The state of quiescence culminated at the dinner-table, for there the silence was total! I never saw anything like it! When we had all assembled in the cabin, at the almost whispered invitation of the steward, and had stood for a few minutes looking benign and expectant, but not talking, the captain entered, bowed to the company, was bowed to by the company, motioned us to our seats, whispered “ver so goot,” and sat down.
Now this phrase “ver so goot” merits particular notice. It is an expression that seems to me capable of extension and distension. It is a flexible, comfortable, jovial, rollicking expression. To give a perfect translation of it is not easy; but I cannot think of a better way of conveying its meaning, than by saying that it is a compound of the phrases—“be so good,” “by your leave,” “what’s your will,” “bless your heart,” “all serene,” and “that’s your sort!”
The first of these, “be so good,” is the literal translation—the others are the super-induced sentiments, resulting from the tone and manner in which it is said. You may rely on it, that, when a Norwegian offers you anything and says ver so goot, he means you well and hopes you will make yourself comfortable.
Well, there was no carving at that dinner. The dishes were handed round by waiters. First we had very thin rice soup with wine and raisins in it—the eating of which seemed to me like spoiling one’s dinner with a bad pudding. This finished, the plates were removed. “Now,” thought I, “surely some one will converse with his neighbour during this interval.” No! not a lip moved! I looked at my right and left-hand men; I thought, for a moment, of venturing out upon the unknown deep of a foreign tongue, and cleared my throat for that purpose, but every eye was on me in an instant; and the sound of my own voice, even in that familiar process, was so appalling that I said nothing! I looked at a pretty girl opposite me. I felt certain that the youth beside her was about to speak—he looked as if he meant to, but he didn’t. In a few minutes the next course came on. This was a dish like bread-pudding, minus currants and raisins; it looked like a sweet dish, but it turned out to be salt,—and pure melted butter, without any admixture of flour or water, was handed round as sauce. After this came veal and beef cutlets, which were eaten with cranberry jam, pickles, and potatoes. Fourth and last came a course of cold sponge-cake, with almonds and raisins stewed over it, so that, when we had eaten the cake as a sort of cold pudding, we slid, naturally and pleasantly, into dessert, without the delay of a change of plates.
There was no remaining to drink at that dinner. When the last knife and fork were laid down, we all rose simultaneously, and then a general process of bowing ensued.
In regard to this proceeding I have never been able to arrive at a clear understanding, as to what was actually done or intended to be done, but my impression is, that each bowed to the other, and all bowed to the captain; then the captain bowed to each individually and to all collectively, after which a comprehensive bow was made by everybody to all the rest all round—and then we went on deck to smoke. As each guest passed out, he or she said to the captain, “tak for mad,” which is a manner and custom, and means “thanks for meat.” With the exception of these three words, not a single syllable, to the best of my belief, was uttered by any one during the whole course of that meal!
Of course the gentlemen of our party performed many wonderful exploits in fishing, for sea-trout and salmon abound in Norway, and the river beds are very rugged.
In that land fishing cannot be styled the “gentle art.” It is a tearing, wearing, rasping style of work. An account of the catching of one fish will prove this.
One morning I had gone off to fish by myself, with a Norwegian youth to gaff and carry the fish. Coming to a sort of weir, with a deep pool above and a riotous rapid below, I put on a salmon fly and cast into the pool. At once a fish rose and was hooked. It was not a big one—only 12 pounds or thereabouts—but quite big enough to break rod and line if not played respectfully.
For some time, as is usual with salmon, he rushed about the pool, leaped out of the water, and bored up stream. Then he took to going down stream steadily. Now this was awkward, for when a fish of even that size resolves to go down stream, nothing can stop him. My efforts were directed to turning him before he reached the rapid, for, once into that, I should be compelled to follow him or break the line—perhaps the rod also.