Chasing the Sun, R. M. Ballantyne [freenovel24 TXT] 📗
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «Chasing the Sun, R. M. Ballantyne [freenovel24 TXT] 📗». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“Oh, I see!” exclaimed Sam, who began to take her portrait without delay.
Meanwhile Fred was observant. At first he was much amused by the scene before him, and continued to gaze with interest at one group after another. In a short time his curiosity was awakened by a handsome Norwegian youth, whose gaze was fixed with intense earnestness on the maiden whom Sam was sketching. When the girl had concluded her bargain and gone away, he observed that the youth, who appeared to be a fisherman from his dress, went after her.
Without well knowing what he did, and without any very definite intentions, Fred Temple followed them, and left his friend busy with his pencil.
The Norwegian youth soon overtook the girl, who at once received him with a bright smile, and held out her hand. The two then went on together, turned to the left, and followed a winding road, which led up the side of the mountain. They appeared to converse earnestly as they went. Fred still followed them, but in a few minutes they paused in front of a small white house, with a green door, so he was now compelled to pass them. As he did so, it suddenly occurred to his mind that he was acting a mean, contemptible part in following them thus. He blushed as he thought of this, and passed quickly forward, intending to deny his curiosity and take a ramble. He could not help observing, however, that the girl was weeping, and that the youth did not look happy by any means.
Having gained the brow of an eminence which overlooked the city, Fred sat down behind a rock to admire the beautiful scenery and to ponder what he had seen.
While he was thus engaged, he heard the voices of two men who approached on the other side of the rock, and did not observe him. They talked loud, in the Norse language. Fred understood enough of it to make out their meaning pretty well.
“I tell you what it is, Hans,” said one, “give her up. You have no chance of gaining the required sum for many years, and it’s a hard case to keep a poor girl waiting. Give her up, man, and don’t go on like a silly love-sick boy.”
“Give her up!” cried he who was called Hans,—“give her up! Ah! my friend Olé, I did not expect such counsel from thee. But I tell thee flatly I will not give her up. She loves me; I love her! Sweet Raneilda! nothing but death shall separate us!”
“A very pretty sentiment,” retorted Old, “but pray, what do you mean to do?”
“I have decided that,” replied Hans; “I will fish all winter in the deep sea, and all summer I will—”
“Well, what will you?”
“Alas! I know not. Would that I were a pilot, but I am not.”
“But you know the coast as well as any pilot,” said 016.
“True, but who would trust me—an unknown boy?” replied Hans sadly.
There was silence for a few minutes; then Olé said: “How much money do you require to pay for your father’s farm and set yourself up?”
“Two hundred dollars,” (The dollar is equal to about 4 shillings and 6 pence sterling) answered Hans.
“A goodly sum,” said Olé despondingly. “No, no, Hans, give her up, boy, give her up. It is the advice of an oldish man and a true friend.”
“It is the advice of an ass,” retorted Hans fiercely. “Go, my true friend,—when I want your advice I will ask it.”
The youth flung off from his friend, and came suddenly on Fred Temple, who rose and saluted him.
“This is a splendid city of yours, Hans,” said he. “You know my name, and you speak Norse,” exclaimed the youth in surprise.
“I know your name, Hans, because I heard your friend mention it, and I can speak a little Norse because I have studied it. I have come to stay in Old Norway for a few months, and would like to get a little information about it from some one. Are you a busy man just now?”
“No, not very busy,” said Hans, with a disconcerted look.
“Then, could you call on me this afternoon? I live in Madame Sontoom’s house.”
“I will come,” said Hans, whose face beamed with good-humour.
“Good; I shall expect you. Farewell.”
“Farvel,” replied Hans.
Fred sauntered down the hill that morning with a very peculiar smile on his countenance. There was something quite sly about his aspect, and more than once his companions caught him chuckling at breakfast in a way that surprised them much, for Fred Temple was not given to secrets, or to act in an outrageous manner without any apparent reason. But Fred had his own peculiar thoughts that morning, and they tickled him to such an extent that more than once he burst into a fit of laughter.
“Come, Fred, you’re meditating something. Out with it,” said Grant. “It is selfish to keep all your good thoughts to yourself.”
“Not yet, not yet,” replied Fred, with a mysterious look. “You shall know before our excursion comes to an end.”
Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Hans Ericsson, who was impatient to get employment of any kind in order to earn a few dollars, and lay them up with a view to the future. Fred took him aside, and said in a low tone—“Hans, are you very anxious to wed Raneilda?”
The young Norseman’s face flushed, and he started as if he had received a blow.
“Don’t be angry, Hans,” continued Fred; “I ask the question because I think I can help you in the matter if you will allow me. I do not ask it out of idle curiosity. Come, tell me your troubles like a good fellow, and I’ll put you in the way of getting out of them.”
Hans was inclined to repel Fred’s kind intentions at first, but the Englishman’s open, honest manner won upon him so much that he related to him all his sorrows.
He was the son of Eric, who dwelt in a valley at the head of the Nord Fiord. His father was too old to manage his farm, and Hans wished to take it up and work it on his own account. But, in order to do so, he must buy up the shares of the other members of his family. This would require 500 dollars. He had worked hard for two years to make this sum, but there was still 200 dollars to pay. He could make this in the course of time, but he had been engaged to Raneilda long, and he wished now to make her his wife. In short, he was tired of waiting.
“So, then, you would be glad to get some sort of work with good pay,” said Fred.
“Ya,” said Hans, with a nod of his head.
“Can you pilot a schooner from this to the Nord Fiord?”
“Ya, I know every island on the coast.”
“Good; then be ready to start this evening. I shall send my vessel there in your charge, and I myself with my friends will travel overland and meet you there. Farewell!”
Hans went off to tell Raneilda, his handsome face beaming with joy.
“Now,” said Fred, returning to his friends, “I have made arrangements with a pilot to take the Snowflake round to the Nord Fiord, and we will travel overland to the same place and meet it. The journey will be a very charming one of several days, through wild magnificent scenery. By the way, Grant, did you order the two sheep to be killed and sent aboard immediately?”
“Of course I did. Have I not always proved myself a trustworthy messenger? I told the man, in my best Norse, to have two ‘Kos’ killed without delay.”
“Two what?” exclaimed Fred, with a look of alarm.
“Two Kos,” returned Grant; “did you not tell me that Ko is the Norse word for a sheep?”
“Why, as I live, you have ordered two cows to be killed. Quick, come with me to the butcher’s!”
The two friends rushed out of the house, and reached the shop of the man of meat just in time, fortunately, to arrest the fatal blow. The order was of course countermanded, and they were thus saved the necessity of setting up a butcher’s shop in Bergen to get rid of their superabundant beef!
That night the Snowflake set sail for the far north, and next morning our three adventurers were galloping through the wilds of Norway.
As I am now about to drag my reader through the wild interior of Norway, let me try to describe it. Don’t be alarmed, dear reader, I do not mean to be tedious on this point, but I candidly confess that I am puzzled as to how I should begin! Norway is such a jumble of Nature’s elements. Perhaps a jumbled description may answer the purpose better than any other. Here it is, then.
Mountains, and crags, and gorges, and rocks, and serried ridges; towering peaks and dark ravines; lakes, and fords, and glens, and valleys; pine-woods, and glaciers, (For a full description of glaciers, see “Fast in the Ice,” page 86, volume 3 of this Miscellany) streamlets, rivulets, rivers, cascades, waterfalls, and cataracts. Add to this—in summer—sweltering heat in the valleys and everlasting snow and ice on the mountain-tops, with sunlight all night as well as all day—and the description of Norway is complete. No arrangement of these materials is necessary. Conceive them arranged as you will, and no matter how wild your fancy, your conception will be a pretty fair idea of Norway. Toes these elements into some chamber of your brain; shake them well up,—don’t be timid about it,—then look at the result, and you will behold Norway!
Having said thus much, it is unnecessary to say more. Rugged grandeur is the main feature of Norway.
On a lovely summer’s evening, not long after the departure of the Snowflake from Bergen, our three travellers found themselves trotting through a wild glen on each side of which rose a range of rugged mountains, and down the centre of which roared a small river. The glen was so steep, and the bed of the torrent so broken, that there was not a spot of clear water in its whole course. From the end of the lake out of which it flowed, to the head of the fiord or firth into which it ran, the river was one boiling, roaring mass of milk-white foam.
Fred Temple and his friends travelled in the ordinary vehicle of the country, which is called a cariole. The Norwegian cariole holds only one person, and the driver or attendant sits on a narrow board above the axle-tree.
Of course it follows that each traveller in Norway must have a cariole and a pony to himself. These are hired very cheaply, however. You can travel post there at the rate of about twopence a mile! Our friends had three carioles among them, three ponies, and three drivers or “shooscarles,” (This word is spelt as it should be pronounced) besides a small native cart to carry the luggage.
Their drive that day, and indeed every day since starting, had been emphatically up hill and down dale. It was, therefore, impossible to cross such a country in the ordinary jog-trot manner. When not ascending a steep hill, they were necessarily descending one; for the level parts of the land are few and far between. In order, therefore, to get on at all, it was needful to descend the hills at a slapping pace, so as to make up for time lost in ascending them.
There was something delightfully wild in this mode of progressing, which gladdened the hearts of our travellers, each of whom had a strong dash of recklessness in his composition. There was a little danger, too, connected with it, which made it all the more attractive. Frequently the
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