JOHN BULL ABROAD.
Leaving Dombaas at an early hour, I soon began to ascend a long slope,
reaching, by a gradual elevation, to the Dovre Fjeld. The vegetation
began to grow more and more scanty on the wayside, consisting mostly
of lichens and reindeer moss. I passed through some stunted groves of
pine, which, however, were bleached and almost destitute of foliage.
The ground on either side of the road was soft, black, and boggy,
abounding in springs and scarcely susceptible of cultivation. At this
elevation grain is rarely planted, though I was told potatoes and
other esculents are not difficult to raise. On the left of the road,
approaching the summit, lies a range of snow-capped mountains between
the Dovre Fjeld and Molde; on the right a series of rocky and barren
hills of sweeping outline, presenting an exceedingly desolate aspect.
In the course of an hour after leaving Dombaas, having walked most of
the way, I fairly reached the grand plateau of the Dovre Fjeld. The
scene at this point of the journey is inexpressibly desolate.
Bare, whitish-colored hills bound the horizon on the right; in front
is a dreary waste, through which the road winds like a thread till
lost in the dim haze of the distance; and to the left the everlasting
snows of Snaehatten. A few wretched cabins are scattered at remote
intervals over the desert plains, in which the shepherds seek shelter
from the inclemency of the weather, which even in midsummer is often
piercingly raw. Herds of rattle, sheep, and goats were grazing over
the rocky wastes of the Fjeld. Reindeer are sometimes seen in this
vicinity, but not often within sight of the road. The only vegetation
produced here is reindeer moss, and a coarse sort of grass growing in
bunches over the plain. I met several shepherds on the way dressed in
something like a characteristic costume--frieze jackets with brass
buttons, black knee-breeches, a red night-cap, and armed with the
usual staff or shepherd's crook, represented in pictures, and much
discoursed of by poets:
"Methinks it were a happy life
To be no better than a homely swain;"
but not on the Dovre Fjelds of Norway. It must be rather a dull
business in that region, taking into consideration the barren plains,
the bleak winds, and desolate aspect of the country. No sweet hawthorn
bushes are there, beneath which these rustic philosophers can sit,
"Looking on their silly sheep."
Shepherd life must be a very dismal reality indeed. And yet there is
no accounting for tastes. At one point of the road, beyond Folkstuen,
where a sluggish lagoon mingles its waters with the barren slopes of
the Fjeld, I saw an Englishman standing up to his knees in a dismal
marsh fishing for trout.
The weather was cold enough to strike a chill into one's very marrow;
yet this indefatigable sportsman had come more than a thousand miles
from his native country to enjoy himself in this way. He was a genuine
specimen of an English snob--self-sufficient, conceited, and
unsociable; looking neither to the right nor the left, and terribly
determined not to commit himself by making acquaintance with casual
travelers speaking the English tongue. I stopped my cariole within a
few paces and asked him "what luck?" One would think the sound of his
native tongue would have been refreshing to him in this dreary
wilderness; but, without deigning to raise his head, he merely
answered in a gruff tone, "Don't know, sir--don't know!" I certainly
did not suspect him of knowing much, but thought that question at
least would not be beyond the limits of his intelligence. Finding him
insensible to the approaches of humanity, I revenged myself for his
rudeness by making a sketch of his person, which I hope will be
recognized by his friends in England should he meet with any
misfortune in the wilds of Norway. They will at least know where to
search for his body, and be enabled to recognize it when they find it.
This man's sense of enjoyment reminded me of the anecdote told by
Longfellow in Hyperion, of an Englishman who sat in a tub of cold
water every morning while he ate his breakfast and read the
newspapers.
[Illustration: PLAYING HIM OUT.]
I met with many such in the course of my tour. Is it not a little
marvelous what hardships people will encounter for pleasure? Here was
a man of mature age, in the enjoyment perhaps of a comfortable
income, who had left his country, with all its attractions, for a
dreary desert in which he was utterly isolated from the world. He was
not traveling--not reading, not surrounded by a few congenial friends
who could make a brief exile pleasant, but utterly alone; ignorant, no
doubt, of the language spoken by the few shepherds in the
neighborhood; up to his knees in a pool of cold water; stubbornly
striving against the most adverse circumstances of wind and weather to
torture out of the water a few miserable little fish! Of what material
can such a man's brain be composed, if he be gifted with brain at all?
Is it mud, clay, or water; or is it all a bog? Possibly he was a lover
of nature; but if you examine his portrait you will perceive that
there is nothing in his personal appearance to warrant that suspicion.
Even if such were the case, this was not the charming region described
by the quaint old Walton, where the scholar can turn aside "toward the
high honeysuckle hedge," or "sit and sing while the shower falls upon
the teeming earth, viewing the silver streams glide silently toward
their centre, the tempestuous sea," beguiled by the harmless lambs
till, with a soul possessed with content, he feels "lifted above the
earth." Nor was the solitary angler of the Dovre Fjeld a man likely to
be lifted from the earth by any thing so fragile as the beauties of
nature. His weight--sixteen stone at least--would be much more likely
to sink him into it.
As I approached the neighborhood of Djerkin on the Dovre Fjeld, famous
as a central station for hunting expeditions, I met several English
sportsmen armed with rifles, double-barreled guns, pistols, and other
deadly weapons, on their way to the defiles of the adjacent mountains
in search of the black bears which are said to infest that region. One
of these enthusiastic gentlemen was seated in a cariole, and traveled
for some distance in front of me. Taking into view the rotundity of
his person, which overhung the little vehicle on every side, I could
not but picture to myself the extraordinary spectacle that would be
presented to any observant eye in case this ponderous individual
should suddenly come in contact with one of those ferocious animals.
[Illustration: ENGLISH SPORTSMAN.]
Here you have him, just as he sat before me--a back view, to be sure,
but the only one I could get in the emergency of the moment. It will
be easy to imagine, from the dexterous grace of his figure, how he
will bound over the rocks, climb up the rugged points of the
precipices, hang by the roots and branches of trees, dodge the attacks
of the enemy, crawl through the brush, and, in the event of an
unfavorable turn in the battle, retreat to some position of security.
No man can be blamed for running when he is sure to be worsted in an
encounter of this kind. Many a brave Californian has taken to his
heels when pursued by a grizzly, and I have scarcely a doubt that I
would pursue the same course myself under similar circumstances. Only
it must look a little ludicrous to see a fat Englishman, a
representative of the British Lion, forced to adopt this mortifying
alternative rather than suffer himself to be torn into beefsteaks. It
may be, however, that in this instance our Nimrod has suddenly
discovered that it is about dinner-time, and is hurrying back to camp
lest the beef should be overdone.
[Illustration: BEAR CHASE.]
These bear-hunting Englishmen take care to have as many chances on
their own side as possible. Hence they usually go into the mountains
well provided with guides, ammunition, provisions, etc., and prepare
the way by first securing the bear in some favored locality. This is
done by killing a calf or hog, and placing the carcass in the required
position. A hired attendant lies in wait until he discovers the bear,
when he comes down to the station or camp, and notifies the hunter
that it is time to start out. Thus the risk of life is greatly
reduced, and the prospect of securing some game proportionally
augmented. The black bears of Norway are not very dangerous, however,
and, hunted in this manner, it requires no great skill to kill them.
They are generally to be found in the higher mountains and defiles, a
few miles from some farming settlement. In winter, when their
customary food is scarce, they often commit serious depredations upon
the stock of the farmers. Every facility is freely afforded by the
peasants for their destruction, and every bear killed is considered so
many cattle saved.
[Illustration: PEASANT WOMEN AT WORK.]
It was late in the afternoon when I descended a rocky and pine-covered
hill, and came in sight of the station called Djerkin, celebrated as
one of the best in the interior of Norway. This place is kept by an
old Norwegian peasant family of considerable wealth, and is a favorite
resort of English sportsmen bound on fishing and hunting excursions
throughout the wilds of the Dovre Fjeld. The main buildings and
outhouses are numerous and substantial, and stand on the slope of the
hill which forms the highest point of the Fjeld on the road from
Christiania to Trondhjem. The appearance of this isolated group of
buildings on the broad and barren face of the hill had much in it to
remind me of some of the old missionary establishments in California;
and the resemblance was increased by the scattered herds of cattle
browsing upon the parched and barren slopes of the Fjeld, which in
this vicinity are as much like the old ranch lands of San Diego County
as one region of country wholly different in climate can be like
another. A few cultivated patches of ground near the station, upon
which the peasants were at work gathering in the scanty harvest,
showed that even in this rigorous region the attempts at agriculture
were not altogether unsuccessful. As usual, the principal burden of
labor seemed to fall upon the women, who were digging, hoeing, and
raking with a lusty will that would have done credit to the men.