AN ENGLISH FISHERMAN—THE HAUNTED MILL—THE TOURIST’S PURCHASE—NOAH’S GOOD FORTUNE—THE STRAND FJORD—A WOMAN’S CURIOSITY—THE HEROINE OF OUR BOOK—A NORWEGIAN SEAMAN—THE MISTAKEN MANSION—THE AURDAL CHURCH—FRYDENLAND STATION—A ROADSIDE HALT—THE APPRECIATED GIFT—THE SEVERE YOUNG LADY—THE KIND-HEARTED PEASANT—KRŒMMERMOEN—IMPULSE AND REASON.

What delicious shade. Our water was soon boiling near the old mill. Our readers must not suppose the mill was a large one; it was about four times as large as a good-sized sentry-box. We may have even exaggerated the size. Norwegian mills are not on the ponderous scale of English ones.

The middags-mad consisted of our Stee trout cold. It was a fine trout, either steamed or boiled. In the heat of the day, the trout was pronounced by our gourmand gipsies excellent; some vinegar was allowed with it, besides tea, fladbrÖd, butter, and fried eggs.

The time had marked two o’clock when we arrived. The pleasant slope of green turf where we sat commanded the road. Whilst we were taking our midday meal, two Englishmen, one having a fishing-basket slung over his shoulder, passed in a stolkjoerre. Then we saw two young Norwegian tourists, in their high laced-up boots, one of whom carried a skin knapsack; they were pushing on at a swinging pace. Noah and Zachariah of course fell asleep. Esmeralda went to the old mill, and fancied she heard a curious moaning sound, something like groaning in it. We did not investigate it; besides, the mill was fastened; neither had we any permission from the owner to go into his mill—sit up in a haunted mill a few feet square! If the wheel should be turned by the ghost, where should we be? Ground to flour, eaten by a Norwegian for his middags-mad—made into fladbrÖd, and eaten by some English tourist. If we are to see ghosts, let it be in an old castle, family mansion, or the ruins of an abbey; but a mill;—besides, where was the owner?

As we sat on the green slope, we observed a wooded promontory, stretching into the fjord, below the road, and sent Noah to reconnoitre for camping ground. The Tarno Rye, we found, had a sore back; our bruise-mixture was applied. Noah reported unfavourably for remaining. The donkeys were loaded, and we quickly left the dingle, and the haunted mill. Somehow we had lingered, and lounged, in the pleasant shade, till after five o’clock. En Àvant was the word; away went tall Noah in advance, with the Puru Rawnee before him, the rest following, bag and baggage, as hard as the party could go, Noah with his coat off and his trowsers tucked up.

In the distance we could see Ulnoes church, near the “Strand Fjord.” Now we met a party of English tourists, bent upon enjoying themselves. Donkeys are drawn up in line for them to pass as we push on, with Noah in front. One said “Hvor meget,” pointing to Noah’s stick; probably he took us for Norwegian gipsies. Noah made no demur. The fir staff was in the Englishman’s hands in two seconds, whilst the gipsy pocketed two coins, which, we believe, made him one mark two skillings richer. Our passing was so hasty, that nothing more was said, as the jovial party, with much glee, carried with them Noah’s staff, as a souvenir of the incidents of travel.

Noah was well chaffed by Zachariah and Esmeralda. Noah was in high glee; he had sold the stick he had picked up yesterday, for one mark two skillings. Mephistopheles was miserable with vexation, that he had not a fir stick, to sell at one mark two skillings, to some English tourist. A division was even suggested. As the shorengro of the party, we should have come in for the lion’s share. Nay, there is a precedent in Isaac Walton, where the gipsies divide a sovereign. Esmeralda supported the idea, but the suggestion was without result.

Very shortly after we had passed Ulnoes church, we saw a peasant standing on the roadside. His gaard was not far from the road. At first, when we asked him, he said he had no fladbrÖd, but afterwards said “Ya.” Esmeralda and ourself went down to his house. First, he brought down two very large rounds of fladbrÖd. When we gave him a mark, he gave us half a mark back, and brought four more large rounds down. One large round of fladbrÖd generally costs two skillings.

It is difficult to purchase, even fladbrÖd, in harvest time: most of the peasants are away from their houses. If we had not been provided with a good commissariat, and had trusted to what provisions we could purchase, our party would have, indeed, fared very badly during their wanderings.

It was now getting dusk. We were near the shores of the Strand Fjord; nothing but inclosures met our view on either side the road; we must soon camp somewhere. It was nearly nine o’clock, when we came to a steep, barren, stony bank above the road. The upper portion was scantily wooded with birch trees and bushes. Hobson’s choice. The donkeys were unloaded, a fire lighted, and our baggage put on the only available ground, behind a low rock, just above the road.

Our aftens-mad was not lively. Midges and musketos attacked us on every side. Esmeralda got the water for tea from the fjord; she had to go from the road, across some enclosure, belonging to a cottage near. The woman shortly after came up to the road fence. Mephistopheles was interrogated in Norsk. Mephistopheles did not understand a word the woman said. Mephistopheles was extremely civil, saying “Ya, ya,” to every question she asked. At length she wound up with “Hvor fra” (where from?). To which Mephistopheles answered, “Coryadreadaminch.” The woman immediately left.

Very soon after we had halted, the loss was announced of the brass fishing-reel, from the fishing-rod, Zachariah had been using. Zachariah had forgotten to take it off the rod in the morning.

Notwithstanding our tent was pitched on the only available spot, consisting of loose angular stones, in spite of midges and musketos, we were soon sound asleep. The English gipsies in Norway, were long past that deplorable state of modern effeminacy, when you are unable to sleep comfortably on a gorse bush, with a bundle of thorns for a pillow.

It had thundered, and lightened, and rained heavily in the night. We were all fearfully bitten with musketos. Noah had been unable to sleep; Esmeralda not much better. Mephistopheles slept the best.

Being Saturday, the 13th August, we were anxious to secure a good camping-ground for our Sunday’s rest, and another day of quiet and repose. At three o’clock in the morning our gipsies struck the tents. The frokost consisted of tea, bacon, potatoes, cheese, and fladbrÖd. Esmeralda was rather bilious, with a sore lip. Our anxiety was great for the health of our Hobbenengree. Supposing anything happened to Esmeralda, the heroine of this book would be lost; and what is a book without a heroine? The Birmingham bagman would at once decline the work, as not according to contract. It would have been utterly impossible to supply her loss. There is no second Esmeralda—none like her. In truth, with all her tempers, all her faults, Esmeralda was the spirit of our wanderings. The pure Romnechal of our expedition.

Our donkeys were nearly loaded, when we were surprised by the apparition of a tall seaman, standing in the road close by. He informed us he had stayed the night at the house near—the same, probably, where our friend, the woman of the previous evening, lived. His ship had been lost near Throndhjem, and he was now going to Bergen. Had been in America; spoke English very well, with a strong American accent. We gave him a dram of brandy, and two skillings; whereupon he said, “It’s d—d bad for you not speaking Norsk,” and wishing us a good voyage, departed.

Before six o’clock we were en route. The rain had laid the dust; the morning was cloudy. There were two fishermen’s boats on the Strand Fjord. We passed the Strand Kirke. The scenery was very picturesque, rocks towering above us on our left, the Strand Fjord on our right. Some goats were racing and jumping on the narrow crags of a steep precipice above us.

Coming to some saw-mills, we crossed a wild ravine. Shortly after passing through a fir wood, we came in sight of the Fagernoes station. A shop is said to be attached to it. Upon inquiry, we found they had no shop, and we could not purchase anything. Some people came out to look at our donkeys, and we were soon en route.

The district through which we now passed seemed more populated, and is called North Aurdal. Two English tourists overtook us; one had a fishing-basket, and said he had not had much sport. He shortly after changed horses with a post-man, opposite a large building to our right. At first we took it for a gentleman’s mansion. It was the second building of stone, we had seen, since we left Lillehammer. All was neatness, with a drive to it from the road. When the English tourist changed horses in the road, opposite the entrance, we thought it might be a very first-class station. When we came up, and had some conversation with a very pleasant, well-dressed Norwegian, who was standing at the entrance, we found it was the gaol of the North Aurdal. He spoke English well, and had been in America. It is very probable he was the governor. They have a nice church at Aurdal, and a pleasant graveyard, close to the road. The wooden crosses were in the usual style. There was one simple marble monument, bearing an inscription; we notice it, for its brevity— Christopher Rogge
TÓdt 21 April, 1863,
Dod Nov., 1865.

As we came towards the Frydenland station, there were many houses along the roadside; some, apparently, for private residence. Two well-dressed young ladies passed us, and one smiled so pleasantly, that we could not omit the politeness of lifting our hat.

The Frydenland station is close to the road, and seemed very comfortable. They have a good-sized sitting-room, with a sofa, and all is exceedingly clean. The mistress was very civil and attentive. Whilst she provided us with three loaves of excellent bread, and a pound of good butter, we discussed a bottle of baiersk Öl in the sitting-room. Noah and Zachariah came in for their share. Esmeralda took charge of our baggage outside. Our bread, butter, and bottle of Öl cost two marks twelve skillings. As we came out into the road, the donkeys had found their admirers. A tall old gentleman with an immense hat, a stout lady, and a young lady, from a neighbouring house, and several people, were inspecting our animals and baggage. As we left, we exchanged good-humoured salutations, and their looks implied their best wishes for our bon voyage.

About twelve o’clock we approached to very nearly the turn from the main road towards “Kroemmermoen.” Coming to a large wooden trough on the roadside, supplied with clear water by a wooden spout from the rocks above, we called a halt. On the opposite side the road, a convenient space had been left, with a long wooden bench for travellers to sit upon. This is an excellent provision for the convenience of the wayfarer, which might be copied with advantage in England. Below the stone wall, along the roadside, the ground sloped to a valley.

Our baggage was all heaped behind the bench against the wall. A fire was lighted in the rocks above the road, and our water soon boiled for tea. A peasant, who lived at a house near, soon came down the road. He was a strong, powerful, intelligent-looking man, dressed in leather knee-breeches, woollen stockings, large shoes, one brace, and a spotted woollen shirt. The man was soon joined, by two comely, young, good-humoured females, probably his daughters. Then a peasant woman came from another house; soon after, a tall man came from we don’t know where. Peen gioere! Peen gioere! they all exclaimed, as they gazed in bewildered admiration at our donkeys. Out came the flask. We like to have our things admired. Out came the tobacco, and the man in leather breeches, borrowed a pipe from the tall man, and began to smoke. We were evidently looked upon as strolling actors of the better sort; yet the donkeys were their chief delight. Then they were much interested in our mode of making our tea in the Australian fashion, putting the tea into the boiling water, and reversing the usual mode. At length all, except one woman, and one or two children, left us. After the sardines were gone we presented the woman with the empty sardine box, whereupon she seized us by the hand, and shook hands, and immediately afterwards left, probably to place it in the strong armoire of her salle À manger.

Then, as we were at our middags-mad, a carriage and pair came in view, en route towards Bergen. Our Tarno Rye stood in the road. Noah was detached, but the Tarno Rye took himself off to the roadside, as soon as he saw the carriage.

The skydskarl was driving. A young lady was seated in front by the driver. An old gentleman and lady, probably her parents, were behind. Never shall we forget the young lady as the carriage came near our Tarno Rye. With desperate eagerness she suddenly snatched the whip from the boy. Then she dealt with all her might one vigorous stroke at our Tarno Rye, who was quietly standing on the roadside. We were amused at the expression of determination, and serious earnestness her countenance assumed. It is dreadful to think that our gallant Tarno Rye, after all his wanderings, was so nearly annihilated. What would Esmeralda have done? Fortunately our Tarno Rye, like the little jackdaw, in the Ingoldsby legend, was never a penny the worse.

Immediately after the carriage passed us, we saw what we at once knew before, that she was English. A heavy shower of rain came on soon afterwards, and, covering our baggage with the waterproof, we all availed ourselves of the same shelter. Our friend, the Norwegian farmer, came down the road through the pouring rain, and asked us to take shelter in his house. We explained that our covering was waterproof. He said something about our being wanderers, pointing good-naturedly towards his house, and then left. He had come through the rain himself, to offer us shelter and hospitality.

The rain cleared a little at half-past four o’clock, and we left at five. The farmer came down again. We gave him one of our gipsy songs as a souvenir, and he seemed much pleased. Afterwards, he came and showed us the turn from the Bergen and “GjÖvig” road to Kroemmermoen. Shaking hands, he left us, with many wishes for our prosperous journey.

The road towards Kroemmermoen was similar to one of our English country lanes, very pleasant, and picturesque. At times we passed through thick fir woods open to the road. It soon rained heavily. Noah and Zachariah had no overcoats or change, and were obliged to take their wetting philosophically. At some places we tried for fladbrÖd, but in vain. One woman came across a field, with wild fruit to sell us. We did not take the fruit; but as she stood in the wet, we could not help giving her some recompense. Ultimately, we came to the edge of a tremendous declivity. If you make a zigzag road down the outside of St. Paul’s, you have got it. A very small piece of broken ground lay on our right, at the edge of the steep precipitous descent. On this we drove the donkeys. Just then, up drove a carriole, and we recognised one of the young gentlemen from Lomen. The carriole was one of the best we had seen, and was drawn by a beautiful Norwegian pony. Directly the pony caught sight of our donkeys, out got our friend, with the inevitable p-r-r-rh p-r-r-r-rh. The pony, with Noah’s assistance, was safely led past. Then our Norwegian friend came to us, and we conversed, as well as our knowledge of each other’s language would allow. When he was gone, Noah and Zachariah were dispatched to seek a camp-ground, lower down the hill, nearer to Kroemmermoen. We were now above the deep and charming valley of Lille Bang. The rain drizzled down occasionally, as we stood on the broken ground, at the edge of a deep, wooded steep. One donkey lay down with its load. Esmeralda in her long cloak, paced the wet turf, hot, and fiery. Our beautiful Puru Rawnee had given her some offence. It seldom rains but it pours. The Tarno Rye had escaped a young English lady, and now our Puru Rawnee, was to be knocked down by the heroine of our book. Very likely! Supposing our Puru Rawnee killed! what then? The Birmingham bagman will refuse his two copies. “You’ve fallen short. Don’t find the Puru Rawnee at the end; contract not complete.” Esmeralda makes a dash at our beautiful donkey; her dark eyes flash fire. The spirit of the young English lady pales before her. If the young English lady had been there, it is probable she would have learned a lesson in humanity. We interposed. Fancy a studious, thoughtful, wanderer of nature, staying, for the moment, the torrent of impetuous feeling of the tall handsome gipsy-girl, Esmeralda, about to overwhelm the beautiful Puru Rawnee, at the edge of a wooded steep, in the mizzling rain, of a Norwegian summer’s eve! Gipsies are creatures of impulse. Few words said we. Strong, and impetuous as were the passions of our heroine, she had a heart—at times, could deeply feel. The Puru Rawnee escaped unhurt.