“In the year 1863 I ascended the glorious Norwegian fjelds for the first time to hunt reindeer. What a charm is conveyed in these words, ‘first time!’ The first salmon or trout caught; the first grouse or partridge shot; the first meet at cover and burst with the hounds; the first climb up the snow peaks of Switzerland; the young beauty’s first London season, or first night at the opera or ball; and last, not least, first love, all have a peculiar zest never afterwards equalled.”

(N.B.—The Tentmaster is rather sentimental.)

After Sport.

“I experienced this feeling in August, 1863, when, journeying up the magnificent Romsdal valley, on arriving at a station I noticed a splendid head of reindeer horns lying outside the station-house. On inquiry I found that a Norwegian hunter had brought them down from the fjelds. I lost no time in searching him out, and soon arranged for an expedition together. I had no provisions, tents, spare clothing, or other appliances which my subsequent experience has shown to be requisite, but began the ascent with the meagre store of some raw coffee berries, flatbrod, cheese, and biscuits. The hunter (Dan I call him) could not speak English, nor I Norske; but we got on pretty well by pantomime. After a pleasant but toilsome three hours’ walk through the grand scenery peculiar to the Norwegian fjelds, Dan’s hound Passop (the reindeer hounds are held in a leash two or three yards long) suddenly squatted down in great excitement, with his nose steadily pointed to a huge rock about three hundred yards distant, and gave a peculiar low whine. Dan was down immediately, and signalled me to do the same. He was certain that reindeer were close at hand, but a full half-hour’s telescoping failed to disclose their whereabouts. Nothing could induce Passop to move; his sniffing nose kept steadily in the direction of the rock; while he occasionally gave us a most intelligent, imploring look, as much as to say, ‘Do something.’ Unable to see any trace of deer, we dare not move. Dan thought that wherever they were, there they would remain some time; so, with faithful Passop on the watch, we determined to have lunch. Not a bite, however, would Passop touch—not even flatbrod thick with butter. There he squatted, with his nose still to the rock, the model of a watchful sentinel. Lunch finished, Dan began telescoping, and soon discovered the cause of Passop’s agitation. The tips of antlers were visible above the rock, and in distinct relief against the sky. They were perfectly motionless; but we were quite sure, after many exciting inspections with the telescope, that a large buck was resting behind the rock. As the wind was not very favourable Dan said we must be quite still, and remain till we saw a movement. In my innocence I wished to smoke a pipe, but Dan forbade it. The excitement was increased by Dan saying it was a large buck, probably an outlying sentinel, and that a herd of deer was not far off, which proved correct. Our patience being exhausted, Dan, much to the delight of Passop, ordered a forward crawling movement; and, with time and patience, we got within eighty yards of the rock, where we determined to halt and wait. The tops of the antlers were still motionless. Poor Passop was trembling with excitement, and his companions much the same. In this position another half-hour passed, when suddenly Dan exclaimed, ‘Look!’ Passop became very uneasy, when we had the pleasure of seeing a splendid stor buck rise up and stand before us broadside, with his head turned to where we were crouching. Passop behaved splendidly, remaining perfectly still, while I shall never forget the expression of his eyes, and his occasional side glance at us, as much as to say, ‘Now then.’ Resting my rifle on a convenient rock, I took aim steadily behind the shoulder, pulled the trigger, and, to my horror, it missed fire. The buck heard the snap, and started off at a rattling pace; Passop struggled wildly to get out of the leash; and Dan exclaimed, ‘Gud bevar mig! Give me my riffel.’ I handed it to him, he recapped it, and fired at about two hundred yards’ distance without effect. Passop collapsed, and the translation of his thoughts into English was indicated by the expression of his face, ‘I have done my best!’ No doubt he had a clear conscience; and work being finished, he commenced eating flatbrod and butter with great zest. The inevitable pipes were now brought out for consolation. Wonderful weed—exquisite after a success, soothing after a defeat!

Near Ovendal: after Reindeer.

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An Anxious Moment.