OUT OF MONEY.
I now began to enjoy the real pleasures of Norwegian travel. No longer
compelled to endure the vexatious delays to which I had lately been
subject, I bowled along the road, with my knapsack on my back, at the
rate of four miles an hour, whistling merrily from sheer exuberance of
health and lack of thought. The weather was charming. A bright sun
shed its warm rays over hill and dale; the air was fresh and
invigorating; the richest tints adorned the whole face of the country,
which from Soknaes to Trondhjem gradually increases in fertility and
breadth of outline, till it becomes almost unrivaled in the profusion
of its pastoral beauties. Nothing can surpass the gorgeous splendor of
the autumnal sunsets in this part of Norway. At an earlier period of
the year there is perpetual daylight for several weeks, and for three
days the sun does not descend below the horizon. The light, however,
is too strong during that period to produce the rich and glowing tints
which cover the sky and mountain-tops at a later season of the year. I
was fortunate in being just in time to enjoy the full measure of its
beauties, and surely it is not too much to say that such an experience
is of itself worth a trip to Norway. I shall not attempt a description
of Norwegian skies, however, after the glowing picture of the North
Cape at midnight drawn by the pen of my friend Bayard Taylor, the most
faithful and enthusiastic of all the travelers who have given their
experience of this interesting region.
[Illustration: TRAVELING ON FOOT.]
Keeping along the banks of the Gula, the road winds around the sides
of the hills, sometimes crossing open valleys, and occasionally
penetrating the shady recesses of the pine forests, till it diverges
from the river at Meelhus. Soon after leaving this station the views
from the higher points over which the road passes are of great beauty
and extent, embracing a glimpse, from time to time, of the great
Trondhjem Fjord.
Night overtook me at the pretty little station of Esp. Next morning I
was up bright and early, and, after a cup of coffee and some rolls,
shouldered my knapsack and pushed on to Trondhjem.
Finding my purse growing lighter every day, I was compelled at this
point to cut short my intended journey to the North Cape, and take the
first steamer down the coast for Christiansund and Hamburg.
Arrived once more at the family head-quarters in
Frankfort-on-the-Main, I spent a few months writing up the loose
material I had thus gathered, and making foot-tours through the
Odenwald, the Spessart, and the Schwartzwald. But I was not satisfied
with what I had seen of the North. There was still a wild region, far
beyond any explorations I had yet made, which constantly loomed up in
my imagination--the chaotic land of frost and fire, where dwelt in
ancient times the mighty Thor, the mystic deity of the Scandinavians.