The Modern Vikings

The baron, looking around at all the hopeless eyes and haggard faces, felt that there was something besides vanity that prompted the request; and he accordingly ordered the cook to bring his own plate and drew his chair up to the table. Hardly had he seized his knife when Nils saw a gnome, who had hitherto been seated on the floor awaiting his turn, crawl up on the arm of his big chair and, standing on tiptoe, seize between his teeth the first bit the baron was putting to his mouth. The old gentleman looked astounded, mystified, bewildered; but, fearing to make an exhibition of himself, selected another mouthful, and again conducted it the accustomed way. The gnome came near laughing right out, as he despatched this second morsel in the same manner as the first, and all around the table the little monsters held their hands over their mouths and seemed on the point of exploding. The baron put down knife and fork with a bang; his eyes seemed to be starting out of his head, and his whole face assumed an expression of unspeakable horror.

“It is Satan himself who is mocking us!” he cried. “Send for the priest! Send for the priest!”

Just then Nils crept around behind the baron, who soon felt something soft, like a fine skull-cap, pressed on his head, and before he had time to resent the liberty, he started in terror at the sight of the little creature that he saw sitting on the arm of his chair. He sprang up with an exclamation of fright, and pushed the chair back so violently that it was almost upset upon the floor. The gnome dexterously leaped down and stood staring back at the baron for an instant; then, with a spring, he snatched a potato and half a loaf of bread, and disappeared. In his haste, the baron ran against Nils, the under-groom, who (now without a cap) was standing with a smiling countenance calmly surveying all the confusion about him.

“Now, was I right, your lordship?” he asked, with a respectful bow. “Did you find the victuals very filling?”

The baron, who was yet too frightened to answer, stood gazing toward a window-pane, which suddenly and noiselessly broke, and through which the whole procession of gnomes, huddled together in flight, tumbled headlong into the snow-bank without.

“And what shall we do, Nils,” said the baron, the next day, when he had recovered from his shock, “to prevent the return of the unbidden guests?”

“Stop ringing the great bell,” answered Nils. “It is that which invites the gnomes.”

And since that day the dinner-bell has never been rung at Halthorp.

But one day, late in the winter, Nils the groom, as he was splitting wood on the mountain-side, heard a plaintively tinkling voice within, singing:

“Hunger and sorrow each new day is bringing,
Since Halthorp bell has ceased its ringing.”

HOW BERNT WENT WHALING

Bernt Holter and his sister Hilda were sitting on the beach, playing with large spiral cockles which they imagined were cows and horses. They built stables out of chips, and fenced in their pastures, and led their cattle in long rows through the deep grooves they had made in the sand.

“When I grow up to be a man,” said Bernt, who was twelve years old, “I am going to sea and catch whales, as father did when he was young. I don’t want to stand behind a counter and sell calico and tape and coffee and sugar,” he continued, thrusting his chest forward, putting his hands into his pockets, and marching with a manly swagger across the beach. “I don’t want to play with cockles, like a baby, any more,” he added, giving a forcible kick to one of Hilda’s finest shells and sending it flying across the sand.

“I wish you wouldn’t be so naughty, Bernt,” cried his sister, with tears in her eyes. “If you don’t want to play with me, I can play alone. Bernt, oh – look there!”

Just at that moment a dozen or more columns of water flew high into the air, and the same number of large, black tail-fins emerged from the surface of the fiord, and again slowly vanished.

“Hurrah!” cried Bernt, in great glee, “it is a school of dolphins. Good-by, Hilda dear, I think I’ll run down to the boat-house.”

“I think I’ll go with you, Bernt,” said his sister, obligingly, rising and shaking the sand from her skirts.

“I think you’ll not,” remarked her brother, angrily; “I can run faster than you.”

So saying, he rushed away over the crisp sand as fast as his feet would carry him, while his sister Hilda, who was rather a soft-hearted girl, and ready with her tears, ran after him, all out of breath and calling to him at the top of her voice. Finally, when she was more than half way to the boat-house, she stumbled against a stone and fell full length upon the beach. Bernt, fearing that she might be hurt, paused in his flight and returned to pick her up, but could not refrain from giving her a vindictive little shake, as soon as he discovered that she had sustained no injury.

“I do think girls are the greatest bother that ever was invented,” he said, in high dudgeon. “I don’t see what they are good for, anyway.”

“I want to go with you, Bernt,” cried Hilda.

Seeing there was no escape, he thought he might just as well be kind to her.

“You may go,” he said, “if you will promise never to tell anybody what I am going to do?”

“No, Bernt, I shall never tell,” said the child, eagerly, and drying her tears.

“I am going a-whaling,” whispered Bernt, mysteriously. “Come along!”

“Whaling!” echoed the girl, in delicious excitement. “Dear Bernt, how good you are! Oh, how lovely! No, I shall never tell it to anybody as long as I live.”

It was late in the afternoon, and the sun, which at that time of the year never sets in the northern part of Norway, threw its red, misty rays like a veil of dull flame over the lofty mountains which, with their snow-hooded peaks, pierced the fiery clouds; their huge reflections shone in soft tints of red, green, and blue in the depth of the fiord, whose glittering surface was calm and smooth as a mirror. Only in the bay which the school of dolphins had entered was the water ruffled; but there, high spouts rose every moment into the air and descended again in showers of fine spray.

“It is well that father has gone away with the fishermen,” said Bernt, as he exerted himself with all his might to push his small boat down over the slippery beams of the boat-house. “Here, Hilda, hold my harpoon for me.”

Hilda, greatly impressed with her own dignity in being allowed to hold so dangerous a weapon as a harpoon, grasped it eagerly and held it up in both her arms. Bernt once more put his shoulder to the prow of his light skiff (which, in honor of his father’s whaling voyages, he had named The North Pole) and with a tremendous effort set it afloat. Then he carefully assisted Hilda into the boat, in the stern of which she seated herself. Next he seized the oars and rowed gently out beyond the rocky headland toward which he had seen the dolphins steer their course. He was an excellent sailor for his years, and could manage a boat noiselessly and well.

“Hilda, take the helm,” he whispered, “or, if you were only good for anything, you might paddle and we should be upon them in a minute. Now, remember, and push the tiller to the side opposite where I want to go.”

“I’ll remember,” she replied, breathlessly.

The gentle splashing of the oars and the clicking of the rowlocks were the only sounds which broke the silence of the evening. Now and then a solitary gull gave a long, shrill scream as she dived beneath the surface of the fiord, and once a fish-hawk’s loud, discordant yell was flung by the echoes from mountain to mountain.

“Starboard,” commanded Bernt, sternly; but Hilda in her agitation pushed the tiller to the wrong side and sent the boat flying to port.

“Starboard, I said!” cried the boy, indignantly; “if I had known you would be so stupid, I should never have taken you along.”

“Please, brother dear, do be patient with me,” pleaded the girl, remorsefully. “I shall not do it again.”

It then pleased his majesty, Bernt Holter, to relent, although his sister had by her awkwardness alarmed the dolphins, sending the boat right in their wake, when it had been his purpose to head them off. He knew well enough that it takes several minutes for a whole school of so large a fish as the dolphin to change its course, and the hunter would thus have a good chance of “pricking” a laggard before he could catch up with his companions. Bernt strained every muscle, while coolly keeping his eye on the water to note the course of his game. His only chance was in cutting across the bay and lying in wait for them at the next headland. For he knew very well that if they were seriously frightened and suspected that they were being pursued, they could easily beat him by the speed and dexterity of their movements. But he saw to his delight that his calculations were correct. Instead of taking the straight course seaward, the dolphins, being probably in pursuit of fresh herring, young cod, and other marine delicacies which they needed for their late dinner, steered close to land where the young fish are found in greater abundance, and their following the coastline of the bay gave Bernt a chance of cutting them off and making their acquaintance at closer quarters. Having crossed the little bay, he commanded his sister to lie down flat in the bottom of the boat – a command which she willingly, though with a quaking heart, obeyed. He backed cautiously into a little nook among the rocks from which he had a clear passage out, and having one hand on his harpoon, which was secured by a rope to the prow of the boat, and the other on the boat-hook (with which he meant to push himself rapidly out into the midst of the school), he peered joyously over the gunwale and heard the loud snorts, followed by the hissing descent of the spray, approaching nearer and nearer. Now, steady my boy! Don’t lose your presence of mind! One, two, three – there goes! Jumping up, fixing the boat-hook against the rock, and with a tremendous push shooting out into the midst of the school was but a moment’s work. Whew! The water spouts and whirls about his ears as in a shower-bath. Off goes his cap. Let it go! But stop! What was that? A terrific slap against the side of the boat as from the tail of a huge fish. Hilda jumps up with a piercing shriek and the boat careens heavily to the port side, the gunwale dipping for a moment under the water. A loud snort, followed again by a shower of spray, is heard right ahead, and, at the same moment, the harpoon flies through the air with a fierce whiz and lodges firmly in a broad, black back. The huge fish in its first spasm of pain gives a fling with its tail and for an instant the little boat is lifted out of the water on the back of the wounded dolphin.

“Keep steady, don’t let go the rope!” shouts Bernt at the top of his voice, “he won’t hurt – ”

But before he had finished, the light skiff, with a tremendous splash, struck the water again, and the little coil of rope to which the harpoon was attached flew humming over the gunwale and disappeared with astonishing speed into the deep.

Bernt seized the cord, and when there was little left to spare, tied it firmly to the prow of the boat, which then, of course, leaped forward with every effort of the dolphin to rid itself of the harpoon. The rest of the school, having taken alarm, had sought deep water, and were seen, after a few minutes, far out beyond the headland.

“I want to go home, Bernt,” Hilda exclaimed, vehemently. “I want to go home; I don’t want to get killed, Bernt.”

“You silly thing! You can’t go home now. You must just do as I tell you; but, of course – if you only are sensible – you won’t get killed, or hurt at all.”

While he was yet speaking, the boat began all of a sudden to move rapidly over the water.

The dolphin had bethought him of flight, not knowing that, however swiftly he swam, he pulled his enemy after him. As he rose to the surface, about fifty or sixty yards ahead, a small column of water shot feebly upward, and spread in a fan-like, irregular shape before it fell. The poor beast floundered along for a few seconds, its long, black body in full view, and then again dived down, dragging the boat onward with a series of quick convulsive pulls.

Bernt held on tightly to the cord, while the water foamed and bubbled about the prow and surged in swirling eddies in the wake of the skiff.

“If I can only manage to get that dolphin,” said Bernt, “I know father will give me at least a dollar for him. There’s lots of blubber on him, and that is used for oil to burn in lamps.”

The little girl did not answer, but grasped the gunwale hard on each side, and gazed anxiously at the foaming and bubbling water. Bernt, too, sat silent in the prow, but with a fisherman’s excitement in his face. The sun hung, huge and fiery, over the western mountains, and sent up a great, dusky glare among the clouds, which burned in intense but lurid hues of red and gold. Gradually, and before they were fully aware of it, the boat began to rise and descend again, and Bernt discovered by the heavy, even roll of the water that they must be near the ocean.

“Now you may stop, my dear dolphin,” he said, coolly. “We don’t want you to take us across to America. Who would have thought that you were such a tough customer anyway?”

He let go the rope, and, seating himself again, put the oars into the rowlocks. He tried to arrest the speed of the boat by vigorous backing; but, to his surprise, found that his efforts were of no avail.

“Hilda,” he cried, not betraying, however, the anxiety he was beginning to feel, “take the other pair of oars and let us see what you are good for.”