Before we reached Stueflaaten a reindeer-hunter came to us in the road, a thick-set intelligent man, dressed in good clothes and wearing long boots. The hunter spoke a little English. We went with him up to his house, close to the road. The large family room, used as kitchen and general room, was as badly ventilated as usual. Very seldom we ventured into the close atmosphere of the Norwegian farm-houses. There are, no doubt, exceptions. Many of the houses have very small windows, which do not open, and they are therefore closed winter and summer. The musketos and flies and heat are kept out, but then it is generally at the cost of fresh air, that invaluable health-producer, too lightly estimated. The room had a trap-door in the floor, with a ring to it, which somehow we always connect with a scene of mystery; some adventure requiring to be worked out with a melodramatic dénouement. The reindeer-hunter’s wife furnished us with some butter, two eggs, and some fladbröd, for which we paid one mark three skillings. The butter was of dark yellow colour, but we found it good. They had a very primitive weighing-machine, a short piece of round wood with a knob at one end, and a small hook at the other. The article to be weighed is hung on the hook, and the machine is balanced on the finger at certain marks, which indicate the weight. Several carved spoons, and an ingeniously carved butter-cup, were produced. For the butter-cup, which the reindeer-hunter had carved himself, he wanted three marks. At our request he reached a “Psalmodion” down—a very primitive Norwegian instrument—one string stretched over a flat board, played with a kind of fiddle-bow. The sound is neither harmonious or lively, though the hunter, who played it, was probably a good performer. There was much that was ancient and belonging to a past age, in the house. We afterwards bought one of his carved wooden spoons for ten skillings, which seemed to please the reindeer-hunter very much. The carved spoon was given to Esmeralda, and ultimately broken.
PRIMITIVE WEIGHING MACHINE.
The station of Stueflaaten stands upon a rise of ground forming a kind of promontory, round which the road circles, so that you can walk up one side to the station and descend on the other into the road. There is a sort of balcony, with seats round it, and steps up to it, in front of the entrance door. A very civil hostess—we took her for such—met us from the kitchen. They had also an inner room, in which a large fire was burning. Our stores were replenished with three marks’ worth of fladbröd, potatoes, and twelve eggs. The people of the station came down to see our donkeys. At a short distance from Stueflaaten the route descends the side of steep rocky cliffs by a zig-zag road cut through the rocks. A large expanse of fjeld and forest, broken and intersected by rushing torrents, leaving nothing but streaks of white foam visible in the distance, converged to the deep, deep, narrow romantic valley we were now entering. The day had become fine and beautiful. We gazed in silence as we commenced our descent down the road, carried in a slanting direction to an angle, so as to render the way less difficult and steep. At a very short distance after we had turned the angle of the road a halt was called. In a recess covered with wild flowers, and bushes on the top of the sloping bank, above the road, we found sufficient room for our middags-mad.
The broken bank was overhung by steep rocks. The fire was soon lighted. Esmeralda peeled some potatoes. An excellent soup was made from our stock of yesterday, to which was added the dried meat from Holiaker, to be boiled a second time with potatoes, Liebig’s essence, and a quantity of wild sorrel. What a beautiful scene! What numberless streams dashing in their deep-worn watercourses into the blue waters of the Rauma, which loses itself in the deep ravine of the narrow valley; so we stayed until it was found to be six o’clock. Hastily loading again we followed the gradual descent of the road. Before us rose the singularly shaped mountain, said to be the Dontind.[59] Its shape is peculiar, with its escarped precipices and snowy summit. A very picturesque waterfall came dashing down the rocks to our right, and close by stood a very small wooden mill, with its simple and primitive method of grinding. The miller was there as we looked in, and had just room to stand inside. He was grinding oats. If many articles of food are not so fine in quality in Norway, there is one satisfaction, that what you have is generally genuine.
At last we came to where the Rauma, at a short distance from the road, enters a deep gorge, and forms the beautiful fall of the Sœndre Slettefossen. The river passes through a deep chasm of rock, and is spanned by a narrow log bridge. Not far from the fall, on the opposite side of the road, we found some rough broken ground at the back of a rocky cliff. An old carriage-way had once gone through the rocks, but was now stopped up, so that we found ourselves on a comfortable platform above the main road.
The view was beautiful. The donkeys were driven up, and quickly unloaded. An old peasant man and woman, and one or two children were there, as if they had been forewarned of our arrival, and were ready to receive us. Out came our silver-mounted brandy-flask. It was of handsome spiral shape and formed of glass. How it escaped being broken we could never make out, but we have it now. The old man and woman drank their brandy, and seemed much pleased. They plucked some grass to feed the donkeys. Very soon other peasants came, and a reindeer-hunter, who spoke some English. The hunter was a very civil intelligent man; he could read English, and spoke it tolerably well, telling us there were many reindeer, and he would go with English gentlemen shooting them.
Our evening meal was soon ready, four eggs, fladbröd, butter, and tea. The peasants were told that after our tents were pitched they should have some music. Two of my tent-rods were broken, and we had to splice them—. In consequence of the loss of our kettle-prop we were obliged to make holes for our tent-rods with the sharp point of one of Tennant’s geological hammers. Whilst the tents were being pitched we continued our notes de voyage.
The peasants were not numerous, but they were appreciative as we played. It was interesting to watch their kindly countenances as they gazed on the nomads, with their tents and donkeys, on the sheltered platform of a rocky cliff above the Rauma. When our music ended, and we wished them good night, they did not remain about our tents, but quietly left us to take our rest.