And now for a start up the Nordfjord to Faleidet. Such a good boat was supplied by Herr Hammer! How we enjoyed it, looking forward to our drive from Faleidet! We soon came upon a number of boats fishing for lyth, a fish caught in large numbers, easily taken, readily consumed: there were a great many boats, and they fish with a deep-sea single line, feeling the bite over the forefinger, as in Scotland. We wanted much to have seen some of the red sea-fish taken, which are much larger than the mullet, but redder in tone and of splendid colour: a noble fish to look at when caught, but poor on table.
Faleidet is a good station, beautifully clean, and well situated over the water. Here we were much interested in specimens of copper ore, on the richness of which our native held forth most fluently. The ore was decidedly good, and I think in his own mind the Tentmaster had promoted a company, and probably thought of the youthful Jules as assistant secretary and foreign correspondent. No time was to be lost, so we hastened to our stolkjærs, but hardly had we reached the top of the hill when the Patriarch’s gimlet eye saw a long birch horn near a shed by the roadside. This could not be resisted. “Halt!” was the word, whilst the others went on. They soon pulled up, for the too-tooing was noisy, if deficient in harmony; still there was a certain satisfaction in the fact that one had elicited sound from a long birch horn, as used by the good people of Faleidet, inferior as these horns are in force to steam fog-horns, as now used at the Foreland, or the steamboat whistle which skewers the tympanum of every traveller at every stopping place, be it where it may. There is a great charm in all these old-fashioned ways of doing things. Again the girls call to their cows, singing to them in very sweet strains, and the cows follow them. It is no question of a subtle tin-tack looking them up, which, like the county of Buckingham, runs into Oxon and Herts. The whole treatment of animals in Norway is a good example: the kindness is consistent and the care unceasing. The early training of the children has much to do with this; at all events the youthful impressions and the influence of the parents have never lost one iota of good.
The Nordfjord is a great inlet of the sea which runs up an immense distance, and greatly favoured the Viking tendencies. Many fine remains have been discovered, and the contents of one tumulus in particular, now carefully preserved in the museum at Bergen, have been already laid before the reader.
•••••
EAVING the Nordfjord and passing through much that is grand, we start from Faleidet, and when we arrive at Haugen have a glorious view of the Horningdals Vand. Our hopes are buoyant, for it is a “fast” station; and our appetites are good. What natural beauty around us! To be happy, however, requires a combination that is seldom realised. In this case one thing was wanting, and to travellers such as ourselves it was a most important item—namely, food. The station was fair to view. On the stone steps young children were playing; and the numerous family were nursing each other—rollicking, chubby-faced, and unwashed: for Norwegian children they were merry. In the road in front of the house was standing a gaunt figure in knee-breeches and stockings; and, with his braces hauling on to the short waist, his long hair, and his straggling beard, he made a good type of what he really was—a slayer of bears. Above the entrance, over the merry group of children, were two bears’ skulls—the triumph, joy, and pride of the slayer. Being short of provisions, we soon went on a voyage of discovery, and investigated the interior; but what a blank it proved! The fast station folk knew nothing, or pretended to know nothing. “A cradle” of good carved wood, a bed in the corner of the room, and a fireplace seemed to be all in this homestead. The only fladbrod we could procure was of that unwelcome class prepared for travelling, which means that it is flabby and tough enough to be rolled up and folded without breaking. When the practical reader thinks of the shaking, jolting, convulsive jerking action of stolkjærs, and even carrioles, no wonder this food is left rather doughy for its journey. Happy the man who, when he meets with this material, can set it up on end! Dry it to the oat-cake condition, then it is good indeed—very good. Still we made the best of it, and came to the conclusion that one of the charms of travel is the variety of situation; and then, after all, with pleasant companions, anything short of bad accidents is only the kind of thing which the true traveller must expect, and almost seeks. So we looked forward to the next good meal we could get, but which must be very late in the day.
Haugen, near Hellesylt.
Some one suggested the advisability of smoking down our appetites. That was declined as injudicious, and we longed to reach Hellesylt. The second stage on, near Haugen, we saw a wonderful peak. Some idea of its towering grandeur may be formed by setting its printed name on end. It has no end of a name: here it is—Horningdalskrakken. What a pity one cannot have time to “do” all these peaks, this one especially, isolated as it is, and commanding a most interesting range, with so many fjords at its feet, and the Hjørrendfjord and its shriven peaks bristling below! In these days of express trains, fish torpedoes going twenty knots an hour, telegrams, and instantaneous photographs, people will not give sufficient time to do anything with steady enjoyment. Skurry and scuttle are too prominent by far.
