At seven o’clock, pushing onwards along a pleasant forest road, we again came to enclosures. Then a church appeared to view and a rifle range. The range appeared a very short one, having a booth, apparently used as a shelter for the marksmen.[118] We had now left the Valders, and had seen some of the beauties of the Aadalen. Nœs was at the upper shore of the Spirilen Lake, and it would be necessary to cross the Beina at its outfall to the lake.
The Nœs Station is large, and in a wooden building near, we found a shop containing a variety of goods of all sorts, and sizes. First we bought wooden spoons, and soap, for twenty-two skillings, and then some fladbröd for one mark. Noah had gone beyond the house, to the ferry-boat, on the lake shore. Esmeralda and ourself were leaving the shop, when we met Noah, with a gloomy countenance. He informed us there was no horse-boat, and the donkeys could not possibly cross.
Saying we should soon see whether we could cross, we all went down with a civil man, who seemed the owner of the ferry, and premises. After much talking, he explained that the steamer left at seven o’clock in the morning, and it was now nine o’clock, and we were too late.
Looking at the two small boats, we explained to the ferryman, that we must get across somehow. He seemed to catch our meaning; but our gipsies shook their heads, and said the poor donkeys would be drowned.
To continue our journey, we were determined. The obstacle of a river was not to be thought of, for a moment. A day would be lost, by camping at Nœs until the next morning. Although we might probably make up lost time in the steamer, still we preferred going on by land, if possible.
Returning to the shop, we bought a pound of white sugar for 20 skillings. The old man in the meantime appeared with two men, and poles, and a strong tether rope, and an axe. Again we returned to the sandy beach. Noah and Zachariah were very desponding at the sight. It looked very much as if they were going to erect a scaffold, and behead the donkeys on the spot. The owner of the ferry shortened one of the poles, and in a few minutes, the two small boats were securely lashed to the two poles, extending over them crossways. Our gipsies were still unable to disconnect the donkeys, with anything short of drowning.
A small crowd of peasants now collected to view the passage of the Beina by the English gipsies in Norway, with their animals and baggage. Most of the men, who chewed tobacco, were dressed in light jumpers, patched trowsers, and large heavy boots, without stockings; the kind-looking stout female, who sold us the fladbröd, was there, and young peasant girls, with handkerchiefs tied over their heads.
The Tarno Rye was first bridled, and led to the boats by Zachariah. There it decidedly refused to go any further. Zachariah pulled, Noah lifted at its hind legs, ourself and two men lifted at the fore legs. The struggle ended, in our fairly carrying the donkey into the one boat, at the risk of all coming down into the water, together with one tremendous splash; the other boat was turned sideways, and we forced the Puro Rye into it, whilst a man held its head. The boats were quickly rowed off by another man, and the animals safely landed.
One man was bold enough to ride one of the donkeys to a wood close to the sandy beach. Zachariah rowed back. All were highly pleased at the success. The Puru Rawnee made a tremendous fight. Zachariah tugged, and the Puru Rawnee got one hind leg over the boat’s side; but a stout fellow, who ultimately nearly pushed it over Zachariah, placed its leg safe in the boat. The baggage was put in the other boat, to balance the donkey, and then they crossed the river.
The boats returned. We paid the man fifteen skillings, which seemed to satisfy all, and with our gipsies, and the rest of our baggage, soon reached the other side. Several were collected, when we landed: one gentlemanly, well-dressed Norwegian, looked at our maps, and pointed out the route. Esmeralda immediately began to castigate her donkey, then scolded Zachariah, and was in her turn scolded by ourself, whilst the boatmen drank “gamle norge” in our aquavit.