In a short time the ship was approaching the narrow pass. The cliffs on each side were very bold and rugged, and if the students had not been feasting themselves with grand anticipations, they would have appreciated the scenery much better. Ryder and Lincoln laughed when they compared the reality with the pictures they had. The scenery could not be called grand, though it was certainly very fine. The strait was very narrow, and on each side of it rings were fastened in the rocks, which were painted white around them, for the convenience of vessels warping out in a calm or against the wind. On the high rock,—it could not have been a hundred feet high,—at the right, was a small fort, which looked grim and terrible in its way, but which any well-ordered man of war, with modern ordnance, could have battered down in half an hour.
Passing through the strait, the ship came in sight of the small village of Frederiksværn, which is a naval station, where a number of gunboats are housed in a series of uniform buildings. The town itself is only a hamlet, but as the vessels proceeded, those on board saw Laurvig at the head of the bay, which is a place of considerable importance.
“Little Fœrder,” said the pilot, an hour later, as he pointed to a tall, red light-house, at the entrance of the fjord.
“Then the land we see beyond must be Sweden,” added Ryder.
“Sverige,” nodded the pilot.
“I suppose that is Sweden, but I don’t see the use of having half a dozen names to a country.”
“And this is Norge,” added the second master, pointing to the other side.
“Yes, Norge,” answered the pilot, pleased to hear the young officer apply the Norwegian name.
On the port hand of the ship was a vast sea of rocky islands, of all shapes and sizes. Those farthest from the mainland were entirely destitute of soil or verdure; but in the distance a few pines, and the fresh tints of the early grass, could be seen.
“Keep her north-north-east,” said the pilot.