tongue. While I was bringing the troughs, one by one, for him to lay,
where the meadow was driest, he still kept muttering and muttering to
himself. As often as I came within six yards of him, I heard him
mutter, mutter. Then when I helped him to lay the troughs, he began to
talk to me. I was not in the mind to make him many answers; but on he
went, just the same as if I had asked him a hundred questions."
"It was such an opportunity for a curious boy, that I wonder you did
not."
"Perhaps I might, if he had stopped long enough. But if he stopped for
a moment to wipe his brow (for he was all trembling with the heat), he
began again before I could well speak. He asked me whether I had ever
heard that drowned men could show their heads above water, and stare
with their eyes, and throw their arms about, a whole day--two days
after they were drowned."
"Ay! Indeed! Did he ask that?"
"Yes, and several other things. He asked whether I had ever heard that
the islets in the fiord were so many prison-houses."
"And what did you say?"
"I wanted him to explain; so I said they were prison-houses to the
eider-ducks when they were sitting, for they never stir a yard from
their nests. But he did not heed a word I spoke. He went on about
drowned men being kept prisoners in the islets, moaning because they
can't get out. And he says they will knock, knock, as if they could
cleave the thick hard rock."
"What do you think of all this, my boy?"
"Why, when I said I had not heard a word of any such thing, even from
my grandmother or Erica, he declared he had heard the moans
himself--moaning and crying; but then he mixed up something about the
barking of wolves that made confusion in the story. Though he had been
hot just before, there he stood shivering, as if it was winter, as he
stood in the broiling sun. Then I asked him if he had seen dead men
swim and stare, as he said he had heard them moan and cry."
"And what did he say then?"
"He started bolt upright, as if I had been picking his pocket. He was
in a passion for a minute, I know, if ever he was in his life. Then he
tried to laugh as he said what a lot of new stories--stories of
spirits, such stories as people love--he should have to carry home to
the north, whenever he went back to his own place."
"In the north, his own place in the north! He wanted to mislead you
there, boy. Hund was born some way to the south."
"No, was he really? How is one to believe a word he says, except when
he speaks as if he was in his sleep, straight out from his conscience,
I suppose? He began to talk about the bishop next, wanting to know
when I thought he would come, and whether he was apt to hold private
talk with every sort of person at the houses he stayed at."
"How did you answer him? You know nothing about the bishop's visits."
[Illustration: At the end of a ledge he found the remains of a ladder
made of birch-poles.]
"So I told him; but, to try him, I said I knew one thing, that a
quantity of fresh fish would be wanted when the bishop comes with his
train, and I asked him whether he would go fishing with me as soon as
we could hear that the bishop was drawing near."
"He would not agree to that, I fancy."
"He asked how far out I thought of going. Of course I said to Vogel
islet--at least as far as Vogel islet. Do you know, grandfather, I
thought he would have knocked me down at the word. He muttered
something, I could not hear what, to get off. By that time we were
laying the last trough. I asked him to go for some more; and the
minute he was out of sight I scampered here. Now, what sort of a mind
do you think this fellow has?"
"Not an easy one, it is plain. It is too clear also that he thinks
Rolf is drowned."
"But do you think so, grandfather?"
"Do you think so, grandson?"
"Not a bit of it. Depend upon it, Rolf is all alive, if he is swimming
and staring, and throwing his arms about in the water. I think I see
him now. And I will see him, if he is to be seen alive or dead."
"And pray how?"
"I ought to have said, if you will help me. You say sometimes,
grandfather, that you can pull a good stroke with the oar still, and I
can steer as well as our master himself; and the fiord never was
stiller than it is to-day. Think what it would be to bring home Rolf,
or some good news of him! We would have a race up to the seater
afterwards to see who could be the first to tell Erica."
"Gently, gently, boy! What is Rolf about not to come home, if he is
alive?"
"That we shall learn from him. Did you hear that he told Erica he
should go as far as Vogel islet, dropping something about being safe
there from pirates and everything?"
Peder really thought there was something in this. He sent off Oddo to
his work in the little meadow, and himself sought out Madame Erlingsen,
who, having less belief in spirits and enchantments than Peder, was in
proportion more struck with the necessity of seeing whether there was
any meaning in Hund's revelations, lest Rolf should be perishing for
want of help. The story of his disappearance had spread through the
whole region; and there was not a fisherman on the fiord who had not,
by this time, given an opinion as to how he was drowned. But madame
was well aware that, if he were only wrecked, there was no sign that he
could make that would not terrify the superstitious minds of the
neighbours, and make them keep aloof, instead of helping him. In
addition to all this, it was doubtful whether his signals would be seen
by anybody, at a season when every one who could be spared was gone up
to the dairies.
As soon as Hund was gone out after dinner, the old man and his grandson
put off in the boat, carrying a note from Madame Erlingsen to her
neighbours along the fiord, requesting the assistance of one or two
rowers on an occasion which might prove one of life and death. The
neighbours were obliging; so that the boat was soon in fast career down
the fiord, Oddo full of expectation, and of pride in commanding such an
expedition, and Peder being relieved from all necessity of rowing more
than he liked.
Oddo had found occasionally the truth of a common proverb--he had
easily brought his master's horses to the water, but could not make
them drink. He now found that he had easily got rowers into the boat,
but that it was impossible to make them row beyond a certain point. He
had used as much discretion as Peder himself about not revealing the
precise place of their destination; and when Vogel islet came in sight,
the two helpers at once gave him hints to steer so as to keep as near
the shore and as far from the island as possible. Oddo gravely steered
for the island notwithstanding. When the men saw that this was his
resolution they shipped their oars, and refused to strike another
stroke, unless one of them might steer. That island had a bad
reputation, it was betwitched or haunted; and in that direction the men
would not go. They were willing to do all they could to oblige; they
would row twenty miles without resting with pleasure; but they would
not brave Nipen, nor any other demon, for any consideration.
"How far off is it, Oddo?" asked Peder.
"Two miles, grandfather. Can you and I manage it by ourselves, think
you?"
"Ay, surely; if we can land these friends of ours. They will wait
ashore till we call for them again."
"I will leave you my supper, if you will wait for us here, on this
headland," said Oddo to the man.
The men could make no other objection than that they were certain the
boat would never return. They were very civil--would not accept Oddo's
supper on any account--would remain on the watch--wished their friends
would be persuaded; and, when they found all persuasion in vain,
declared they would bear testimony to Erica, and as long as they should
live, to the bravery of the old man and boy who thus threw away their
lives in search of a comrade who had fallen a victim to Nipen.
Amidst these friendly words, the old man and his grandson put off once
more alone, making straight for the islet. Of the two Peder was the
greater hero, for he saw the most ground for fear.
"Promise me, Oddo," said he, "not to take advantage of my not seeing.
As sure as you observe anything strange, tell me exactly what you see."
"I will, grandfather. There is nothing yet but what is so beautiful
that I could not for the life of me find out anything to be afraid of."
Oddo rowed stoutly too for some way, and then he stopped to ask on what
side the remains of a birch ladder used to hang down, as Peder had
often told him.
"On the north side, but there is no use in looking for that, my boy.
That birch ladder must have rotted away with frost and wet long and
long ago."
"It is likely," said Oddo, "but, thinking that some man must have put
it there, I should like to see whether it really is impossible for one
with a strong hand and light foot to mount this wall. I brought our
longest boat-hook on purpose to try. Where a ladder hung before, a
foot must have climbed; and if I mount, Rolf may have mounted before
me."
It chilled Peder's heart to remember the aspect of the precipice which
his boy talked of climbing; but he said nothing, feeling that it would
be in vain. This forbearance touched Oddo's feelings.
"I will run into no folly, trust me," said he. "I do not forget that
you depend on me for getting home, and that the truth about Nipen and
such things depends for an age to come on our being seen at home again
safe. But I have a pretty clear notion that Rolf is somewhere on the
top there."
"Suppose you call him, then."
Oddo had much rather catch him. He pictured to himself the pride and
pleasure of mastering the ascent, the delight of surprising Rolf asleep
in his solitude, and the fun of standing over him to waken him, and
witness his surprise. He could not give up the attempt to scale the
rock, but he would do it very cautiously.
Slowly and watchfully they passed round the islet, Oddo seeking with
his eye any ledge of the rock on which he might mount. Pulling off his
shoes that his bare feet might have the better hold, and stripping off
almost all his clothes, for lightness in climbing and perhaps swimming,
he clambered up to more than one promising spot, and then, finding that
further progress was impossible, had to come down again. At last,
seeing a narrow chasm filled with leafy shrubs, he determined to try
how high he could reach by means of these. He swung himself up by
means of a bush which grew downwards, having its roots firmly fixed in
a crevice of the rock. This gave him hold of another, which brought
him in reach of a third, so that, making his way like a squirrel or a
monkey, he found himself hanging at such a height that it seemed easier
to go on than to turn back. For some time after leaving his
grandfather he had spoken to him, as an assurance of his safety. When
too far off to speak, he had sung aloud, to save the old man from
fears; and now that he did not feel at all sure whether he should ever
get up or down, he began to whistle cheerily. He was pleased to hear
it answered from the boat. The thought of the old man sitting there
alone, and his return wholly depending upon the safety of his
companion, animated Oddo afresh to find a way up the rock. It looked
to him as like a wall as any other rock about the islet. There was no
footing where he was looking, that was certain. So he advanced farther
into the chasm, where the rocks so nearly met that a giant's arm might
have touched the opposite wall. Here there was promise of release from
his dangerous situation. At the end of a ledge he saw something like
poles hanging on the rock--some work of human hands, certainly. Having
scrambled towards them, he found the remains of a ladder made of birch
poles fastened together with thongs of leather. This ladder had once,
no doubt, hung from top to bottom of the chasm, and its lower part, now
gone, was that ladder of which Peder had often spoken as a proof that
men had been on the island.
With a careful hand Oddo pulled at the ladder, and it did not give way.
He tugged harder, and still it only shook. He must try it; there was
nothing else to be done. It was well for him now that he was used to
dangerous climbing--that he had had adventures on the slippery, cracked
glaciers of Sulitelma--and that being on a height, with precipices
below, was no new situation to him. He climbed, trusting as little as
possible to the ladder, setting his foot in preference on any
projection of the rock, or any root of the smallest shrub. More than
one pole cracked, more than one fastening gave way, when he had barely
time to shift his weight upon a better support. He heard his
grandfather's voice calling, and he could not answer. It disturbed
him, now that his joints were strained, his limbs trembling, and his
mouth parched so that his breath rattled as it came.
He reached the top, however. He sprang from the edge of the precipice,
unable to look down, threw himself on his face, and panted and
trembled, as if he had never before climbed anything less safe than a
staircase. Never before, indeed, had he done anything like this. The
feat was performed--the islet was not to him inaccessible. This
thought gave him strength. He sprang to his feet again, and whistled
loud and shrill. He could imagine the comfort this must be to Peder;
and he whistled more and more merrily till he found himself rested
enough to proceed on his search for Rolf. He went briskly on his way,
not troubling himself with any thoughts of how he was to get down again.
Never had he seen a place so full of water-birds and their nests.
Their nests strewed all the ground, and they themselves were strutting
and waddling, fluttering and vociferating, in every direction. They
were perfectly tame, knowing nothing of men, and having had no
experience of disturbance. The ducks that were leading their broods
allowed Oddo to stroke their feathers, and the drakes looked on,
without taking any offence.
"If Rolf is here," thought Oddo, "he has been living on most amiable
terms with his neighbours."
After an anxious thought or two of Nipen--after a glance or two round
the sky and shores for a sign of wind--Oddo began in earnest his quest
of Rolf. He called his name gently, then louder.
There was some kind of answer. Some sound of human voice he heard, he
was certain; but so muffled, so dull, that whence it came he could not
tell. It might even be his grandfather calling from below. So he
crossed to quite the verge of the little island, wishing with all his
heart that the birds would be quiet, and cease their civility of all
answering when he spoke. When quite out of hearing of Peder, Oddo
called again, with scarcely a hope of any result, so plain was it to
his eyes that no one resided on the island. On its small summit there
was really no intermission of birds' nests--no space where any one had
lain down--no sign of habitation, no vestige of food, dress, or
utensils. With a saddened heart, therefore, Oddo called again, and
again he was sure there was an answer, though whence and what he could
not make out.
He then sang a part of a chant that he had learnt by Rolf singing it as
he sat carving his share of the new pulpit. He stopped in the middle,
and presently believed that he heard the air continued, though the
voice seemed so indistinct, and the music so much as if it came from
underground, that Oddo began to recall, with some doubt and fear, the
stories of the enchantment of the place. It was not long before he
heard a cry from the water below. Looking over the precipice, he saw
what made him draw back in terror: he saw the very thing Hund had
described--the swimming and staring head of Rolf, and the arms thrown
up in the air. Not having Hund's conscience, however, and having much
more curiosity, he looked again, and then a third time.
"Are you Rolf, really?" asked he at last.
"Yes, but who are you--Oddo or the demon--up there where nobody can
climb? Who are you?"
"I will show you. We will find each other out," thought Oddo, with a
determination to take the leap and ascertain the truth.
He leaped, and struck the water at a sufficient distance from Rolf.
When he came up again, they approached each other, staring, and each
with some doubt as to whether the other was human or a demon.
"Are you really alive, Rolf?" said the one.
"To be sure I am, Oddo," said the other; "but what demon carried you to
the top of that rock, that no man ever climbed?"
Oddo looked mysterious, suddenly resolving to keep his secret for the
present.
"Not that way," said Rolf. "I have not the strength I had, and I can't
swim round the place now. I was just resting myself when I heard you
call, and came out to see. Follow me home."
He turned and began to swim homewards. Oddo had the strongest
inclination to go with him, to see what would be revealed, but there
were two objections. His grandfather must be growing anxious, and he
was not perfectly sure yet whether his guide might not be Nipen in
Rolf's likeness about to lead him to some hidden prison.
"Give me your hand, Rolf," said the boy bravely.
It was a real, substantial, warm hand.
"I don't wonder you doubt," said Rolf; "I can't look much like
myself--unshaven, and shrunk, and haggard as my face must be."
Oddo was now quite satisfied; and he told of the boat and his
grandfather. The boat was scarcely farther off than the cave, and poor
Rolf was almost in extremity for drink. The water and brandy he
brought with him had been finished nearly two days, and he was
suffering extremely from thirst. He thought he could reach the boat
and Oddo led the way, bidding him not mind his being without clothes
till they could find him some.
Glad was the old man to hear his boy's call from the water; and his
face lighted up with wonder and pleasure when he heard that Rolf was
not far behind. He lent a hand to help him into the boat, and asked no
questions till he had given him food and drink. He reproached himself
for having brought neither camphor nor assafoetida, to administer with
the corn-brandy. Here was the brandy, however, and some water, and
fish, and bread, and cloud-berries. Great was the amazement of Peder
and Oddo at Rolf's pushing aside the brandy, and seizing the water.
When he had drained the last drop, he even preferred the cloud-berries
to the brandy. A transient doubt thence occurred, whether this was
Rolf after all. Rolf saw it in their faces, and laughed; and when they
had heard his story of what he had suffered from thirst, they were
quite satisfied, and wondered no longer.
He was all impatience to be gone. It tried him more now to think how
long it would be before Erica could hear of his preservation than to
bear all that had gone before. Being without clothes, however, it was
necessary to visit the cave, and bring away what was there. In truth,
Oddo was not sorry for this. His curiosity about the cave was so great
that he felt it impossible to go home without seeing it; and the
advantage of holding the secret knowledge of such a place was one which
he would not give up. He seized an oar, gave another to Rolf; and they
were presently off the mouth of the cave. Peder sighed at their having
to leave him again; but he believed what Rolf said of there being no
danger, and of their remaining close at hand. One or the other came
popping up beside the boat every minute, with clothes, or net, or
lines, or brandy-flask, and finally with the oars of the poor broken
skiff, being obliged to leave the skiff itself behind. Rolf did not
forget to bring away whole handfuls of beautiful shells, which he had
amused himself with collecting for Erica.
At last they entered the boat again; and while they were dressing, Oddo
charmed his grandfather with a description of the cave--of the dark,
sounding walls, the lofty roof, and the green tide breaking on the
white sands. It almost made the listener cool to hear of these things;
but, as Oddo had remarked, the heat had abated. It was near midnight,
and the sun was going to set. Their row to the shore would be in the
cool twilight; and then they should take in companions, who, fresh from
rest, would save them the trouble of rowing home.
When all were too tired to talk, and the oars were dipping somewhat
lazily, and the breeze had died away, and the sea-birds were quiet, old
Peder, who appeared to his companions to be asleep, raised his head,
and said--
"I heard a sob. Are you crying, Oddo?"
"Yes, grandfather."
"What is your grief, my boy?"
"No grief, anything but grief now. I have felt more grief than you
know of, though, or anybody. I did not know it fully myself till now."
"Right, my boy; and right to say it out too."
"I don't care now who knows how miserable I have been. I did not
believe, all the time, that Nipen had anything to do with these
misfortunes----"
"Right, Oddo!" exclaimed Rolf now.
"But I was not quite certain; and how could I say a word against it
when I was the one to provoke Nipen? Now Rolf is safe, and Erica will
be happy again, and I shall not feel as if everybody's eyes were upon
me, and know that it is only out of kindness that they do not reproach
me as having done all the mischief. I shall hold up my head again
now--as some may think I have done all along; but I did not, in my own
eyes--no, not in my own eyes, for all these weary days that are gone."
"Well, they are gone now," said Rolf. "Let them go by and be
forgotten."
"Nay, not forgotten," said Peder. "How is my boy to learn if he
forgets----"
"Don't fear that for me, grandfather," said Oddo, as the tears still
streamed down his face. "No fear of that. I shall not forget these
last days;--no, not as long as I live."
The comrades who were waiting and watching on the point were duly
amazed to see three heads in the boat, on her return; and duly
delighted to find that the third was Rolf--alive and no ghost. They
asked question upon question, and Rolf answered some fully and truly,
while he showed reserve upon others; and at last, when closely pressed,
he declared himself too much exhausted to talk, and begged permission
to lie down in the bottom of the boat and sleep. Upon this a long
silence ensued. It lasted till the farmhouse was in sight at which one
of the rowers was to be landed. Oddo then exclaimed--
"I wonder what we all have been thinking about. We have not settled a
single thing about what is to be said and done; and here we are almost
in sight of home, and Hund's cunning eyes."
"I have settled all about it," replied Rolf, raising himself up from
the bottom of the boat, where they all thought he had been sleeping
soundly. "My mind," said he, "is quite clear. The first thing I have
decided upon is that I may rely on the honour of our friends here to
say nothing yet. You have proved your kindness, friends, in coming on
this expedition, but for which I should have died in my hole, like a
superannuated bear in its den. This is a story that the whole country
will hear of; and our grandchildren will tell it, on winter nights,
when there is talk of the war that brought the pirates on our coasts.
The best way will be for you to set me ashore some way short of home,
and ask Erlingsen to meet me at the Black Tarn. There cannot be a
quieter place; and I shall be so far on my way to the seater."
"If you will just make a looking-glass of the Black Tarn," said Oddo,
"you will see that you have no business to carry such a face as yours
to the seater. Erica will die of terror at you for the mountain-demon,
before you can persuade her it is only you."
"I was thinking," observed one of the rowers, who relished the idea of
going down to posterity in a wonderful story, "I was just thinking that
your wisest way will be to take a rest in my bed at Holberg's, without
anybody knowing, and shave yourself with my razor, and dress in my
Sunday clothes, and show yourself to your betrothed in such a trim as
that she will be glad to see you."
"Do so, Rolf," urged Peder. Everybody said "do so," and agreed that
Erica would suffer far less by remaining five or six hours longer in
her present state of mind, than by seeing her lover look like a ghastly
savage, or perhaps hearing that he was lying by the roadside, dying of
his exertions to reach her. Rolf tried to laugh at all this; but he
could not contradict it.