Our aftens-mad was not lively. Midges and musketos attacked us on every side. Esmeralda got the water for tea from the fjord; she had to go from the road, across some enclosure, belonging to a cottage near. The woman shortly after came up to the road fence. Mephistopheles was interrogated in Norsk. Mephistopheles did not understand a word the woman said. Mephistopheles was extremely civil, saying “Ya, ya,” to every question she asked. At length she wound up with “Hvor fra” (where from?). To which Mephistopheles answered, “Coryadreadaminch.” The woman immediately left.
Very soon after we had halted, the loss was announced of the brass fishing-reel, from the fishing-rod, Zachariah had been using. Zachariah had forgotten to take it off the rod in the morning.
Notwithstanding our tent was pitched on the only available spot, consisting of loose angular stones, in spite of midges and musketos, we were soon sound asleep. The English gipsies in Norway, were long past that deplorable state of modern effeminacy, when you are unable to sleep comfortably on a gorse bush, with a bundle of thorns for a pillow.
It had thundered, and lightened, and rained heavily in the night. We were all fearfully bitten with musketos. Noah had been unable to sleep; Esmeralda not much better. Mephistopheles slept the best.
Being Saturday, the 13th August, we were anxious to secure a good camping-ground for our Sunday’s rest, and another day of quiet and repose. At three o’clock in the morning our gipsies struck the tents. The frokost consisted of tea, bacon, potatoes, cheese, and fladbröd. Esmeralda was rather bilious, with a sore lip. Our anxiety was great for the health of our Hobbenengree. Supposing anything happened to Esmeralda, the heroine of this book would be lost; and what is a book without a heroine? The Birmingham bagman would at once decline the work, as not according to contract. It would have been utterly impossible to supply her loss. There is no second Esmeralda—none like her. In truth, with all her tempers, all her faults, Esmeralda was the spirit of our wanderings. The pure Romnechal of our expedition.
Our donkeys were nearly loaded, when we were surprised by the apparition of a tall seaman, standing in the road close by. He informed us he had stayed the night at the house near—the same, probably, where our friend, the woman of the previous evening, lived. His ship had been lost near Throndhjem, and he was now going to Bergen. Had been in America; spoke English very well, with a strong American accent. We gave him a dram of brandy, and two skillings; whereupon he said, “It’s d—d bad for you not speaking Norsk,” and wishing us a good voyage, departed.
Before six o’clock we were en route. The rain had laid the dust; the morning was cloudy. There were two fishermen’s boats on the Strand Fjord. We passed the Strand Kirke. The scenery was very picturesque, rocks towering above us on our left, the Strand Fjord on our right. Some goats were racing and jumping on the narrow crags of a steep precipice above us.
Coming to some saw-mills, we crossed a wild ravine. Shortly after passing through a fir wood, we came in sight of the Fagernœs station. A shop is said to be attached to it. Upon inquiry, we found they had no shop, and we could not purchase anything. Some people came out to look at our donkeys, and we were soon en route.
The district through which we now passed seemed more populated, and is called North Aurdal. Two English tourists overtook us; one had a fishing-basket, and said he had not had much sport. He shortly after changed horses with a post-man, opposite a large building to our right. At first we took it for a gentleman’s mansion. It was the second building of stone, we had seen, since we left Lillehammer. All was neatness, with a drive to it from the road. When the English tourist changed horses in the road, opposite the entrance, we thought it might be a very first-class station. When we came up, and had some conversation with a very pleasant, well-dressed Norwegian, who was standing at the entrance, we found it was the gaol of the North Aurdal. He spoke English well, and had been in America. It is very probable he was the governor. They have a nice church at Aurdal, and a pleasant graveyard, close to the road. The wooden crosses were in the usual style. There was one simple marble monument, bearing an inscription; we notice it, for its brevity— Christopher Rogge
Tódt 21 April, 1863,
Dod Nov., 1865.
As we came towards the Frydenland station, there were many houses along the roadside; some, apparently, for private residence. Two well-dressed young ladies passed us, and one smiled so pleasantly, that we could not omit the politeness of lifting our hat.