Soon after five o’clock we were up, and descending in a thick mist to the ravine, we had a good wash. The donkeys were inspected, and their legs carefully rubbed down with our bruise mixture, which was an universal remedy for all cuts, bruises, aches, and pains. Ole was apparently sleeping soundly, and we did not disturb him. Our gipsies got up, and at six o’clock Ole was moving and none the worse for his rough accommodation. He had, I believe, been up before to see if the donkeys were safe. Everything was wet, and no fuel could be found but one or two damp sticks from the ravine, and the roots of heath and dwarf birch. A fire seemed hopeless, but our Russian lamp overcame all difficulty, and we soon had a fire. Tea and fladbröd and butter formed our breakfast.
Whilst we were leading our donkeys, a pale, large-boned peasant appeared. No one knew from whence, but he was able to quaff some of our brandy. Esmeralda was again tolerably well. As Ole proceeded in advance, and we were ascending the right slope of the ravine, he shouted—“Ah, Mr. Smith! you have no hotel bills to settle, sir.” Ole seemed to have taken a deep interest in our mode of life.
Our ascent up rocky slopes was laborious and heavy. The Digervarden Fjeld on our left, and the Grönhöerne on our right. In the distance was the Skarvdalseggen and the Digerkampen. With even pace we followed our rough stony track, often near slopes of snow. All nature was as desolate and sterile as could well be imagined. Although lightened of its load, our Puru Rawnee had still a heavy weight. It was necessary to be very careful as to boggy ground. At one place, notwithstanding all care, she was effectually bogged in a deep quagmire, and with difficulty pulled out. Crossing a sterile ridge of loose gray rocks, Ole suggested we should try some large snow slopes as easier, which we did. Sometimes where the snow was not deep we managed very well, and passed over slopes of smooth frozen snow glittering in the sun.
Occasionally, as we again came to the rocks, the snow was deep, and we found ourselves for a few feet plunging with our donkeys above our knees in snow, and the loaded animals could scarcely get through. Again we were picking our way over loose rocks, with occasional reaches of frozen snow to cross. Our journey was toilsome. The upper portions of our route were sterile and dreary, without that abrupt boldness of outline which gives an interest to the scene. As we commenced our descent to the valley of the Lora Elv, to reach the Ny Sœter, we had to descend a very rough mountain track, difficult for our already tired donkeys. Still we were anxious to reach the Ny Sœter before we called a halt. At last, at an awkward place, the Puru Rawnee fell, and, in trying to recover itself, again fell, with its head doubled under its body. The whole weight of the packs slipped forward upon it. As it rolled over and lay motionless, we thought our beautiful Puru Rawnee had broken its neck. Quickly getting the baggage away, we let it lie quiet. After some short time, it seemed to recover, and got up. Ole Rödsheim shouldered our fishing rods and some heavy packs. Each took something to lighten materially our gray donkey, and, walking quickly down past an old reindeer grav,[83] we soon reached several small log-houses, near a brawling snow stream, called the Lora Elv. We had arrived at the Ny Sœter.[84]
Near the Ny Sœter there was a fenced paddock, and close to the Sœter a sheltered flat of turf, where we unloaded and pitched our tents. Our day’s journey had taken us from half-past nine o’clock till four o’clock. The Lordalen, as it is called, is now almost bare of trees, cold, and uninteresting in appearance even in the height of the summer season. The rage for cutting down the forests in Norway will render the country in some parts almost uninhabitable. In Wales the climate would be warmer, and the mountains more picturesque, and the country far more beautiful, if still clothed with its ancient forests; but Norway can never be used for sheep pasture, as the hills of Wales, on account of the climate; and the forests for shelter are still more necessary in the northern clime.
Middagsmad consisted of tea, ham, potatoes, and pickled walnuts. Ourself, Noah, and Zachariah went fishing; but, not meeting with any sport, we soon returned with Noah. The peasants at the Sœter were very kind, civil people. They were all women and children, one being a boy. One very nice little girl hummed very prettily several Norwegian airs for us. The wind blew cold in the evening. Zachariah came back to tea, with two trout. For our aftensmad we had Zachariah’s two trout, with fladbröd and butter from the Sœter. Esmeralda was very bilious; could not finish her tea; said she could not touch tea again; was unwell. The tea, she said, was not good, or the fladbröd. Her brother Noah said she ate too fast, and so made herself unwell; for, said Noah, the tea is excellent. Our gipsies would now and then wrangle and chaff, till a stranger would suppose they were going to fight, as on this evening.
“Now, then, Lucas, don’t tell lies. Dawdy. There’s a state he puts himself in, the ballo shero!”
“Dik the Bongy Mouee!” exclaimed another. “Sheep’s eyes! ah, you talk backwards, like Amy, you do!”
Then Esmeralda would say satirically, “Well indeed, so manly! Doesn’t he put himself over every one, Ambrose does.”
“What is daughter saying?” answers Noah. “Blankesko! look at Ezekiel.”