Chasing the Sun
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“Oh!” cried the father in rapture, “dat er smook barn” (that’s a pretty baby).
“Ya, ya,” said Sam, “smook barn,” though it must be confessed that if he had called it a smoked bairn he would have been nearer the mark, for it was as brown as a red herring.
In proof of his admiration of this baby our artist made a sketch of it on the spot, and presented it to the delighted father, after which he was introduced to the Norseman’s wife, and treated to a cup of coffee. When Sam returned from this visit, he told his companions that he was quite amazed at having got on so well with the language, and was warm in praise of his host, who, he said, laughed more heartily than any man he had ever met with. It is just possible that the Norseman may have had more occasion afforded him for laughter than usual, for Sam had waxed very talkative, and had been particularly profuse in the use and abuse of his pet phrase, ver so goot.
Soon after this the yacht’s head was turned into the Nord Fiord, at the head of which dwelt the father and mother of Hans Ericsson. Here Hans, to his unutterable delight, found the fair Raneilda on a visit to her mother; for Raneilda was a native of that remote valley, and had gone to Bergen only a year before this time.
Here, too, Sam Sorrel found splendid scenery to paint, and Grant obtained numerous specimens of birds for his museum.
This reminds me, by the way, that our naturalist, who was amiable and eccentric, on one occasion nearly drove his comrades out of the yacht. One day he shot a young unfledged gull or puffin, or some such creature, whose brief existence had only conducted it the length of a down coat, a little round body, and a pair of tremendously long legs. Well, this object was laid carefully past (sic) in a spare berth of the yacht, in which they used to stow away all manner of useless articles—chairs and stools that had broken their legs, etcetera—and which went by the name of the infirmary in consequence. About a week after, there was a most unaccountable smell in the infirmary. Several stuffed birds hanging there were suspected and smelt, but were found to be quite fresh. One or two of them were put out to air, but still the smell grew worse and worse, until the most obtuse nose did not dare to go near the infirmary. At last they became desperate. A general and thorough investigation was instituted, and there, in a dark corner, under a hair mattress, and flat as a pancake, lay the poor puffin, alive!—but not with the life wherewith it had lived before it was shot—and emitting an odour that is indescribable, a description of which, therefore, would be quite unprofitable. The puffin was pitched overboard, and it was half insinuated that they ought to pitch the naturalist overboard along with it!
At the head of this fiord, also, Fred Temple, to his inexpressible joy, found a mighty river in which were hundreds of salmon that had never yet been tempted by the angler with gaudy fly, though they had been sometimes wooed by the natives with a bunch of worms on a clumsy cod-hook. Thus both Fred and Hans found themselves in an earthly paradise. The number of splendid salmon that were caught here in a couple of weeks was wonderful; not to mention the risks run, and the adventures. Space will only permit of one or two examples being given.
On the day of their arrival, Fred seized his rod, and taking Hans to gaff the fish and show him the river, sallied forth, accompanied by about a score of natives, chiefly men and boys, who were eager to see the new style of fishing. They soon came to a fine-looking part of the stream, and Fred put together his rod. He was much amused at the looks of the men when they saw the thin supple point of the rod. They shook their heads gravely, and said, “He cannot hold a big fish with that.” They were right so far, but they did not understand the use of the reel and the running line. Presently Fred cast, and almost immediately a large salmon took his fly, the rod bent like a hoop, and the reel whizzed furiously as the line ran out.
Sam Sorrel, who was there at the time, afterwards said that he was divided between interest in the movements of the fish, and amusement at the open mouths and staring eyes of the natives.
This fish was a very active one; it dashed up, down, and across the river several times, running out nearly the whole of the line more than once, and compelling Fred to take to the water as deep as his waist. At last, after a fight of half an hour, it was brought close to the bank, and Hans put the gaff-hook cleverly into its side, and hauled it ashore, amid the shouts of the astonished people, for the salmon weighed eighteen pounds.
After a time the natives began to understand the principles of fly-fishing with a rod, and regarded Fred Temple with deep respect. On all his fishing excursions in that fiord, he was attended by a band of eager admirers, to whom he gave most of the fish; for he caught so many of all sizes that his friends and his crew were not able to eat the quarter of them. The catching of his largest salmon was a stirring incident.
It happened on the evening of a very bright day. He had been unfortunate. The sun being too bright, the fish would not rise. This annoyed him much, because on that particular day he had been accompanied by the Captain and Bob Bowie, as well as his two companions, all of whom were anxious to see him catch fish, and learn a lesson in the art. Fred was up to his middle in a rough part of the river. It was all he could do to retain his foothold, the water was so strong.
“It won’t do,” said he, “the sun is too bright.”
His friends on shore looked grave and disappointed.
“I sees a cloud a-comin’,” said Bob Bowie glancing upwards.
“Hallo! hey!” shouted Grant, who observed that at that moment Fred’s legs had been swept from under him, and he was gone!
Before any one could speak or act, Fred reappeared a little farther down the river, holding tight to the rod, and staggering into shallower water.
“None the worse of it,” cried Fred, bursting into a laugh.
Just as he said this, and while he was paying no attention to his rod, a salmon rose and seized the fly. In an instant Fred and his comrades utterly forgot all about the ducking, and were filled with the excitement of the sport.
Fred’s rod bent like a willow wand. His eyes seemed to flash, and his lips were tightly pressed together, for he felt that he had on a very large fish. Suddenly it darted up stream, and did what the large fish seldom do—leaped quite out of the water.
“A whale! stand by!” roared Bob Bowie.
There was a cry from the others, for at that moment the salmon set off down stream,—a most dangerous proceeding at all times. Fred made for the bank, and let out line as fast as possible. When he gained the bank he ran down the stream, leaping over bushes and stones like a wild goat. The places he went over in that run were terribly rugged. It seemed a miracle that he escaped without broken bones. Presently he came to a steep rock that projected into the water. There was no getting round it, so in he dashed. It took him only up to the knees. This passed, he came to another place of the same sort. Here he put a strain on the fish, and tried to stop it. But it was not to be stopped. It had clearly made up its mind to go right down to the sea. Fred looked at the pool, hesitated one moment, and then leaped in. It took him up to the neck, and he was carried down by the current fifty yards or so, when his feet caught bottom again, and he managed to raise his rod, fully expecting to find that the salmon had broken off. But it was still on, and lively. Meanwhile, his comrades on the bank were keeping pace with him, shouting and yelling with excitement as they ran.
“The rapid, mind the rapid!” roared Grant.
Fred saw a foaming rapid before him. He became anxious. It was dangerous to venture down this. If he should touch a rock on the way down, the chances were that he would get a limb broken. The banks here were so thickly covered with bushes that it was impossible to pass. The fish still held on its headlong course. “What shall I do?” thought Fred. “If I stop he will break all to pieces, and I shall lose him. Lose him! no, never!”
“Don’t venture in, Fred,” shrieked Sam Sorrel.
But the advice came too late. Fred was already in the foaming current. In a moment he was swept down into the comparatively still water below the rapid. His friends lost sight of him, for they had to run round through the bushes. When they got to the foot of the rapid, they found Fred on the bank, panting violently, and holding tight to the rod, for the salmon had stopped there, and was now “sulking” at the bottom of a deep hole. For a full hour did the fisher labour to pull him out of that hole in vain; for in this kind of fishing nothing can be done by main force. The great beauty of the art consists in getting the salmon to move, and in humouring his movements, so that you tire him out, and get him gradually close to your side.
At last the fish came out of the deep pool. Then there was another short struggle of quarter of an hour, and the fisher’s perseverance and skill were rewarded. The salmon at last turned up its silvery side. Fred drew it slowly to the bank (in breathless anxiety, for many a fish is lost at this point). Hans struck the gaff in neatly, and with a huge effort flung it floundering on the bank, amid the hearty cheers of all present.
This salmon weighed 34 pounds, and was about four feet long! It was a magnificent fish, and it may well be believed that Fred Temple did not grudge the two hours’ battle, and the risk that he had run in the catching of it.
Chapter Ten.
Conclusion
“Sam Sorrel,” said Fred Temple one day to his friend while they were seated at breakfast in the house of a farmer of the Nord Fiord, “we have been here more than a fortnight now; we have enjoyed ourselves much, have had good sport of various kinds, and have laid in a stock of health and wisdom, it is to be hoped, that will last us for some time to come.”
“That sounds very much like the beginning of a formal speech,” said Grant.
“Hold your tongue, Grant,” retorted Temple, “I have not yet done. As I have said, we have been successful in gaining the ends for which we came here. We have seen the sun rise without setting. Sam Sorrel has filled a large portfolio with beautiful sketches of, perhaps, the finest scenery in Europe. Grant has shot and stuffed I am afraid to say how many birds of all kinds, besides making a large collection of rare plants; and Fred Temple has caught about five hundred pounds’ weight of salmon—not to mention hundreds of trout—”
“Good,” said Sam, “and very correctly stated. You are fit for the House of Commons, my friend.”
“Sam, be silent!—Now this being the case, it is time that we should think of returning to our native land. I will, therefore, make arrangements for setting sail in two or three days. But before leaving I will bring to a point a little plot which I have been hatching ever since I landed in Norway. I won’t tell you what it is just yet, but I must have your help, Sam.”
“Command my services, sir,” said Sam, with a wave of his hand. “I am your servant, your Eastern slave, ready, if need be, to prostrate myself in the earth and rub my nose in the dust.”
“Good. I accept your offer,” said Fred, “and my first command is, that you take your brushes and paint me a Norwegian bride in the course of this forenoon!”
“Why, your orders cannot be obeyed,” cried Sam in surprise. “Where am I to find a bride on such short notice? You are more unreasonable than the most tyrannical of sultans.”
“Nevertheless,” replied Fred calmly, “I issue my commands, and in order to relieve your mind of anxiety, I will find a bride for you.”
“Where, then, is this bride, O wizard?” asked Sam with a laugh.
“Behold her!” cried Fred, starting up and throwing open the door, from which could be seen the shore and the fiord with its background of noble hills.
Sam and Grant started up with sudden exclamations, and stared at the object which met their gaze in speechless wonder. And truly there was cause for astonishment; for there, on the shore, close to the water’s edge, stood the fair Raneilda, clothed in the gorgeous costume of a Norwegian bride.
“Assuredly you are a wizard,” cried Grant, glancing at his friend.
“Not so,” replied Fred. “I met sweet Raneilda last night at her father’s cottage, and begged of her to come here at a certain hour this morning in the costume of a bride, in order that my friend the artist might paint her. She hesitated and blushed a good deal at first, but at length she agreed, and, as you see, is punctual in keeping her appointment.”
Fred now went down to Raneilda, and brought her up to the house; Sam Sorrel at once placed her in a good position, seized his brushes, and began the portrait.
He was delighted with the dress, for it glittered with gold and silver ornaments. The crown was of pure silver covered with gold. The breastplate was red cloth ornamented with silver-gilt brooches, beads of various colours, silver chains, and small, round looking-glasses. There was also a belt ornamented with gold and silver. Altogether Raneilda looked much more like the Queen of Norway than a poor peasant girl!
It is necessary to inform the reader that the greater part of this costume did not belong to the girl. In fact it did not belong to any one in particular. It is the custom in Norway for each district to have a marriage-dress for general use. The crown, the breastplate, and the belt are public property, and may be hired out by the girls who are about to be married at a few shillings for each occasion.
While Sam was busy with his portrait, Grant went out to search for plants, and Fred went off to search for Hans and to carry out the remainder of his plot. He soon found the young pilot.
“Hans,” said he, “follow me, I wish to speak with you.”
Hans was quite willing to follow Fred to the moon if he had chosen to lead the way.
“I am going to show you a very pretty sight, Hans; step this way. Here, in this room.”
He threw open the door and led him in. The young Norseman entered with a smile, but the smile suddenly vanished, his blue eyes opened to their utmost width, and he stood rooted to the floor, unable to speak!
“Tuts! what means this?” cried Sam in disgust at being interrupted.
“Raneilda!” gasped her lover.
The bride covered her face with her hands.
“Very good! excellent!” exclaimed Grant who chanced to pass at the moment, and peeped in at the open window.
“Hurrah!” cried Bob Bowie, who just then came up to announce that the Snowflake was ready for sea.
“She won’t be wanted for some days yet,” cried Fred bursting into a fit of laughter as he seized Hans by the arm, dragged him into another room, and shut the door.
“Now, Hans,” said he earnestly, “I am going to pay you off. Nay, man, be not cast down, I did not take you into yonder room to mock you, but to show you how pretty Raneilda looked in her bridal dress.”
Fred paused for a moment, and the Norseman sighed and shook his head.
“You must know,” resumed Fred, “that I wish to dance at your wedding, Hans, and in order that I may do so, I mean to have you married at once. (Hans stared.) You told me in Bergen that you wanted some sort of work that would bring you good pay. (Hans nodded his head.) Well, I will give you a hundred dollars for the time you have been with me.”
Hans’ face brightened, and he shook hands with Fred, according to Norwegian custom when a gift is presented, or a generous payment made.
“Now,” continued Fred, “did you not tell me that two hundred dollars would enable you to take your father’s farm off his hands? (Hans nodded again.) And is Raneilda willing to marry you when you can afford to ask her? (Hans nodded this time, very decidedly.) Well, Hans, I have been very much pleased with the way in which you have conducted yourself while in my service; you have done your duty well. (Hans smiled and looked happy.) But you have done more than that. (Hans looked surprised.) You have been the means of enabling me to see the sun all night at a time when I should otherwise have missed it. I owe you something for that. Moreover, you pulled me out of that rapid by the neck when I caught the twenty-eight pound salmon, and so, perhaps, were the means of saving my life; and certainly you saved me that salmon. For all this, and for many other good deeds, I owe you a debt of gratitude. Now, Hans, you must know that it is impossible to pay a debt of gratitude in full, for, however much you may pay, there is always something more owing. (Hans looked puzzled.) This debt, then, I cannot pay up at once, but I can prove to you that I consider myself your debtor by making you a present of another hundred dollars. Here is the money, my lad, so go and tell Raneilda to get ready as soon as possible!”
Hans stared in wonder and unbelief, first at the money, then at Fred. Then a look of triumph gleamed in his eyes, and he seized Fred’s hand and wrung it. Then he uttered a shout, and ran to Raneilda and kissed her. Fred kissed her too. Sam Sorrel and Grant, not knowing exactly what to do, kissed her also; and Bob Bowie, who was under the belief that they were all mad, made a grasp at the poor girl but missed her, for Raneilda was overwhelmed with confusion, and ran nimbly out of the room, leaving her crown behind her! Hans Ericsson hastily picked it up and ran after her, leaving Fred Temple to explain things to his astonished friends as he best could.
So that was the end of that matter.
But that was by no means the end of the whole affair. Before the Snowflake left the fiord, Hans and Raneilda were married, as all true lovers ought to be.
The fair bride was once again decked out in the queen-like garments which had formerly filled Sam and Grant with so great surprise and admiration; and Fred, as he had promised, danced at the Norseman’s wedding. And not only did Fred dance, but so did his friends—ay, and his whole ship’s crew. And it would have done your heart good, reader, to have seen the way in which the Jack-tars footed it on that occasion on the green grass, and astonished the Norsemen. But it must also be told that the Norsemen were not a whit behindhand, for they showed the tars a number of capers and new steps which they had never before seen or even dreamed of!
Just before the ball began there was heard a sound resembling the yells of an exceedingly young pig in its dying agonies. This was a violin. It was accompanied by a noise somewhat like to the beating of a flour-mill, which was found to proceed from the heel of the fiddler, who had placed a wooden board under his left foot. Thus he beat time, and a drum, as it were, at once. He also beat Paganini and all other fiddlers hollow. Round this manufacturer of sweet sounds did the lads and lasses flock and soon gave evidence of their sympathy with the rest of mankind by beginning to dance.
Certainly elegance is not a characteristic of the Norwegian peasantry! Having formed a ring, they went to work with the utmost gravity and decorum. Scarcely a laugh was heard! nothing approaching to a shout during the whole evening. The nature of their dances was utterly incomprehensible. The chief object the young men had in view seemed to be to exhibit their agility by every species of bound and fling of which the human frame is capable, including the rather desperate feat of dashing themselves flat upon the ground. The principal care of the girls seemed to be to keep out of the way of the men, and avoid being killed by a frantic kick or felled by a random blow.
But the desperate features in each dance did not appear at once. Each man began by seizing his partner and dragging her recklessly round the circle, ever and anon twirling her round violently with one arm, and catching her round the waist with the other, in order apparently to save her from total destruction. To this treatment the fair damsels submitted for some time with downcast eyes and pleased yet bashful looks. Then the men seemed to fling them off and go at it entirely on their own account, yet keeping up a sort of revolving course round their partners, like satellites encircling their separate suns. Presently the men grew furious; rushed about the circle in wild erratic courses, leaped into the air, and while in that position slapped the soles of their feet with both hands!
Then they became a little more sane, and a waltz, or something like it, was got up. It was quite pretty, and some of the movements graceful; but the wild spirit of the glens seemed to re-enter them again rather suddenly. The females were expelled from the ring altogether, and the young men braced themselves for a little really heavy work; they dashed, flung, and hurled themselves about like maniacs, stood on their heads and walked on their hands; in short, became a company of acrobats, yet always kept up a sort of sympathetic attempt at time with the fiddler, who went on pounding his wooden board with his left heel and murdering an inconceivable multitude of young pigs with a degree of energy that was only equalled by that of those to whom he fiddled.
But not a man, woman, or child there gave vent to his or her feelings in laughter. They smiled, they commented in a soft tone, they looked happy; nay, they were happy, but they did not laugh! Once only did they give way a little, and that was when an aspiring youth, after having nearly leaped down his own throat, walked round the circle on his hands.
Even Tittles danced that day! He danced in and out among the feet of the dancers in a most perplexing manner, and got his unhappy toes and his unfortunate tail trod upon to a terrible extent. But Tittles did not seem to mind. It is true that he gave a yelp of pain on each occasion, but he instantly forgave the offender if he looked at all sorry. Upon the whole Tittles was the cause of much noise, no little confusion, and great amusement at that celebrated wedding.
Thus did Fred Temple and his friends spend their last day in Norway.
At midnight they set sail for Old England. On rising next morning they found themselves far out among the islands of the coast. Soon after that they were out of sight of land,—heaving on the swell of the ocean, thinking over the varied and stirring scenes of the past three months with a sort of feeling that it must have been all a dream, and wishing heartily that they were still away in the far north, enjoying the endless daylight and—Chasing the Sun.
The End