“Come and help us!”
“It’s no use. The boat’s fast; the water has fallen from the dry weather, and old Erik himself can’t move it.”
“Well, let us try. You take one oar, and Thora the other, and I’ll go and haul in front.”
The two women used their oars like levers, when suddenly, Oh, horror!—snap went one of them. Tearing up a plank, which was nailed over the gunwale as a seat, I placed it as a launching way for the leviathan. This helped us wonderfully, and at last the unwieldly machine floated. The Danish Count would have flung “Trahuntque siccas machinæ carinas” in our faces, but he would have had to alter the epithet, as the boat was thoroughly water-logged. So much so, that when the horse and effects and we three were on board, it leaked very fast. The women took the oars, the broken one being mended by the garters of Meg Merrilies. The water rose in the boat much quicker than I liked, and I could not help envying a couple of great Northern divers, which my glass showed me floating corkily on the smooth water—fortunately it was so—if the truth were known they doubtless looked upon us with a mixture of commiseration and contempt.
When we arrived safely on the other side, which was distant about half-a-mile, I gave our help-in-need sixpence. She was perfectly amazed at my liberality.
“Du er a snil karro du.” (You’re a good fellow, you are.)
She was, she told me, the mother of fourteen children. Her pluck and sagacity were considerable. Now, will it be believed, that this awkward passage might altogether be avoided if the precipice were blasted for two or three score yards, so as to allow of the path winding round it. As it is, a traveller might arrive here, and if the boat were on the other side, might wait for a whole day or more, as nobody could hear or see him, and no human habitation is near.
As we rose the hill to Bykle, I saw two or three species of mushrooms, one of which, of a bright Seville-orange colour, with white imposthumes, I found to be edible. Visions of a comfortable place to put my head into smiled upon me, as I saw a church-spire rising up the mountain, and a gaard, the station-house, not far from it. But alas! I was doomed to be disappointed—all the family were at the Stöl, and the doors and windows fastened. A man fortunately appeared presently, whom I persuaded for a consideration to go and fetch the landlord. My guide meantime departed, as she was anxious to get half home before night. Meantime I lay on some timbers, and went to sleep. Out of this I was awakened by a sharp sort of chuckle close to my ear, and on raising myself I found that two magpies had bitten a hole into the sack, and were getting at my biscuits and cheese. It was with some difficulty that I drove off these impudent Gazza-ladras: and as soon as I went to sleep again, they recommenced operations. In three hours the messenger returned with the intelligence that the station-master would not come; the road stopped here, and he was not bound to schuss people Nordover (to the North).
There was nothing for it but to go up the mountain, and wade through the morasses to see the fellow. Fortunately I found an adjoining stöl, where dwelt another peasant, Tarald (Anglicè Thorold) Mostue, whom I persuaded to come down and open his house for the shelter of myself and luggage. He brought down with him some fresh milk, the first I had tasted since leaving Christiansand. After lighting for me a fire, and making up a bed, he returned to his châlet, promising to return by six A.M. with a horse, and schuss me to Vatnedal. Here, then, I was all alone, but I managed to make myself comfortable, and slept well under the shadow of my own fig-tree—I mean the branch of Pors—secure from the fleas and bugs! Tarald appeared in the morning, and off we started. He was, I found, one of the Lesere or Norwegian methodists.