The whole of this operation took me upwards of two hours. It will be seen, therefore, that fishing in Norway, as I have said, cannot be called “the gentle art.”
One extremely interesting excursion that we made was to a place named the Essé Fjord. The natives here were very hospitable and kind. Besides that, they were fat! It would almost seem as if fat and good-humour were invariably united; for nearly all the natives of the Essé Fjord were good-humoured and stout!
The language at this place perplexed me not a little. Nevertheless the old proverb, “where there’s a will there’s a way,” held good, for the way in which I conversed with the natives of that region was astounding even to myself.
One bluff, good-humoured fellow took me off to see his house and family. I may as well admit, here, that I am not a good linguist, and usually left our ladies to do the talking! But on this occasion I found myself, for the first time, alone with a Norwegian! fairly left to my own resources.
Well, I began by stringing together all the Norse I knew, (which wasn’t much), and endeavoured to look as if I knew a great deal more. But I soon found that the list of sentences, which I had learned from Murray’s Handbook, did not avail much in a lengthened conversation. My speech quickly degenerated into sounds that were almost unintelligible to either my new friend or myself! and I terminated at last in a mixture of bad Norse and broad Scotch. I have already remarked on the strong family-likeness between Norse and broad Scotch. Here are a few specimens.
They call a cow a coo! A house is a hoose, and a mouse is a moose! Gaae til land, is go to land, or go ashore. Tak ain stole is take a stool, or sit down. Vil du tak am dram? scarcely needs translation—will you take a dram! and the usual answer to that question is equally clear and emphatic—“Ya, jeg vil tak am dram!” One day our pilot saw the boat of a fisherman, (or fiskman), not far off. He knew we wanted fish, so, putting his hands to his mouth, he shouted “Fiskman! har du fisk to sell?” If you talk of bathing, they will advise you to “dook oonder;” and should a mother present her baby to you, she will call it her “smook barn”—her pretty bairn—smook being the Norse word for “pretty,” and barn for child; and it is a curious fact, worthy of particular note, that all the mothers in Norway think their bairns smook—very smook! and they never hesitate to tell you so—why, I cannot imagine, unless it be that if you were not told you would not be likely to find it out for yourself.
Despite our difficulty of communication, my fat friend and I soon became very amicable and talkative. He told me no end of stories, of which I did not comprehend a sentence, but looked as if I did—smiled, nodded my head, and said “ya, ya,”—to which he always replied “ya, ya,”—waving his arms, and slapping his breast, and rolling his eyes, as he bustled along beside me towards his dwelling. The house was perched on a rock close to the water’s edge. Here my host found another subject to expatiate upon and dance round, in the shape of his own baby, a soft, smooth, little imitation of himself, which lay sleeping in its crib, like a small cupid. The man was evidently extremely fond of this infant. He went quite into ecstasies about it; now gazing at it with looks of pensive admiration; anon, starting and looking at me as if to say, “Did you ever, in all your life, see such a beautiful cherub?” The man’s enthusiasm was really catching—I began to feel quite a fatherly interest in the cherub myself.
“Oh!” he cried, in rapture, “det er smook barn!”
“Ya, ya,” said I, “megit smook,” (very pretty)—although I must confess that smoked bairn would have been nearer the mark, for it was as brown as a red-herring.
I spent an agreeable, though I must confess mentally confused, afternoon with this gentleman, who, (when he succeeded in tearing himself away from that much-loved and megit smook barn), introduced me to his two sisters, who were stout and good-humoured like himself. They treated me to a cup of excellent coffee, and to a good deal more of incomprehensible conversation. Altogether, the natives of the Essé Fjord made a deep impression on us, and we parted from their grand and gloomy but hospitable shores with much regret.