_April third to sixth_.
On the most southerly part of Öland lies a royal demesne, which is
called Ottenby. It is a rather large estate which extends from shore to
shore, straight across the island; and it is remarkable because it has
always been a haunt for large bird-companies. In the seventeenth
century, when the kings used to go over to Öland to hunt, the entire
estate was nothing but a deer park. In the eighteenth century there was
a stud there, where blooded race-horses were bred; and a sheep farm,
where several hundred sheep were maintained. In our days you'll find
neither blooded horses nor sheep at Ottenby. In place of them live
great herds of young horses, which are to be used by the cavalry.
In all the land there is certainly no place that could be a better abode
for animals. Along the extreme eastern shore lies the old sheep meadow,
which is a mile and a half long, and the largest meadow in all Öland,
where animals can graze and play and run about, as free as if they were
in a wilderness. And there you will find the celebrated Ottenby grove
with the hundred-year-old oaks, which give shade from the sun, and
shelter from the severe Öland winds. And we must not forget the long
Ottenby wall, which stretches from shore to shore, and separates Ottenby
from the rest of the island, so that the animals may know how far the
old royal demesne extends, and be careful about getting in on other
ground, where they are not so well protected.
You'll find plenty of tame animals at Ottenby, but that isn't all. One
could almost believe that the wild ones also felt that on an old crown
property both the wild and the tame ones can count upon shelter and
protection--since they venture there in such great numbers.
Besides, there are still a few stags of the old descent left; and
burrow-ducks and partridges love to live there, and it offers a resting
place, in the spring and late summer, for thousands of migratory birds.
Above all, it is the swampy eastern shore below the sheep meadow, where
the migratory birds alight, to rest and feed.
When the wild geese and Nils Holgersson had finally found their way to
Öland, they came down, like all the rest, on the shore near the sheep
meadow. The mist lay thick over the island, just as it had over the sea.
But still the boy was amazed at all the birds which he discerned, only
on the little narrow stretch of shore which he could see.
It was a low sand-shore with stones and pools, and a lot of cast-up
sea-weed. If the boy had been permitted to choose, it isn't likely that
he would have thought of alighting there; but the birds probably looked
upon this as a veritable paradise. Ducks and geese walked about and fed
on the meadow; nearer the water, ran snipe, and other coast-birds. The
loons lay in the sea and fished, but the life and movement was upon the
long sea-weed banks along the coast. There the birds stood side by side
close together and picked grub-worms--which must have been found there
in limitless quantities for it was very evident that there was never any
complaint over a lack of food.
The great majority were going to travel farther, and had only alighted
to take a short rest; and as soon as the leader of a flock thought that
his comrades had recovered themselves sufficiently he said, "If you are
ready now, we may as well move on."
"No, wait, wait! We haven't had anything like enough," said the
followers.
"You surely don't believe that I intend to let you eat so much that you
will not be able to move?" said the leader, and flapped his wings and
started off. Along the outermost sea-weed banks lay a flock of swans.
They didn't bother about going on land, but rested themselves by lying
and rocking on the water. Now and then they dived down with their necks
and brought up food from the sea-bottom. When they had gotten hold of
anything very good, they indulged in loud shouts that sounded like
trumpet calls.
When the boy heard that there were swans on the shoals, he hurried out
to the sea-weed banks. He had never before seen wild swans at close
range. He had luck on his side, so that he got close up to them.
The boy was not the only one who had heard the swans. Both the wild
geese and the gray geese and the loons swam out between the banks, laid
themselves in a ring around the swans and stared at them. The swans
ruffled their feathers, raised their wings like sails, and lifted their
necks high in the air. Occasionally one and another of them swam up to a
goose, or a great loon, or a diving-duck, and said a few words. And then
it appeared as though the one addressed hardly dared raise his bill to
reply.
But then there was a little loon--a tiny mischievous baggage--who
couldn't stand all this ceremony. He dived suddenly, and disappeared
under the water's edge. Soon after that, one of the swans let out a
scream, and swam off so quickly that the water foamed. Then he stopped
and began to look majestic once more. But soon, another one shrieked in
the same way as the first one, and then a third.
The little loon wasn't able to stay under water any longer, but appeared
on the water's edge, little and black and venomous. The swans rushed
toward him; but when they saw what a poor little thing it was, they
turned abruptly--as if they considered themselves too good to quarrel
with him. Then the little loon dived again, and pinched their feet. It
certainly must have hurt; and the worst of it was, that they could not
maintain their dignity. At once they took a decided stand. They began to
beat the air with their wings so that it thundered; came forward a
bit--as though they were running on the water--got wind under their
wings, and raised themselves.
When the swans were gone they were greatly missed; and those who had
lately been amused by the little loon's antics scolded him for his
thoughtlessness.
The boy walked toward land again. There he stationed himself to see how
the pool-snipe played. They resembled small storks; like these, they had
little bodies, long legs and necks, and light, swaying movements; only
they were not gray, but brown. They stood in a long row on the shore
where it was washed by waves. As soon as a wave rolled in, the whole row
ran backward; as soon as it receded, they followed it. And they kept
this up for hours.
The showiest of all the birds were the burrow-ducks. They were
undoubtedly related to the ordinary ducks; for, like these, they too had
a thick-set body, broad bill, and webbed feet; but they were much more
elaborately gotten up. The feather dress, itself, was white; around
their necks they wore a broad gold band; the wing-mirror shone in green,
red, and black; and the wing-edges were black, and the head was dark
green and shimmered like satin.
As soon as any of these appeared on the shore, the others said: "Now,
just look at those things! They know how to tog themselves out." "If
they were not so conspicuous, they wouldn't have to dig their nests in
the earth, but could lay above ground, like anyone else," said a brown
mallard-duck. "They may try as much as they please, still they'll never
get anywhere with such noses," said a gray goose. And this was actually
true. The burrow-ducks had a big knob on the base of the bill, which
spoiled their appearance.
Close to the shore, sea-gulls and sea-swallows moved forward on the
water and fished. "What kind of fish are you catching?" asked a wild
goose. "It's a stickleback. It's Öland stickleback. It's the best
stickleback in the world," said a gull. "Won't you taste of it?" And he
flew up to the goose, with his mouth full of the little fishes, and
wanted to give her some. "Ugh! Do you think that I eat such filth?" said
the wild goose.
The next morning it was just as cloudy. The wild geese walked about on
the meadow and fed; but the boy had gone to the seashore to gather
mussels. There were plenty of them; and when he thought that the next
day, perhaps, they would be in some place where they couldn't get any
food at all, he concluded that he would try to make himself a little
bag, which he could fill with mussels. He found an old sedge on the
meadow, which was strong and tough; and out of this he began to braid a
knapsack. He worked at this for several hours, but he was well satisfied
with it when it was finished.
At dinner time all the wild geese came running and asked him if he had
seen anything of the white goosey-gander. "No, he has not been with me,"
said the boy. "We had him with us all along until just lately," said
Akka, "but now we no longer know where he's to be found."
The boy jumped up, and was terribly frightened. He asked if any fox or
eagle had put in an appearance, or if any human being had been seen in
the neighbourhood. But no one had noticed anything dangerous. The
goosey-gander had probably lost his way in the mist.
But it was just as great a misfortune for the boy, in whatever way the
white one had been lost, and he started off immediately to hunt for him.
The mist shielded him, so that he could run wherever he wished without
being seen, but it also prevented him from seeing. He ran southward
along the shore--all the way down to the lighthouse and the mist cannon
on the island's extreme point. It was the same bird confusion
everywhere, but no goosey-gander. He ventured over to Ottenby estate,
and he searched every one of the old, hollow oaks in Ottenby grove, but
he saw no trace of the goosey-gander.
He searched until it began to grow dark. Then he had to turn back again
to the eastern shore. He walked with heavy steps, and was fearfully
blue. He didn't know what would become of him if he couldn't find the
goosey-gander. There was no one whom he could spare less.
But when he wandered over the sheep meadow, what was that big, white
thing that came toward him in the mist if it wasn't the goosey-gander?
He was all right, and very glad that, at last, he had been able to find
his way back to the others. The mist had made him so dizzy, he said,
that he had wandered around on the big meadow all day long. The boy
threw his arms around his neck, for very joy, and begged him to take
care of himself, and not wander away from the others. And he promised,
positively, that he never would do this again. No, never again.
But the next morning, when the boy went down to the beach and hunted for
mussels, the geese came running and asked if he had seen the
goosey-gander. No, of course he hadn't. "Well, then the goosey-gander
was lost again. He had gone astray in the mist, just as he had done the
day before."
The boy ran off in great terror and began to search. He found one place
where the Ottenby wall was so tumble-down that he could climb over it.
Later, he went about, first on the shore which gradually widened and
became so large that there was room for fields and meadows and
farms--then up on the flat highland, which lay in the middle of the
island, and where there were no buildings except windmills, and where
the turf was so thin that the white cement shone under it.
Meanwhile, he could not find the goosey-gander; and as it drew on toward
evening, and the boy must return to the beach, he couldn't believe
anything but that his travelling companion was lost. He was so
depressed, he did not know what to do with himself.
He had just climbed over the wall again when he heard a stone crash down
close beside him. As he turned to see what it was, he thought that he
could distinguish something that moved on a stone pile which lay close
to the wall. He stole nearer, and saw the goosey-gander come trudging
wearily over the stone pile, with several long fibres in his mouth. The
goosey-gander didn't see the boy, and the boy did not call to him, but
thought it advisable to find out first why the goosey-gander time and
again disappeared in this manner.
And he soon learned the reason for it. Up in the stone pile lay a young
gray goose, who cried with joy when the goosey-gander came. The boy
crept near, so that he heard what they said; then he found out that the
gray goose had been wounded in one wing, so that she could not fly, and
that her flock had travelled away from her, and left her alone. She had
been near death's door with hunger, when the white goosey-gander had
heard her call, the other day, and had sought her out. Ever since, he
had been carrying food to her. They had both hoped that she would be
well before they left the island, but, as yet, she could neither fly nor
walk. She was very much worried over this, but he comforted her with the
thought that he shouldn't travel for a long time. At last he bade her
good-night, and promised to come the next day.
The boy let the goosey-gander go; and as soon as he was gone, he stole,
in turn, up to the stone heap. He was angry because he had been
deceived, and now he wanted to say to that gray goose that the
goosey-gander was his property. He was going to take the boy up to
Lapland, and there would be no talk of his staying here on her account.
But now, when he saw the young gray goose close to, he understood, not
only why the goosey-gander had gone and carried food to her for two
days, but also why he had not wished to mention that he had helped her.
She had the prettiest little head; her feather-dress was like soft
satin, and the eyes were mild and pleading.
When she saw the boy, she wanted to run away; but the left wing was out
of joint and dragged on the ground, so that it interfered with her
movements.
"You mustn't be afraid of me," said the boy, and didn't look nearly so
angry as he had intended to appear. "I'm Thumbietot, Morten
Goosey-gander's comrade," he continued. Then he stood there, and didn't
know what he wanted to say.
Occasionally one finds something among animals which makes one wonder
what sort of creatures they really are. One is almost afraid that they
may be transformed human beings. It was something like this with the
gray goose. As soon as Thumbietot said who he was, she lowered her neck
and head very charmingly before him, and said in a voice that was so
pretty that he couldn't believe it was a goose who spoke: "I am very
glad that you have come here to help me. The white goosey-gander has
told me that no one is as wise and as good as you."
She said this with such dignity, that the boy grew really embarrassed.
"This surely can't be any bird," thought he. "It is certainly some
bewitched princess."
He was filled with a desire to help her, and ran his hand under the
feathers, and felt along the wing-bone. The bone was not broken, but
there was something wrong with the joint. He got his finger down into
the empty cavity. "Be careful, now!" he said; and got a firm grip on the
bone-pipe and fitted it into the place where it ought to be. He did it
very quickly and well, considering it was the first time that he had
attempted anything of the sort. But it must have hurt very much, for the
poor young goose uttered a single shrill cry, and then sank down among
the stones without showing a sign of life.
The boy was terribly frightened. He had only wished to help her, and now
she was dead. He made a big jump from the stone pile, and ran away. He
thought it was as though he had murdered a human being.
The next morning it was clear and free from mist, and Akka said that now
they should continue their travels. All the others were willing to go,
but the white goosey-gander made excuses. The boy understood well enough
that he didn't care to leave the gray goose. Akka did not listen to him,
but started off.
The boy jumped up on the goosey-gander's back, and the white one
followed the flock--albeit slowly and unwillingly. The boy was mighty
glad that they could fly away from the island. He was conscience-stricken
on account of the gray goose, and had not cared to tell the goosey-gander
how it had turned out when he had tried to cure her. It would probably be
best if Morten goosey-gander never found out about this, he thought,
though he wondered, at the same time, how the white one had the heart to
leave the gray goose.
But suddenly the goosey-gander turned. The thought of the young gray
goose had overpowered him. It could go as it would with the Lapland
trip: he couldn't go with the others when he knew that she lay alone and
ill, and would starve to death.
With a few wing-strokes he was over the stone pile; but then, there lay
no young gray goose between the stones. "Dunfin! Dunfin! Where art
thou?" called the goosey-gander.
"The fox has probably been here and taken her," thought the boy. But at
that moment he heard a pretty voice answer the goosey-gander. "Here am
I, goosey-gander; here am I! I have only been taking a morning bath."
And up from the water came the little gray goose--fresh and in good
trim--and told how Thumbietot had pulled her wing into place, and that
she was entirely well, and ready to follow them on the journey.
The drops of water lay like pearl-dew on her shimmery satin-like
feathers, and Thumbietot thought once again that she was a real little
princess.