erica. The old man had come
out in the cold for his sake; and Erica, who looked as white as the
snow, had no doubt come forth because the old man wanted a guide. Oddo
now wished himself out of the scrape. Sorry as he was, he could not
help being amused, and keeping himself hidden a little longer, when he
saw Rolf discover the round hole in the snow where the can had sunk,
and heard the different opinions of the company as to what this
portended. Most were convinced that his curiosity had been his
destruction, as they had always prophesied. What could be clearer, by
this hole, than that the ale had stood there, and been carried off with
the cake; and Oddo with it, because he chose to stay and witness what
is forbidden to mortals?
"I wonder where he is now," said a shivering youth, the gayest dancer
of the evening.
"Oh, there is no doubt about that; any one can tell you that," replied
the elderly and experienced M. Holberg. "He is chained upon a wind,
poor fellow, like all Nipen's victims. He will have to be shut up in a
cave all the hot summer through, when it is pleasantest to be abroad;
and when the frost and snow come again, he will be driven out, with a
lash of Nipen's whip, and he must go flying wherever the wind flies,
without resting, or stopping to warm himself at any fire in the
country."
Oddo had thus far kept his laughter to himself; but now he could
contain himself no longer. He laughed aloud--and then louder and
louder as he heard the echoes all laughing with him. The faces below,
too, were so very ridiculous--some of the people staring up in the air;
and others at the rock where the echo came from; some having their
mouths wide open, others their eyes starting, and all looking unlike
themselves in the torchlight. His mirth was stopped by his master.
"Come down, sir," cried Erlingsen, looking up at the gallery. "Come
down this moment. We shall make you remember this night, as well
perhaps as Nipen could do. Come down, and bring my can, and the ale
and the cake. The more pranks you play the more you will repent it."
Most of the company thought Erlingsen very bold to talk in this way;
but he was presently justified by Oddo's appearance on the balustrade.
His master seized him as he touched the ground, while the others stood
aloof.
"Where is my ale can?" said Erlingsen.
"Here, sir;" and Oddo held it up dangling by the handle.
"And the cake--I bade you bring it down with you."
"So I did, sir."
And to his master's look of inquiry, the boy answered by pointing down
his throat with one finger, and laying the other hand upon his stomach.
"It is all here, sir."
"And the ale in the same place?"
Oddo bowed, and Erlingsen turned away without speaking. He could not
have spoken without laughing.
"Bring this gentleman home," said Erlingsen presently to Rolf; "and do
not let him out of your hands. Let no one ask him any questions till
he is in the house." Rolf grasped the boy's arm, and Erlingsen went
forward to relieve Peder, though it was not very clear to him at the
moment whether such a grandchild was better safe or missing. The old
man made no such question, but hastened back with many expressions of
thanksgiving.
As the search-party crowded in among the women, and pushed all before
them into the large warm room, M. Kollsen was seen standing on the
stair-head, wrapped in the bear-skin coverlid.
"Is the boy there?" he inquired.
Oddo showed himself.
"How much have you seen of Nipen, hey?"
"Nobody ever had a better sight of it, sir. It was as plain as I see
you now, and no farther off."
"Nonsense--it is a lie," said M. Kollsen. "Do not believe a word he
says," advised the pastor.
Oddo bowed, and proceeded to the great room, where he took up his
clarionet, as if it was a matter of course that the dancing was to
begin again immediately. He blew upon his fingers, however, observing
that they were too stiff with cold to do their duty well. And when he
turned towards the fire, every one made way for him, in a very
different manner from what they would have dreamed of three hours
before. Oddo had his curiosity gratified as to how they would regard
one who was believed to have seen something supernatural.
When seriously questioned, Oddo had no wish to say anything but the
truth; and he admitted the whole--that he had eaten the entire cake,
drunk all the ale, seen a fox and an owl, and heard the echoes, in
answer to himself. As he finished his story, Hund, who was perhaps the
most eager listener of all, leaped thrice upon the floor, snapping his
fingers, as if in a passion of delight. He met Erlingsen's eye, full
of severity, and was quiet; but his countenance still glowed with
exultation.
The rest of the company were greatly shocked at these daring insults to
Nipen: and none more so than Peder. The old man's features worked with
emotion, as he said in a low voice that he should be very thankful if
all the mischief that might follow upon this adventure might be borne
by the kin of him who had provoked it. If it should fall upon those
who were innocent, never surely had boy been so miserable as his poor
lad would then be. Oddo's eyes filled with tears as he heard this; and
he looked up at his master and mistress, as if to ask whether they had
no word of comfort to say.
"Neighbour," said Madame Erlingsen to Peder, "is there any one here who
does not believe that God is over all, and that He protects the
innocent?"
"Is there any one who does not feel," added Erlingsen, "that the
innocent should be gay, safe as they are in the goodwill of God and
man? Come, neighbours--to your dancing again! You have lost too much
time already. Now, Oddo, play your best--and you, Hund."
"I hope," said Oddo, "that, if any mischief is to come, it will fall
upon me. We'll see how I shall bear it."
When M. Kollsen appeared the next morning, the household had so much of
its usual air that no stranger would have imagined how it had been
occupied the day before. The large room was fresh strewn with
evergreen sprigs; the breakfast-table stood at one end, where each took
breakfast, standing, immediately on coming downstairs. At the bottom
of the room was a busy group. Peder was twisting strips of leather,
thin and narrow, into whips. Rolf and Hund were silently intent upon a
sort of work which the Norwegian peasant delights in--carving wood.
They spoke only to answer Peder's questions about the progress of the
work. Peder loved to hear about their carving, and to feel it; for he
had been remarkable for his skill in the art, as long as his sight
lasted.
The whole party rose when M. Kollsen entered the room. He talked
politics a little with his host, by the fireside; in the midst of which
conversation Erlingsen managed to intimate that nothing would be heard
of Nipen to-day, if the subject was let alone by themselves: a hint
which the clergyman was willing to take, as he supposed it meant in
deference to his views.
Erica heard M. Kollsen inquiring of Peder about his old wife, so she
started up from her work, and said she must run and prepare Ulla for
the pastor's visit. Poor Ulla would think herself forgotten this
morning, it was growing so late, and nobody had been over to see her.
Ulla, however, was far from having any such thoughts. There sat the
old woman, propped up in bed, knitting as fast as fingers could move,
and singing, with her soul in her song, though her voice was weak and
unsteady.
"I thought you would come," said Ulla. "I knew you would come, and
take my blessing on your betrothment. I must not say that I hope to
see you crowned; for we all know--and nobody so well as I--that it is I
that stand between you and your crown. I often think of it, my
dear----"
"Then I wish you would not, Ulla--you know that."
"I do know it, my dear; and I would not be for hastening God's
appointments. Let all be in His own time."
"There was news this morning," said Erica, "of a lodgment of logs at
the top of the foss;[1] and they were all going, except Peder, to slide
them down the gully to the fiord. The gully is frozen so slippery,
that the work will not take long. They will make a raft of the logs in
the fiord; and either Rolf or Hund will carry them out to the islands
when the tide ebbs."
[1] Waterfall. Pine-trunks felled in the forest are drawn over the
frozen snow to the banks of a river, or to the top of a waterfall,
whence they may be either slid down over the ice, or left to be carried
down by the floods, at the melting of the snows in the spring.
"Will it be Rolf, do you think, or Hund, dear?"
"I wish it may be Hund. If it be Rolf, I shall go with him. O Ulla!
I cannot lose sight of him, after what happened last night. Did you
hear? I do wish Oddo would grow wiser."
Ulla shook her head. "How did Hund conduct himself yesterday? Did you
mark his countenance, dear?"
"Indeed there was no helping it, any more than one can help watching a
storm-cloud as it comes up."
"So it was dark and wrathful, was it, that ugly face of his?" There
was a knock, and before Erica could reach the door, Frolich burst in.
"Such news!" she cried--"You never heard such news."
"Good or bad?" inquired Ulla.
"Oh, bad--very bad," declared Frolich; "there is a pirate vessel among
the islands. She was seen off Soroe some time ago, but she is much
nearer to us now. There was a farmhouse seen burning on Alten fiord
last week, and as the family are all gone and nothing but ruins left,
there is little doubt the pirates lit the torch that did it. And the
cod has been carried off from the beach in the few places where any has
been caught yet."
"They have not found out our fiord yet?" inquired Ulla.
"Oh dear! I hope not. But they may, any day. And father says the
coast must be raised, from Hammerfest to Tronyem, and a watch set till
this wicked vessel can be taken or driven away. He was going to send a
running message both ways, but there is something else to be done
first."
"Another misfortune?" asked Erica faintly.
"No; they say it is a piece of very good fortune--at least for those
who like bears' feet for dinner. Somebody or other has lighted upon
the great bear that got away in the summer, and poked her out of her
den on the fjelde. She is certainly abroad with her two last year's
cubs, and their traces have been found just above, near the foss. Oddo
has come running home to tell us, and father says he must get up a hunt
before more snow falls and we lose the tracks, or the family may
establish themselves among us and make away with our first calves."
"Does he expect to kill them all?"
"I tell you we are all to grow stout on bears' feet. For my part I
like bears' feet best on the other side of Tronyem."
"You will change your mind, Miss Frolich, when you see them on the
table," observed Ulla.
"That is just what father said. And he asked how I thought Erica and
Stiorna would like to have a den in their neighbourhood when they got
up to the mountain for the summer."
Erica with a sigh rose to return to the house. In the porch she found
Oddo.
Wooden dwellings resound so much as to be inconvenient for those who
have secrets to tell. In the porch of Peder's house Oddo had heard all
that passed within.
"Dear Erica," said he, "I want you to do a very kind thing for me. Do
get leave for me to go with Rolf after the bears. If I get one stroke
at them--if I can but wound one of them, I shall have a paw for my
share, and I will lay it out for Nipen. You will, will not you?"
"It must be as Erlingsen chooses, Oddo, but I fancy you will not be
allowed to go just now."
The establishment was now in a great hurry and bustle for an hour,
after which time it promised to be unusually quiet.
M. Kollsen began to be anxious to be on the other side of the fiord.
It was rather inconvenient, as the two men were wanted to go in
different directions, while their master took a third, to rouse the
farmers for the bear-hunt. The hunters were all to arrive before night
within a certain distance of the thickets where the bears were now
believed to be. On calm nights it was no great hardship to spend the
dark hours in the bivouac of the country. Each party was to shelter
itself under a bank of snow, or in a pit dug out of it, an enormous
fire blazing in the midst, and brandy and tobacco being plentifully
distributed on such occasions. Early in the morning the director of
the hunt was to go his rounds, and arrange the hunters in a ring
enclosing the hiding-place of the bears, so that all might be prepared,
and no waste made of the few hours of daylight which the season
afforded. As soon as it was light enough to see distinctly among the
trees, or bushes, or holes of the rocks where the bears might be
couched, they were to be driven from their retreat and disposed of as
quickly as possible. Such was the plan, well understood in such cases
throughout the country. On the present occasion it might be expected
that the peasantry would be ready at the first summons. Yet the more
messengers and helpers the better, and Erlingsen was rather vexed to
see Hund go with alacrity to unmoor the boat and offer officiously to
row the pastor across the fiord. His daughters knew what he was
thinking about, and, after a moment's consultation, Frolich asked
whether she and the maid Stiorna might not be the rowers.
Nobody would have objected if Hund had not. The girls could row,
though they could not hunt bears, and the weather was fair enough; but
Hund shook his head, and went on preparing the boat. His master spoke
to him, but Hund was not remarkable for giving up his own way. He
would only say that there would be plenty of time for both affairs, and
that he could follow the hunt when he returned, and across the lake he
went.
Erlingsen and Rolf presently departed. The women and Peder were left
behind.
They occupied themselves, to keep away anxious thoughts. Old Peder
sang to them, too. Hour after hour they looked for Hund. His news of
his voyage, and the sending him after his master, would be something to
do and to think of; but Hund did not come. Stiorna at last let fall
that she did not think he would come yet, for that he meant to catch
some cod before his return. He had taken tackle with him for that
purpose, she knew, and she should not wonder if he did not appear till
the morning.
Every one was surprised and Madame Erlingsen highly displeased. At the
time when her husband would be wanting every strong arm that could be
mustered, his servant chose to be out fishing, instead of obeying
orders. The girls pronounced him a coward, and Peder observed that to
a coward, as well as a sluggard, there was ever a lion in the path.
Erica doubted whether this act of disobedience arose from cowardice,
for there were dangers in the fiord for such as went out as far as the
cod. She supposed Hund had heard----
She stopped short, as a sudden flash of suspicion crossed her mind.
She had seen Hund inquiring of Olaf about the pirates, and his strange
obstinacy about this day's boating looked much as if he meant to learn
more.
"Danger in the fiord!" repeated Orga; "oh, you mean the pirates. They
are far enough from our fiord, I suppose. If ever they do come, I wish
they would catch Hund and carry him off, I am sure we could spare them
nothing they would be so welcome to."
"Did not you see M. Kollsen in the boat with Hund?" Madame Erlingsen
inquired of Oddo when he came in.
"No, Hund was quite alone, pulling with all his might down the fiord.
The tide was with him, so that he shot along like a fish."
"How do you know it was Hund that you saw?"
"Don't I know our boat? And don't I know his pull? It is no more like
Rolf's then Rolf's is like master's."
"Perhaps he was making for the best fishing-ground as fast as he could."
"We shall see that by the fish he brings home."
"True. By supper-time we shall know."
"Hund will not be home by supper-time," said Oddo decidedly,
"Why not? Come, say out what you mean."
"Well, I will tell you what I saw, I watched him rowing as fast as his
arm and the tide would carry him. It was so plain that there was a
plan in his head, that I followed on from point to point, catching a
sight now and then, till I had gone a good stretch beyond Salten
heights. I was just going to turn back when I took one more look, and
he was then pulling in for the land."
"On the north shore or south?" asked Peder.
"The north--just at the narrow part of the fiord, where one can see
into the holes of the rocks opposite."
"The fiord takes a wide sweep below there," observed Peder.
"Yes; and that was why he landed," replied Oddo. "He was then but a
little way from the fishing-ground, if he had wanted fish. But he
drove up the boat into a little cove, a narrow dark creek, where it
will lie safe enough, I have no doubt, till he comes back--if he means
to come back."
[Illustration: And that vessel, he knew, was the pirate schooner.]
"Why, where should he go? What should he do but come back?" asked
Madame Erlingsen.
"He is now gone over the ridge to the north. I saw him moor the boat,
and begin to climb; and I watched his dark figure on the white snow,
higher and higher, till it was a speck, and I could not make it out."
"What do you think of this story, Peder?" asked his mistress.
"I think Hund has taken the short cut over the promontory, on business
of his own at the islands. He is not on any business of yours, depend
upon it, madame."
"And what business can he have among the islands?"
"I could say that with more certainty if I knew exactly where the
pirate vessel is."
"That is your idea, Erica," said her mistress. "I saw what your
thoughts were an hour ago, before we knew all this."
"I was thinking then, madame, that if Hund was gone to join the
pirates, Nipen would be very ready to give them a wind just now. A
baffling wind would be our only defence; and we cannot expect that much
from Nipen to-day."
"I will do anything in the world," cried Oddo eagerly. "Send me
anywhere. Do think of something that I can do."
"What must be done, Peder?" asked his mistress.
"There is quite enough to fear, Erica, without a word of Nipen.
Pirates on the coast, and one farmhouse seen burning already."
"I will tell you what you must let me do, madame," said Erica. "Indeed
you must not oppose me. My mind is quite set upon going for the
boat--immediately--this very minute. That will give us time, it will
give us safety for this night. Hund might bring seven or eight men
upon us over the promontory; but if they find no boat, I think they can
hardly work up the windings of the fiord in their own vessel to-night;
unless, indeed," she added with a sigh, "they have a most favourable
wind."
"All this is true enough," said her mistress; "but how will you go?
Will you swim?"
"The raft, madame."
"And there is the old skiff on Thor islet," said Oddo. "It is a
rickety little thing, hardly big enough for two; but it will carry down
Erica and me, if we go before the tide turns."
"But how will you get to Thor islet?" inquired Madame Erlingsen. "I
wish the scheme were not such a wild one."
"A wild one must serve at such a time, madame," replied Erica. "Rolf
had lashed several logs before he went. I am sure we can get over to
the islet. See, madame, the fiord is as smooth as a pond."
"Let her go," said Peder. "She will never repent."
"Then come back, I charge you, if you find the least danger," said her
mistress. "No one is safer at the oar than you; but if there is a
ripple in the water, or a gust on the heights, or a cloud in the sky,
come back. Such is my command, Erica."
"Wife," said Peder, "give her your pelisse. That will save her seeing
the girls before she goes. And she shall have my cap, and then there
is not an eye along that fiord that can tell whether she is man or
woman."
Ulla lent her deer-skin pelisse willingly enough; but she entreated
that Oddo might be kept at home. She folded her arms about the boy
with tears; but Peder decided the matter with the words--
"Let him go. It is the least he can do to make up for last night.
Equip, Oddo."
Oddo equipped willingly enough. In two minutes he and his companion
looked like two walking bundles of fur. Oddo carried a frail basket,
containing rye-bread, salt fish, and a flask of corn-brandy; for in
Norway no one goes on the shortest expedition without carrying
provisions.
"Surely it must be dusk by this time," said Peder.
It was dusk; and this was well, as the pair could steal down to the
shore without being perceived from the house. Madame Erlingsen gave
them her blessing, saying that if the enterprise saved them from
nothing worse than Hund's company this night, it would be a great good.
There could be no more comfort in having Hund for an inmate; for some
improper secret he certainly had. Her hope was that, finding the boat
gone, he would never show himself again.
Erica now profited by her lover's industry in the morning. He had so
far advanced with the raft that, though no one would have thought of
taking it in its present state to the mouth of the fiord for shipment,
it would serve as a conveyance in still water for a short distance
safely enough.