The goose had told her family, on their way from the North Pole or somewhere in that region, that she knew of a spot on their way where they would do well to alight and rest awhile. They had no reason to be in the least afraid. She knew all the people very well, they were all kind, particularly the children. They would do them no harm, but, on the contrary, give them food, and they would have plenty to eat, and could rest for a night in a barn, where she herself had been sheltered and made comfortable for a whole winter. For the matter of that, any of them who did not care to go over to Africa could remain at that place. None of the young geese had ever seen human beings before, and were not afraid of them, but went on confidently, following their mother.
As soon as the last goose had got inside the door, Jussi jumped up and fastened the door, remaining inside himself.
And what did he do? Did he fondle them, or stroke the old goose who stood so fearlessly in the centre of the flock, looking up at Jussi as if she expected him to pet her? Instead of that he did something so shameful, so unmercifully brutal, so cruel, that one would rather not tell the story.
He set to work to wring their necks, one after the other, and killed all of them, even the old goose with the red band round [[44]]its neck—Hanhi, the children’s pet. The children, who were standing outside, began to suspect mischief. There was such a screaming inside that they themselves began to scream and cry, and to stamp on the ground, and to shout through a chink in the door, ‘Father, father, don’t kill them! don’t kill Hanhi! Let us have her, let her live! Hanhi is our sister, father!’
Presently, with bloody hands, Jussi came out; he had killed every one of them, and the next day he sold them to the monks in the monastery. He would not tell them how he had obtained them, for he was afraid of what Ambrose would say concerning his cruelty.
Unnas would not have done such a thing as this. He would, at least, have spared the life of the old goose, either from compassion, or from calculation, hoping that it might at some other time bring him another haul of the same kind.
But if Jussi was cruel to helpless animals, he was no coward in front of a bear. He showed his bravery when these three men, Ambrose, Jussi, and Unnas—men as different in appearance and in character as three men could be—were out on an expedition in snow-shoes, and this story I must now narrate:
Jussi had a large scar, evidently left from the blow of an axe, on his right hand, between the thumb and forefinger. This was a souvenir of Ambrose. On one of their excursions they suddenly came upon a bear. On seeing them, it raised itself on its hind-legs, and made straight for Ambrose, who had no weapon with him except an axe. Jussi sprang behind the bear, and seized it with his powerful arms by the neck, and squeezed it with all his might against himself, and then, being half throttled, it struck out violently with its fore-paws. Ambrose raised the axe, and endeavoured to hit the bear on the forehead; but either the axe was blunt, or he missed the middle of the forehead, for the axe slid off on to Jussi’s right hand, with which he was squeezing the bear’s neck. Still, Jussi did not let go. He was not a man who in a struggle for life and death would give in readily. Even if his hand itself had been cut off, he would have held fast with the stump. ‘Lyö kirveen tallala!’ (Hit him with the blunt end!), he cried; and he hugged the bear against himself still tighter, shielding his own head behind the bear’s shaggy neck.
A heavy blow with the blunt end of the axe from Ambrose’s strong arm stunned the bear, and it sank to the ground; at [[45]]the same moment Unnas rushed in with his long Finn’s knife, and plunged it in the bear’s side up to the hilt. Another blow on the top of its head finished it; but Jussi ever after bore the frightful scar on his right hand as the result of the first blow of the axe.
This encounter united these three men more than ever to one another.