Feats on the Fiord

by Harriet Martineau

The bishop's reputation preceded him, as is usual in such cases. As his horse, followed by those which bore the ladies, reached the house door, all present cried—

"Welcome to the mountain!" "Welcome to Sulitelma!"

The bishop observed that, often as he had wished to look abroad from Sulitelma, and to see with his own eyes what life at the seaters was like, he should have grown old without the desire being gratified but for the design of the enemy upon him. It was all he could do to go the rounds of his diocese, from station to station below, without thinking of journeys of pleasure. Yet here he was on Sulitelma!

When he and M. Kollsen and the ladies had dismounted, and were entering the house to breakfast, the gazers found leisure to observe the hindmost of the train of riders. It was Hund, with his feet tied under his horse, and the bridle held by a man on each side. He had seen and heard too much of the preparations against the enemy to be allowed to remain below, or at large anywhere, till the attack should be over. He could not dismount till some one untied his legs; and no one would do that till a safe place could be found in which to confine him. It was an awkward situation enough, sitting there bound before everybody's eyes; and not the less for Stiorna's leaning her head against the horse, and crying at seeing him so treated; and yet Hund had often been seen, on small occasions, to look far more black and miserable. His face now was almost cheerful. Stiorna praised this as a sign of bravery; but the truth was, the party had been met by Rolf and Jan going down the mountain. It was no longer possible to take Rolf for a ghost; and though Hund was as far as possible from understanding the matter, he was unspeakably relieved to find that he had not the death of his rival to answer for. It made his countenance almost gay to think of this, even while stared at by men, women, and children as a prisoner.

"What is it?" whimpered Stiorna—"what are you a prisoner for, Hund?"

"Ask them that know," said Hund. "I thought at first that it was on Rolf's account; and now that they see with their own eyes that Rolf is safe they best know what they have to bring against me."

"It is no secret," said Madame Erlingsen. "Hund was seen with the pirates, acting with and assisting them, when they committed various acts of thievery on the shores of the fiord. If the pirates are taken, Hund will be tried with them for robberies at There's, Kyril's, Tank's, and other places along the shore, about which information has been given by a witness."

"There's, Kyril's, and Tank's!" repeated Hund to himself; "then there must be magic in the case. I could have sworn that not an eye on earth witnessed the doings there. If Rolf turns out to be the witness, I shall be certain that he has the powers of the region to help him."

So little is robbery to be dreaded at the seaters, that there really was no place where Hund could be fastened in—no lock upon any door—not a window from which he might not escape. The zealous neighbours, therefore, whose interest it was to detain him, offered to take it in turn to be beside him, his right arm tied to the left of another man. And thus it was settled.

When the bishop came forth in the afternoon to take his seat in the shade of the wood, those who were there assembled were singing For Norgé. Instead of permitting them to stop, on account of his arrival, he joined in the song; solely because his heart was in it. As he looked around him, and saw deep shades and sunny uplands, blue glaciers above, green pastures and glittering waters below, and all around, herds on every hillside, he felt his love of old Norway, and his thankfulness for being one of her sons, as warm as that of any one of the singers in the wood. Out of the fulness of his heart, the good bishop addressed his companions on the goodness of God in creating such a land, and placing them in it, with their happiness so far in their own hands as that little worthy of being called evil could befall them, except through faults of their own. M. Kollsen, who had before uttered his complaints of the superstition of his flock, hoped that his bishop was now about to attack the mischief vigorously.