Feats on the Fiord

by Harriet Martineau

"Very true," said the bishop. "When Jesus sat on the well in Samaria, and taught how the true worship was come, He neither frowned on the woman who inquired, nor despised her, nor made light of her superstition about a sacred mountain."

There was a long silence, which was broken at last by Erica asking the bishop whether he could not console poor Hund, who wanted comfort more than she had ever done. The bishop replied, that the demons who most tormented poor Hund were not abroad on the earth or in the air, but within his breast—his remorse, his envy, his covetousness, his fear. He meant not to lose sight of poor Hund, either in the prison, to which he was to travel to-morrow, or after he should come out of it.

Here Frolich appeared, running to ask whether those who were in the grove would not like to look forth from the ridge, and see what good the budstick had done, and how many parties were on their way, from all quarters, to the farm.

M. Kollsen was glad to rise and escape from what he thought a schooling; and the bishop himself was as interested in what was going on as if the farm had been his home. He was actually the first at the ridge.

This part of the mountain was a singularly favourable situation for seeing what was doing on the spot on which every one's attention was fixed this day. While the people on the fiord could not see what was going forward at Saltdalen, nor those at Saltdalen what were the movements at the farm, the watchers on the ridge could observe the proceedings at all the three points. The opportunity was much improved by the bishop having a glass—a glass of a quality so rare at that time that there would probably have been some talk of magic and charms if it had been seen in any hands but the bishop's.

By means of this glass the bishop, M. Kollsen, or Madame Erlingsen announced from time to time what was doing as the evening advanced—how parties of two or three were leaving Saltdalen, creeping towards the farm under cover of rising grounds, rocks, and pine woods; how small companies, well armed, were hidden in every place of concealment near Erlingsen's, and how there seemed to be a great number of women about the place. This was puzzling. Who these women could be, and why they should choose to resort to the farm when its female inhabitants had left it for safety, it was difficult at first to imagine. But the truth soon occurred to Frolich. No doubt some one had remembered how strange and suspicious it would appear to the pirates, who supposed the bishop to be at the farm, that there should be no women in the company assembled to meet him. No doubt these people in blue, white, and green petticoats, who were striding about the yards, and looking forth from the galleries, were men dressed in their wives' clothes, or in such as Erlingsen furnished from the family chests. This disguise was as good as an ambush while it also served to give the place the festive appearance looked for by the enemy. It was found afterwards that Oddo had acted as lady's-maid, fitting the gowns to the shortest men, and dressing up their heads so as best to hide the shaggy hair. Great numbers were certainly assembled before night; yet still a little group might be seen now and then winding down from some recess of the wide-spreading mountain, making circuits by the ravines and water-courses, so as to avoid crossing the upland slopes, which the pirates might be surveying by means of such a glass as the bishop's.

The bishop was of opinion that scarcely a blow would be struck, so great was the country force compared with that of the pirates. He believed that the enemy would be overpowered and disarmed almost without a struggle. Erica, who could not but tremble with fear as well as expectation, blessed his words in her heart, and so, in truth, did every woman present.

No one thought of going to rest, though Madame Erlingsen urged it upon those over whom she had influence. Finding that Erica had sat up to watch the cattle the night before, she compelled her to go and lie down, but no compulsion could make her sleep; and Orga and Frolich did the best they could for her, by running to her with news of any fresh appearance below. Just after midnight they brought her word that the bishop had ordered every one but M. Kollsen away from the ridge. The schooner had peeped out from behind the promontory, and was stealing up with a soft west wind.

The girls went on to describe how the schooner was working up, and why the bishop thought that the people at the farm were aware of every inch of her progress.

Erica sprang from the bed, and joined the group who were sitting on the grass awaiting the sunrise, and eagerly listening for every word from their watchman, the bishop. He told when he saw two boats, full of men, put off from the schooner, and creep towards Erlingsen's cove under the shadow of the rocks. He told how the country people immediately gathered behind the barn and the house, and every outbuilding; and, at length, when the boats touched the shore, he said—