TICKET NO. "9672"
by
JULES VERNE
Translated from the French by Laura E. Kendall
CHAPTER I.
"What time is it?" inquired Dame Hansen, shaking the ashes from her
pipe, the last curling rings from which were slowly disappearing
between the stained rafters overhead.
"Eight o'clock, mother," replied Hulda.
"It isn't likely that any travelers will come to-night. The weather is
too stormy."
"I agree with you. At all events, the rooms are in readiness, and if
any one comes, I shall be sure to hear them."
"Has your brother returned?"
"Not yet."
"Didn't he say he would be back to-night?"
"No, mother. Joel went to take a traveler to Lake Tinn, and as he
didn't start until very late, I do not think he can get back to Dal
before to-morrow."
"Then he will spend the night at Moel, probably."
"Yes; unless he should take it into his head to go on to Bamble to see
Farmer Helmboe."
"And his daughter Siegfrid."
"Yes. Siegfrid, my best friend, whom I love like a sister!" replied
the young girl, smiling.
"All, well, Hulda, shut up the house, and let's go to bed."
"You are not ill, are you, mother?"
"No; but I want to be up bright and early to-morrow morning. I must go
to Moel."
"What for?"
"Why, we must be laying in our stock of provisions for the coming
summer, and--"
"And I suppose the agent from Christiania has come down with his wagon
of wines and provisions."
"Yes; Lengling, the foreman at the saw-mill, met him this afternoon,
and informed me of the fact as he passed. We have very little left in
the way of ham and smoked salmon, and I don't want to run any risk of
being caught with an empty larder. Tourists are likely to begin their
excursions to the Telemark almost any day now; especially, if the
weather should become settled, and our establishment must be in a
condition to receive them. Do you realize that this is the fifteenth
of April?"
"The fifteenth of April!" repeated the young girl, thoughtfully.
"Yes, so to-morrow I must attend to these matters," continued Dame
Hansen. "I can make all my purchases in two hours, and I will return
with Joel in the kariol."
"In case you should meet the postman, don't forget to ask him if there
is a letter for us--"
"And especially for you. That is quite likely, for it is a month since
you heard from Ole."
"Yes, a month--a whole month."
"Still, you should not worry, child. The delay is not at all
surprising. Besides, if the Moel postman has nothing for you, that
which didn't come by the way of Christiania may come by the way of
Bergen, may it not?"
"Yes, mother," replied Hulda. "But how can I help worrying, when I
think how far it is from here to the Newfoundland fishing banks. The
whole broad Atlantic to cross, while the weather continues so bad. It
is almost a year since my poor Ole left me, and who can say when we
shall see him again in Dal?"
"And whether we shall be here when he returns," sighed Dame Hansen,
but so softly that her daughter did not hear the words.
Hulda went to close the front door of the inn which stood on the
Vesfjorddal road; but she did not take the trouble to turn the key in
the lock. In hospitable Norway, such precautions are unnecessary. It
is customary for travelers to enter these country inns either by
night or by day without calling any one to open the door; and even
the loneliest habitations are safe from the depredations of thieves
or assassins, for no criminal attempts against life or property ever
disturb the peace of this primitive land.
The mother and daughter occupied two front rooms on the second story
of the inn--two neat and airy, though plainly furnished rooms. Above
them, directly under the sloping roof, was Joel's chamber, lighted by
a window incased in a tastefully carved frame-work of pine.
From this window, the eye, after roaming over the grand mountain
horizon, returned with delight to the narrow valley through which
flowed the Maan, which is half river, half torrent.
A wooden staircase, with heavy balusters and highly polished steps,
led from the lower hall to the floors above, and nothing could be more
neat and attractive than the whole aspect of this establishment, in
which the travelers found a comfort that is rare in Norwegian inns.
Hulda and her mother were in the habit of retiring early when they
were alone, and Dame Hansen had already lighted her candle, and was
on her way upstairs, when a loud knocking at the door made them both
start.
"Dame Hansen! Dame Hansen!" cried a voice.
Dame Hansen paused on the stairs.
"Who can have come so late?" she exclaimed.
"Can it be that Joel has met with an accident?" returned Hulda,
quickly.
And she hastened toward the door.
She found a lad there--one of the young rascals known as -skydskarls-,
that make a living by clinging to the back of kariols, and taking the
horse back when the journey is ended.
"What do you want here at this hour?" asked Hulda.
"First of all to bid you good-evening," replied the boy,
mischievously.
"Is that all?"
"No; that isn't all; but a boy oughtn't to forget his manners, ought
he?"
"You are right. But who sent you?"
"Your brother Joel."
"And what for?" asked Dame Hansen, advancing to the door with the
slow and measured tread that is a characteristic of the inhabitants of
Norway. There is quicksilver in the veins of their soil, but little or
none in the veins of their bodies.
The reply had evidently caused the mother some anxiety, however, for
she added hastily:
"Has anything happened to my son?"
"No, but the Christiania postman gave him a letter, and--"
"A letter from Drammen?" repeated Dame Hansen, in a lower tone.
"I don't know about that," replied the youth. "All I do know is, that
Joel can't get home before to-morrow, and he sent me here to deliver
the letter."
"It is important then?"
"I should judge so."
"Hand it here," said Dame Hansen, in a tone that betrayed keen
anxiety.
"Here it is, clean and not wrinkled in the least. But the letter is
not for you."
Dame Hansen seemed to breathe more freely.
"Then who is it for?" she asked.
"For your daughter."
"For me!" cried Hulda. "It is a letter from Ole! I am sure it is--a
letter that came by way of Christiania. My brother did not want me to
be kept waiting."
Hulda had snatched the letter from the boy's hand, and now taking
it to the table upon which her mother had deposited the candle, she
examined the address.
"Yes, it is from him. It is certainly from him! Heaven grant that he
writes to announce the speedy return of the 'Viking'!"
"Won't you come in?" said Dame Hansen, turning to the boy.
"Only for a minute. I must get back home to-night, for I am to go with
a kariol to-morrow morning."
"Very well. Tell Joel, from me, that I expect to go to Moel to-morrow,
and that he must wait for me there."
"To-morrow evening?"
"No; to-morrow morning, and he must not leave Moel until he sees me.
We will return to Dal together."
"Very well, Dame Hansen."
"Won't you take a drop of -brandevin-?"
"With pleasure."
The boy approached the table, and Dame Hansen handed him a glass of
the beverage which is such a powerful protection against the evening
fogs. It is needless to say that he drained the glass, then,
"-God-aften!-" he said.
"-God-aften-, my son!"
This is the Norwegian good-night. It was simply spoken, without even
an inclination of the head, and the lad instantly departed, without
seeming to mind in the least the long walk that he had before him. The
sound of his footsteps soon died away beneath the trees that border
the swiftly flowing river.
Hulda still stood gazing at Ole's letter. Think of it! This frail
envelope must have crossed the broad ocean to reach her, the broad
ocean in which the rivers of western Norway lose themselves. She
examined the different postmarks. Though mailed on the 15th of March,
the missive had not reached Dal until the 15th of April. Why! a month
had already elapsed since the letter was written! How many things
might have happened in a month on the shores of Newfoundland! Was it
not still winter, the dangerous season of equinoxes? Are not these
fishing banks the most dangerous in the world, swept by terrible gales
from the North Pole? A perilous and arduous vocation was this business
of fishing which Ole followed! And if he followed it was it not that
she, his betrothed, whom he was to marry on his return, might reap the
benefits?
Poor Ole! What did he say in this letter? Doubtless that he loved
Hulda as faithfully and truly as Hulda loved him, that they were
united in thought, in spite of the distance that separated them, and
that he longed for the day of his return to Dal.
Yes, he said all this, Hulda was sure of it. But perhaps he might add
that the day of his return was near at hand--that the fishing cruise
which had enticed the inhabitants of Bergen so far from their native
land, was nearly at an end. Perhaps Ole would tell her that the
"Viking" had finished taking aboard her cargo, that she was about
to sail, and that the last days of April would not pass without a
blissful meeting in the pleasant home at Vesfjorddal. Perhaps, too, he
would assure her, at last, that she might safely appoint the day for
the pastor to come to Moel to unite them in the little chapel whose
steeple rose from a small grove not a hundred yards from Dame Hansen's
inn.
To learn all this, it might only be necessary to break the seal, draw
out Ole's letter, and read it, through the tears of joy or sorrow that
its contents would be sure to bring to Hulda's eyes, and doubtless
more than one impatient girl of the south, or even of Denmark or
Holland, would already have known all! But Hulda was in a sort of a
dream, and dreams terminate only when God chooses to end them, and how
often one regrets them, so bitter is the reality.
"Is it really a letter from Ole that your brother has sent you, my
daughter?" inquired Dame Hansen.
"Yes; I recognize the handwriting."
"Well, are you going to wait until to-morrow to read it?"
Hulda took one more look at the envelope, then, after slowly breaking
the seal, she drew out the carefully written letter, which read as
follows:
"Saint-Pierre-Miquelon, March 17th, 1862.
"My Dearest Hulda,--You will hear, with pleasure, that our
fishing venture has prospered, and that it will be concluded
in a few days. Yes; we are nearing the end of the season, and
after a year's absence how glad I shall be to return to Dal
and find myself in the midst of the only friends I have in the
world--yours and mine.
"My share in the profits of the expedition amounts to quite
a handsome sum, which will start us in housekeeping. Messrs.
Help Bros., the owners of the ship, have been informed that
the 'Viking' will probably return by the 15th or 20th of May;
so you may expect to see me at that time; that is to say, in a
few weeks at the very longest.
"My dear Hulda, I trust to find you looking even prettier
than at my departure, and in the best of health, you and your
mother as well, also that hardy, brave comrade, my cousin
Joel, your brother, who asks nothing better than to become
mine.
"On receipt of this, give my very best respects to Dame
Hansen--I can see her now, sitting in her wooden arm-chair by
the old stove in the big hall--and tell her I love her with a
twofold love, for she is my aunt as well as your mother.
"Above all, don't take the trouble to come to Bergen to meet
me, for it is quite possible that the 'Viking' will arrive at
an earlier date than I have mentioned. However that may be, my
dear Hulda can count upon seeing me at Dal twenty-four hours
after we land. Don't be too much surprised if I should arrive
considerably ahead of time.
"We have had a pretty rough time of it, this past winter, the
weather having been more severe than any our fishermen have
ever encountered; but fortunately fish have been plenty.
The 'Viking' brings back nearly five thousand quintals,
deliverable at Bergen, and already sold by the efforts of Help
Bros. And last, but not least, we have succeeded in selling
at a handsome profit, and I, who have a share in the venture,
will realize something quite handsome from it.
"Besides, even if I should not bring a small competence home
with me, I have an idea, or rather, I have a presentiment that
it is awaiting me on my return. Yes; comparative wealth, to
say nothing of happiness! In what way? That is my secret, my
dearest Hulda, and you will forgive me for having a secret
from you! It is the only one! Besides, I will tell you all
about it. When? Well, as soon as an opportunity offers--before
our marriage, if it should be delayed by some unforeseen
misfortune--afterward, if I return at the appointed time, and
you become my wife within a week after my arrival, as I trust
you will.
"A hundred fond kisses, my darling Hulda. Kiss Dame Hansen,
and Joel, too, for me. In fancy, I imprint another kiss upon
your brow, around which the shining crown of the brides of
the Telemark will cast a saint-like halo. Once more, farewell,
dearest Hulda, farewell!
"Your devoted lover,
"OLE KAMP."
CHAPTER II.
Dal is a modest hamlet consisting of but a few houses; some on
either side of a road that is little more than a bridle-path, others
scattered over the surrounding hills. But they all face the narrow
valley of Vesfjorddal, with their backs to the line of hills to the
north, at the base of which flows the Maan.
A little church erected in 1855, whose chancel is pierced by two
narrow stained-glass windows, lifts its square belfry from out a leafy
grove hard by. Here and there rustic bridges cross the rivulets that
dance merrily along toward the river. In the distance are two or three
primitive saw-mills, run by water-power, with a wheel to move the
saw, as well as a wheel to move the beam or the tree; and seen from a
little distance, the chapel, saw-mills, houses, and cabins, all seem
to be enveloped in a soft olive haze that emanates from the dark-green
firs and the paler birches which either singly or in groups extend
from the winding banks of the Maan to the crests of the lofty
mountains.
Such is the fresh and laughing hamlet of Dal, with its picturesque
dwellings, painted, some of them, in delicate green or pale pink
tints, others in such glaring colors as bright yellow and blood-red.
The roofs of birch bark, covered with turf, which is mown in the
autumn, are crowned with natural flowers. All this is indescribably
charming, and eminently characteristic of the most picturesque country
in the world. In short, Dal is in the Telemark, the Telemark is in
Norway, and Norway is in Switzerland, with thousands of fiords that
permit the sea to kiss the feet of its mountains.
The Telemark composes the broad portion of the immense horn that
Norway forms between Bergen and Christiania.
This dependency of the prefecture of Batsberg, has the mountains and
glaciers of Switzerland, but it is not Switzerland. It has gigantic
water-falls like North America, but it is not America. The landscape
is adorned with picturesque cottages, and processions of inhabitants,
clad in costumes of a former age, like Holland, but it is not Holland.
The Telemark is far better than any or all of these; it is the
Telemark, noted above all countries in the world for the beauty of
its scenery. The writer has had the pleasure of visiting it. He has
explored it thoroughly, in a kariol with relays of post-horses--when
he could get them--and he brought back with him such a vivid
recollection of its manifold charms that he would be glad to convey
some idea of it to the reader of this simple narrative.
At the date of this story, 1862, Norway was not yet traversed by the
railroad that now enables one to go from Stockholm to Drontheim, by
way of Christiania. Now, an extensive network of iron rails extends
entirely across these two Scandinavian countries, which are so averse
to a united existence. But imprisoned in a railroad-carriage, the
traveler, though he makes much more rapid progress than in a kariol,
misses all the originality that formerly pervaded the routes of
travel. He misses the journey through Southern Sweden on the curious
Gotha Canal, in which the steamboats, by rising from lock to lock,
manage to reach an elevation of three hundred feet. Nor does he have
an opportunity to visit the falls of Trolletann, nor Drammen, nor
Kongsberg, nor any of the beauties of the Telemark.
In those days the railroad existed only upon paper. Twenty years were
to elapse before one could traverse the Scandinavian kingdom from
one shore to the other in forty hours, and visit the North Cape on
excursion tickets to Spitzberg.
In those days Dal was, and may it long remain, the central point
for foreign or native tourists, these last being for the most part
students from Christiania. From Dal they could wander over the entire
Telemark and Hardanger region, explore the valley of Vesfjorddal
between Lakes Mjos and Tinn, and visit the wonderful cataracts of the
Rjukan Tun. The hamlet boasts of but one inn, but that is certainly
the most attractive and comfortable imaginable, and one of the
most important also, for it can offer four bed-chambers for the
accommodation of its guests. In a word, it is Dame Hansen's inn.
A few benches surround the base of its pink walls, which are separated
from the ground by a substantial granite foundation. The spruce
rafters and weather-boarding have acquired such hardness and toughness
with age that the sharpest hatchet can make little or no impression
upon them. Between the roughly hewn rafters, which are placed
horizontally one above the other, a mixture of clay and turf forms
a stanch roof, through which the hardest winter rains can not force
their way.
Upstairs, in the bedrooms, the ceilings are painted in dark red or
black tints to contrast with the more cheerful and delicate hues of
the wood-work.
In one corner of the large hall stands a huge cylinder stove, the
pipe of which rises nearly to the ceiling, before it disappears in the
kitchen chimney. In another corner stands a tall clock which emits
a sonorous tick-tack, as its carved hands travel slowly around its
enameled face. Here is a secretary, black with age, side by side
with a massive iron tripod. Upon the mantel is an immense terra-cotta
candlestick which can be transformed into a three-branched candelabrum
by turning it upside down. The handsomest furniture in the house
adorns this spacious hall--the birch-root table, with its spreading
feet, the big chest with its richly wrought brass handles, in which
the Sunday and holiday clothing is kept, the tall arm-chair, hard
and uncomfortable as a church-pew, the painted wooden chairs, and
the spinning-wheel striped with green, to contrast with the scarlet
petticoat of the spinner.
Yonder stands the pot in which the butter is kept, and the paddle with
which it is worked, and here is the tobacco-box, and the grater of
elaborately carved bone.
And, finally, over the door which opens into the kitchen is a large
dresser, with long rows of brass and copper cooking-utensils and
bright-colored dishes, the little grindstone for sharpening knives,
half-buried in its varnished case, and the egg-dish, old enough to
serve as a chalice.
And how wonderful and amusing are the walls, hung with linen
tapestries representing scenes from the Bible, and brilliant with all
the gorgeous coloring of the pictures of Epinal.
As for the guests' rooms, though they are less pretentious, they are
no less comfortable, with their spotless neatness, their curtains of
hanging-vines that droop from the turf-covered roof, their huge beds,
sheeted with snowy and fragrant linen, and their hangings with verses
from the Old Testament, embroidered in yellow upon a red ground.
Nor must we forget that the floor of the main hall, and the floors of
all the rooms, both upstairs and down, are strewn with little twigs
of birch, pine, and juniper, whose leaves fill the house with their
healthful and exhilarating odor.
Can one imagine a more charming -posada- in Italy, or a more seductive
-fonda- in Spain? No. And the crowd of English tourists have not yet
raised the scale of prices as in Switzerland--at least, they had not
at the time of which I write. In Dal, the current coin is not the
pound sterling, the sovereign of which the travelers' purse is
soon emptied. It is a silver coin, worth about five francs, and its
subdivisions are the mark, equal in value to about a franc, and the
skilling, which must not be confounded with the English shilling, as
it is only equivalent to a French -sou-.
Nor will the tourist have any opportunity to use or abuse the
pretentious bank-note in the Telemark. One-mark notes are white;
five-mark notes are blue; ten-mark notes are yellow; fifty-mark notes,
green; one hundred mark notes, red. Two more, and we should have all
the colors of the rainbow.
Besides--and this is a point of very considerable importance--the
food one obtains at the Dal inn is excellent; a very unusual thing
at houses of public entertainment in this locality, for the Telemark
deserves only too well its surname of the Buttermilk Country. At
Tiness, Listhus, Tinoset, and many other places, no bread is to be
had, or if there be, it is of such poor quality as to be uneatable.
One finds there only an oaten cake, known as -flat brod-, dry, black,
and hard as pasteboard, or a coarse loaf composed of a mixture of
birch-bark, lichens, and chopped straw. Eggs are a luxury, and a most
stale and unprofitable one; but there is any quantity of poor beer to
be had, a profusion of buttermilk, either sweet or sour, and sometimes
a little coffee, so thick and muddy that it is much more like
distilled soot than the products of Mocha or Rio Nunez.
In Dame Hansen's establishment, on the contrary, cellar and larder
were alike well-stored. What more could the most exacting tourist
ask than salmon, either salt or smoked--fresh salmon that have never
tasted tainted waters, fish from the pure streams of the Telemark,
fowls, neither too fat nor too lean, eggs in every style, crisp
oaten and barley cakes, fruits, more especially strawberries,
bread--unleavened bread, it is here, but of the very best
quality--beer, and some old bottles of that Saint Julien that have
spread the fame of French vineyards even to this distant land?
And this being the case, it is not strange that the inn at Dal is well
and favorably known in all the countries of Northern Europe.
One can see this, too, by glancing over the register in which many
travelers have not only recorded their names, but paid glowing
tributes to Dame Hansen's merits as an inn-keeper. The names are
principally those of Swedes and Norwegians from every part of
Scandinavia; but the English make a very respectable showing; and one
of them, who had waited at least an hour for the summit of Gousta to
emerge from the morning mist that enveloped it, wrote upon one of the
pages:
"Patientia omnia vincit?"
CHAPTER III.
Without being very deeply versed in ethnography, one may be strongly
inclined to believe, in common with many -savants-, that a close
relationship exists between the leading families of the English
aristocracy and the oldest families of Scandinavia. Numerous proofs
of this fact, indeed, are to be found in the ancestral names which
are identical in both countries. There is no aristocracy in Norway,
however; still, though the democracy everywhere rules, that does not
prevent it from being aristocratic to the highest degree. All are
equals upon an exalted plane instead of a low one. Even in the
humblest hut may be found a genealogical tree which has not
degenerated in the least because it has sprung up anew in humble soil;
and the walls are adorned with the proud blazons of the feudal lords
from whom these plain peasants are descended.
So it was with the Hansens of Dal, who were unquestionably related,
though rather remotely, to the English peers created after Rollo's
invasion of Normandy, and though rank and wealth had both departed
they had at least preserved the old pride, or rather dignity, which
becomes all social ranks.
It was a matter of very little consequence, however. Whether he had
ancestors of lofty lineage or not, Harald Hansen was simply a village
inn-keeper. The house had come down to him from his father and from
his grandfather, who were widely known and respected, and after
his death his widow continued the business in a way that elicited
universal commendation.
Whether or not Harald had made a fortune in the business, no one
was able to say; but he had been able to rear his son Joel and his
daughter Hulda in comfort; and Ole Kamp, a son of his wife's sister,
had also been brought up like one of his own children. But for his
uncle Harald, this orphan child would doubtless have been one of those
poor creatures who come into the world only to leave it; and Ole
Kamp evinced a truly filial devotion toward his parents by adoption.
Nothing would ever sever the tie that bound him to the Hansen family,
to which his marriage with Hulda was about to bind him still more
closely.
Harald Hansen had died about eighteen months before, leaving his
wife, in addition to the inn, a small farm on the mountain, a piece
of property which yielded very meager returns, if any. This was
especially true of late, for the seasons had been remarkably
unpropitious, and agriculture of every kind had suffered greatly,
even the pastures. There had been many of those "iron nights," as the
Norwegian peasants call them--nights of north-easterly gales and ice
that kill the corn down to the very root--and that meant ruin to the
farmers of the Telemark and the Hardanger.
Still, whatever Dame Hansen might think of the situation of affairs,
she had never said a word to any living soul, not even to her
children. Naturally cold and reserved, she was very uncommunicative--a
fact that pained Hulda and Joel not a little. But with that respect
for the head of the family innate in Northern lands, they made no
attempt to break down a reserve which was eminently distasteful to
them. Besides, Dame Hansen never asked aid or counsel, being firmly
convinced of the infallibility of her own judgment, for she was a true
Norwegian in that respect.
Dame Hansen was now about fifty years old. Advancing age had not bowed
her tall form, though it had whitened her hair; nor had it dimmed the
brightness of her dark-blue eyes, whose azure was reflected in the
clear orbs of her daughter; but her complexion had taken on the yellow
hue of old parchment, and a few wrinkles were beginning to furrow her
forehead.
The madame, as they say in Scandinavia, was invariably attired in a
full black skirt, for she had never laid aside her mourning since her
husband's death. Below the shoulder-straps of a brown bodice appeared
the long full sleeves of an unbleached cotton chemise. On her
shoulders she wore a small dark-colored fichu that crossed upon her
breast, which was also covered by the large bib of her apron. She
always wore as a head-dress a close-fitting black-silk cap that
covered almost her entire head, and tied behind, a kind of head-dress
that is rarely seen nowadays.
Seated stiffly erect in her wooden arm-chair, the grave hostess
neglected her spinning-wheel only to enjoy a small birchwood pipe,
whose smoke enveloped her in a faint cloud.
Really, the house would have seemed very gloomy had it not been for
the presence of the two children.
A worthy lad was Joel Hansen. Twenty-five years of age, well built,
tall, like all Norwegian mountaineers, proud in bearing, though not
in the least boastful or conceited. He had fine hair, verging upon
chestnut, with blue eyes so dark as to seem almost black. His garb
displayed to admirable advantage his powerful shoulders, his broad
chest, in which his lungs had full play, and stalwart limbs which
never failed him even in the most difficult mountain ascents. His
dark-blue jacket, fitting tightly at the waist, was adorned on the
shoulders with epaulets, and in the back with designs in colored
embroidery similar to those that embellish the vests of the Breton
peasantry. His yellow breeches were fastened at the knee by large
buckles. Upon his head he wore a broad-brimmed brown hat with a
red-and-black band, and his legs were usually incased either in coarse
cloth gaiters or in long stout boots without heels.
His vocation was that of a mountain guide in the district of the
Telemark, and even in the Hardanger. Always ready to start, and
untiring in his exertions, he was a worthy descendant of the Norwegian
hero Rollo, the walker, celebrated in the legends of that country.
Between times he accompanied English sportsmen who repair to that
region to shoot the riper, a species of ptarmigan, larger than that
found in the Hebrides, and the jerpir, a partridge much more delicate
in its flavor than the grouse of Scotland. When winter came, the
hunting of wolves engrossed his attention, for at that season of the
year these fierce animals, emboldened by hunger, not unfrequently
venture out upon the surface of the frozen lake. Then there was bear
hunting in summer, when that animal, accompanied by her young, comes
to secure its feast of fresh grass, and when one must pursue it over
plateaus at an altitude of from ten to twelve thousand feet. More than
once Joel had owed his life solely to the great strength that enabled
him to endure the embraces of these formidable animals, and to the
imperturbable coolness which enabled him to eventually dispatch them.
But when there was neither tourist nor hunter to be guided through the
valley of the Vesfjorddal, Joel devoted his attention to the -soetur-,
the little mountain farm where a young shepherd kept guard over half
a dozen cows and about thirty sheep--a -soetur- consisting exclusively
of pasture land.
Joel, being naturally very pleasant and obliging, was known and loved
in every village in the Telemark; but two persons for whom he felt a
boundless affection were his cousin Ole and his sister Hulda.
When Ole Kamp left Dal to embark for the last time, how deeply Joel
regretted his inability to dower Hulda and thus avert the necessity
for her lover's departure! In fact, if he had been accustomed to the
sea, he would certainly have gone in his cousin's place. But money was
needed to start them in housekeeping, and as Dame Hansen had offered
no assistance, Joel understood only too well that she did not feel
inclined to devote any portion of the estate to that purpose, so there
was nothing for Ole to do but cross the broad Atlantic.
Joel had accompanied him to the extreme end of the valley on his way
to Bergen, and there, after a long embrace, he wished him a pleasant
journey and a speedy return, and then returned to console his sister,
whom he loved with an affection which was at the same time fraternal
and paternal in its character.
Hulda at that time was exactly eighteen years of age. She was not the
-piga-, as the servant in a Norwegian inn is called, but rather the
-froken-, the young lady of the house, as her mother was the madame.
What a charming face was hers, framed in a wealth of pale golden hair,
under a thin linen cap projecting in the back to give room for the
long plaits of hair! What a lovely form incased in this tightly
fitting bodice of red stuff, ornamented with green shoulder-straps and
surmounted by a snowy chemisette, the sleeves of which were fastened
at the wrist by a ribbon bracelet! What grace and perfect symmetry
in the waist, encircled by a red belt with clasps of silver filigree
which held in place the dark-green skirt, below which appeared the
white stocking protected by the dainty pointed toed shoe of the
Telemark!
Yes, Ole's betrothed was certainly charming, with the slightly
melancholy expression of the daughters of the North softening her
smiling face; and on seeing her one instantly thought of Hulda the
Fair, whose name she bore, and who figures as the household fairy in
Scandinavian mythology.
Nor did the reserve of a chaste and modest maiden mar the grace with
which she welcomed the guests who came to the inn. She was well
known to the world of tourists; and it was not one of the smallest
attractions of the inn to be greeted by that cordial shake of the
hand that Hulda bestowed on one and all. And after having said to her,
"-Tack for mad-" (Thanks for the meal), what could be more delightful
than to hear her reply in her fresh sonorous voice: "-Wed bekomme-!"
(May it do you good!)
CHAPTER IV.
Ole Kamp had been absent a year; and as he said in his letter, his
winter's experience on the fishing banks of Newfoundland had been
a severe one. When one makes money there one richly earns it. The
equinoctial storms that rage there not unfrequently destroy a whole
fishing fleet in a few hours; but fish abound, and vessels which
escape find ample compensation for the toil and dangers of this home
of the tempest.
Besides, Norwegians are excellent seamen, and shrink from no danger.
In the numberless fiords that extend from Christiansand to Cape North,
among the dangerous reefs of Finland, and in the channels of the
Loffoden Islands, opportunities to familiarize themselves with the
perils of ocean are not wanting; and from time immemorial they have
given abundant proofs of their courage. Their ancestors were intrepid
mariners at an epoch when the Hanse monopolized the commerce of
northern Europe. Possibly they were a trifle prone to indulge in
piracy in days gone by, but piracy was then quite common. Doubtless
commerce has reformed since then, though one may perhaps be pardoned
for thinking that there is still room for improvement.
However that may be, the Norwegians were certainly fearless seamen;
they are to-day, and so they will ever be. Ole Kamp was not the man to
belie his origin; besides, he had served his apprenticeship under his
father, who was the master of a Bergen coasting vessel. His childhood
had been spent in that port, which is one of the most frequented in
Scandinavia. Before he ventured out upon the open sea he had been an
untiring fisher in the fiords, and a fearless robber of the sea-birds'
nests, and when he became old enough to serve as cabin-boy he made a
voyage across the North Sea and even to the waters of the Polar Ocean.
Soon afterward his father died, and as he had lost his mother several
years before, his uncle Harald Hansen invited him to become a member
of his family, which he did, though he continued to follow the same
calling.
In the intervals between his voyages he invariably spent his time with
the friends he loved; but he made regular voyages upon large fishing
vessels, and rose to the rank of mate when he was but twenty-one. He
was now twenty-three years of age.
When he visited Dal, Joel found him a most congenial companion. He
accompanied him on his excursions to the mountains, and across the
highest table-lands of the Telemark. The young sailor seemed as much
at home in the fields as in the fiords, and never lagged behind unless
it was to keep his cousin Hulda company.
A close friendship gradually sprung up between Joel and Ole, and quite
naturally the same sentiment assumed a different form in respect to
the young girl. Joel, of course, encouraged it. Where would his sister
ever find a better fellow, a more sympathetic nature, a warmer and
more devoted heart? With Ole for a husband, Hulda's happiness was
assured. So it was with the entire approval of her mother and brother
that the young girl followed the natural promptings of her heart.
Though these people of the North are undemonstrative, they must not
be accused of a want of sensibility. No! It is only their way; and
perhaps their way is as good as any other, after all.
So it came to pass that one day, when all four of them were sitting
quietly together, Ole remarked, without any preamble whatever:
"An idea occurs to me, Hulda."
"What is it?"
"It seems to me that we ought to marry."
"I think so too."
"And so do I," added Dame Hansen as coolly as if the matter had been
under discussion for some time.
"I agree with you," remarked Joel, "and in that case I shall naturally
become your brother-in-law."
"Yes," said Ole; "but it is probable that I shall only love you the
better for it."
"That is very possible."
"We have your consent, then?"
"Upon my word! nothing would please me better," replied Joel.
"So it is decided, Hulda?" inquired Dame Hansen.
"Yes, mother," replied the girl, quietly.
"You are really willing?" asked Ole. "I have loved you a long time,
Hulda, without saying so."
"And I you, Ole."
"How it came about, I really do not know."
"Nor I."
"But it was doubtless seeing you grow more beautiful and good day by
day."
"That is saying a little too much, my dear Ole."
"No; I certainly ought to be able to say that without making you
blush, for it is only the truth. Didn't you see that I was beginning
to love Hulda, Dame Hansen?"
"I suspected as much."
"And you, Joel?"
"I was sure of it."
"Then I certainly think that you ought to have warned me," said Ole,
smiling.
"But how about your voyages, Ole?" inquired Dame Hansen. "Won't they
seem intolerable to you after you are married?"
"So intolerable that I shall not follow the sea any more after my
marriage."
"You will not go to sea any more?"
"No, Hulda. Do you think it would be possible for me to leave you for
months at a time?"
"So this is to be your last voyage?"
"Yes, and if we have tolerable luck, this voyage will yield me quite
a snug little sum of money, for Help Bros. have promised me a share in
the profits."
"They are good men," remarked Joel.
"The best men living," replied Ole, "and well known and highly
respected by all the sailors of Bergen."
"But what do you expect to do after you cease to follow the sea, my
dear Ole?" inquired Hulda.
"I shall go into partnership with Joel in his business, I have pretty
good legs, and if they are not good enough, I will improve them by
going into regular training. Besides, I have thought of a plan which
will not prove a bad one perhaps. Why can't we establish a messenger
service between Drammen, Kongsberg and a few other towns in the
Telemark? Communication now is neither easy nor regular, and there
might be money in the scheme. Besides, I have other plans, to say
nothing of--"
"Of what?"
"Never mind, now. I will tell you on my return. But I warn you that I
am firmly resolved to make my Hulda the happiest woman in the country.
Yes, I am."
"If you but knew how easy that will be!" replied Hulda, offering him
her hand. "Am I not that already, and is there a home in all Dal as
pleasant as ours?"
Dame Hansen hastily averted her head.
"So the matter is settled?" asked Ole, cheerfully.
"Yes," replied Joel.
"And settled beyond recall?"
"Certainly."
"And you feel no regret, Hulda?"
"None whatever, my dear Ole."
"I think, however, that it would be better not to appoint the day for
your marriage until after your return," remarked Joel.
"Very well, but it will go hard with me if I do not return in less
than a year to lead Hulda to the church at Moel, where our friend,
Pastor Andersen, will not refuse to make his best prayer for us!"
And it was in this way that the marriage of Hulda Hansen and Ole Kamp
had been decided upon.
The young sailor was to go aboard his vessel a week later; but before
they parted the lovers were formally betrothed in accordance with the
touching custom of Scandinavian countries.
In simple and honest Norway lovers are almost invariably publicly
betrothed before marriage. Sometimes the marriage is not solemnized
until two or three years afterward, but one must not suppose that the
betrothal is simply an interchange of vows which depend only upon the
honesty of the parties interested. No, the obligation is much more
sacred, and even if this act of betrothal is not binding in the eyes
of the law, it is, at least, so regarded by that universal law called
custom.
So, in this case, it was necessary to make arrangements for a ceremony
over which Pastor Andersen should preside. There was no minister in
Dal, nor in any of the neighboring hamlets. In Norway they have what
they call Sunday towns, in which the minister resides, and where the
leading families of the parish assemble for worship. They even lease
apartments there, in which they take up their abode for twenty-four
hours or more--time to perform their religious duties--and people
return from the town as from a pilgrimage.
Dal, it is true, boasted of a chapel, but the pastor came only when he
was summoned.
After all, Moel was not far off, only about eight miles distant, at
the end of Lake Tinn, and Pastor Andersen was a very obliging man,
and a good walker; so the worthy minister was invited to attend the
betrothal in the twofold capacity of minister and family friend. The
acquaintance was one of long standing. He had seen Joel and Hulda grow
up, and loved them as well as he loved that young sea-dog, Ole Kamp,
so the news of the intended marriage was very pleasing to him.
So Pastor Andersen gathered together his robe, his collar, and his
prayer-book, and started off for Dal one misty, moisty morning. He
arrived there in the company of Joel, who had gone half-way to meet
him, and it is needless to say that his coming was hailed with delight
at Dame Hansen's inn, that he had the very best room in the house, and
that the floor was freshly strewn with twigs of juniper that perfumed
it like a chapel.
At one o'clock on the following day the little church was thrown
open, and there, in the presence of the pastor and a few friends and
neighbors, Ole and Hulda solemnly promised to wed each other when the
young sailor should return from the last voyage he intended to make.
A year is a long time to wait, but it passes all the same, nor is it
intolerable when two persons can trust each other.
And now Ole could not, without good cause, forsake her to whom he had
plighted his troth, nor could Hulda retract the promise she had given
to Ole; and if Ole had not left Norway a few days after the betrothal,
he might have profited by the incontestable right it gave him to visit
the young girl whenever he pleased, to write to her whenever he chose,
walk out with her arm in arm, unaccompanied by any member of the
family, and enjoy a preference over all others in the dances that form
a part of all fêtes and ceremonies.
But Ole Kamp had been obliged to return to Bergen, and one week
afterward the "Viking" set sail for the fishing banks of Newfoundland,
and Hulda could only look forward to the letters which her betrothed
had promised to send her by every mail.
And these impatiently expected letters never failed her, and always
brought a ray of happiness to the house which seemed so gloomy
after the departure of one of its inmates. The voyage was safely
accomplished; the fishing proved excellent, and the profits promised
to be large. Besides, at the end of each letter, Ole always referred
to a certain secret, and of the fortune it was sure to bring him. It
was a secret that Hulda would have been glad to know, and Dame Hansen,
too, for reasons one would not have been likely to suspect.
Dame Hansen seemed to have become even more gloomy and anxious and
reticent than ever, and a circumstance which she did not see fit to
mention to her children increased her anxiety very considerably.
Three days after the arrival of Ole's last letter, as Dame Hansen
was returning alone from the saw-mill, to which place she had gone to
order a bag of shavings from the foreman, Lengling, she was accosted
near her own door by a man who was a stranger in that part of the
country.
"This is Dame Hansen, is it not?" he inquired.
"Yes; but I do not know you," was the reply.
"That doesn't matter," rejoined the man. "I arrived here only this
morning from Drammen, and am now on my way back."
"From Drammen?" repeated Dame Hansen, quickly.
"You are acquainted, I think, with a certain Monsieur Sandgoist, who
lives there?"
"Monsieur Sandgoist!" repeated Dame Hansen, whose face paled at the
name. "Yes, I know him."
"Ah, well! When Monsieur Sandgoist heard that I was coming to Dal, he
asked me to give his respects to you."
"Was that all?"
"And to say to you that it was more than probable that he would pay
you a visit next month. Good health to you, and good-evening, Dame
Hansen."
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