They live no longer in the faith of reason.”
“But here we are in Christiansand harbour, and yonder is my steamer, the Lindesnaes, which will take me to Porsgrund, whither I am bound; so farewell, and I hope you will not repent of your visit to Norway!”
CHAPTER II.
Disappointed fishermen—A formidable diver—Arendal, the Norwegian Venice—A vocabulary at fault—Ship-building—The Norwegian Seaboard—Sandefjord, the Norwegian Brighton—A complicated costume—Flora’s own bonnet—Bruin at large—Skien and its saw-mills—Norway cutting its sticks—Wooden walls—Christopher Hansen Blum—The Norwegian phase of religious dissent—A confession of faith—The Norsk Church the offspring of that of Great Britain.
Two Englishmen were on board the Lindesnaes, who had been fishing a week in the Torrisdal Elv, and had had two rises and caught nothing; so they are moving along the coast to try another river. But it is too late for this part of Norway. These are early rivers, and the fish have been too long up to afford sport with the fly.
The proverb, “never too old to learn,” was practically brought to my mind in an old Norwegian gentleman on board.
“My son, sir, has served in the English navy. I am seventy years old, and can speak some English. I will talk in that language and you in Norwegian, and so we shall both learn. You see, sir, we are now going into Arendal. This is a bad entrance when the wind is south-west, so we are clearing out that other passage there to the eastward. There is a diver at work there always. Oh, sir, he’s frightful to behold! First, he has a great helmet, and lumps of lead on his shoulders, and lead on his thighs, and lead on his feet. All lead, sir! And then he has a dagger in his belt.”
“A dagger!” said I; “what’s that for?”