Boyhood in Norway
H >>
Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen >> Boyhood in Norway
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 BOYHOOD IN NORWAY
STORIES OF BOY-LIFE IN THE LAND OF THE MIDNIGHT SUN
BY
HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN
CONTENTS
THE BATTLE OF THE RAFTS
THE CLASH OF ARMS
BICEPS GRIMLUND'S CHRISTMAS VACATION
THE NIXY'S STRAIN
THE WONDER CHILD
"THE SONS OF THE VIKINGS"
PAUL JESPERSEN'S MASQUERADE
LADY CLARE THE STORY OF A HORSE
BONNYBOY
THE CHILD OF LUCK
THE BEAR THAT HAD A BANK ACCOUNT
THE BATTLE OF THE RAFTS
I. THE ORIGIN OF THE WAR
A deadly feud was raging among the boys of Numedale. The
East-Siders hated the West-Siders, and thrashed them when they
got a chance; and the West-Siders, when fortune favored them,
returned the compliment with interest. It required considerable
courage for a boy to venture, unattended by comrades, into the
territory of the enemy; and no one took the risk unless dire
necessity compelled him.
The hostile parties had played at war so long that they had
forgotten that it was play; and now were actually inspired with
the emotions which they had formerly simulated. Under the
leadership of their chieftains, Halvor Reitan and Viggo Hook,
they held councils of war, sent out scouts, planned midnight
surprises, and fought at times mimic battles. I say mimic
battles, because no one was ever killed; but broken heads and
bruised limbs many a one carried home from these engagements, and
unhappily one boy, named Peer Oestmo, had an eye put out by an
arrow.
It was a great consolation to him that he became a hero to all
the West-Siders and was promoted for bravery in the field to the
rank of first lieutenant. He had the sympathy of all his
companions in arms and got innumerable bites of apples, cancelled
postage stamps, and colored advertising-labels in token of their
esteem.
But the principal effect of this first serious wound was to
invest the war with a breathless and all-absorbing interest. It
was now no longer "make believe," but deadly earnest. Blood had
flowed; insults had been exchanged in due order, and offended
honor cried for vengeance.
It was fortunate that the river divided the West-Siders from the
East-Siders, or it would have been difficult to tell what might
have happened. Viggo Hook, the West-Side general, was a
handsome, high-spirited lad of fifteen, who was the last person
to pocket an injury, as long as red blood flowed in his veins, as
he was wont to express it. He was the eldest son of Colonel Hook
of the regular army, and meant some day to be a Von Moltke or a
Napoleon. He felt in his heart that he was destined for something
great; and in conformity with this conviction assumed a superb
behavior, which his comrades found very admirable.
He had the gift of leadership in a marked degree, and established
his authority by a due mixture of kindness and severity. Those
boys whom he honored with his confidence were absolutely attached
to him. Those whom, with magnificent arbitrariness, he punished
and persecuted, felt meekly that they had probably deserved it;
and if they had not, it was somehow in the game.
There never was a more absolute king than Viggo, nor one more
abjectly courted and admired. And the amusing part of it was
that he was at heart a generous and good-natured lad, but
possessed with a lofty ideal of heroism, which required above all
things that whatever he said or did must be striking. He
dramatized, as it were, every phrase he uttered and every act he
performed, and modelled himself alternately after Napoleon and
Wellington, as he had seen them represented in the old engravings
which decorated the walls in his father's study.
He had read much about heroes of war, ancient and modern, and he
lived about half his own life imagining himself by turns all
sorts of grand characters from history or fiction.
His costume was usually in keeping with his own conception of
these characters, in so far as his scanty opportunities
permitted. An old, broken sword of his father's, which had been
polished until it "flashed" properly, was girded to a brass-
mounted belt about his waist; an ancient, gold-braided, military
cap, which was much too large, covered his curly head; and four
tarnished brass buttons, displaying the Golden Lion of Norway,
gave a martial air to his blue jacket, although the rest were
plain horn.
But quite independently of his poor trappings Viggo was to his
comrades an august personage. I doubt if the Grand Vizier feels
more flattered and gratified by the favor of the Sultan than
little Marcus Henning did, when Viggo condescended to be civil to
him.
Marcus was small, round-shouldered, spindle-shanked, and
freckle-faced. His hair was coarse, straight, and the color of
maple sirup; his nose was broad and a little flattened at the
point, and his clothes had a knack of never fitting him. They
were made to grow in and somehow he never caught up with them, he
once said, with no intention of being funny. His father, who was
Colonel Hook's nearest neighbor, kept a modest country shop, in
which you could buy anything, from dry goods and groceries to
shoes and medicines. You would have to be very ingenious to ask
for a thing which Henning could not supply. The smell in the
store carried out the same idea; for it was a mixture of all
imaginable smells under the sun.
Now, it was the chief misery of Marcus that, sleeping, as he did,
in the room behind the store, he had become so impregnated with
this curious composite smell that it followed him like an
odoriferous halo, and procured him a number of unpleasant
nicknames. The principal ingredient was salted herring; but
there was also a suspicion of tarred ropes, plug tobacco, prunes,
dried codfish, and oiled tarpaulin.
It was not so much kindness of heart as respect for his own
dignity which made Viggo refrain from calling Marcus a "Muskrat"
or a "Smelling-Bottle." And yet Marcus regarded this gracious
forbearance on his part as the mark of a noble soul. He had been
compelled to accept these offensive nicknames, and, finding
rebellion vain, he had finally acquiesced in them.
He never loved to be called a "Muskrat," though he answered to
the name mechanically. But when Viggo addressed him as "base
minion," in his wrath, or as "Sergeant Henning," in his sunnier
moods, Marcus felt equally complimented by both terms, and vowed
in his grateful soul eternal allegiance and loyalty to his chief.
He bore kicks and cuffs with the same admirable equanimity; never
complained when he was thrown into a dungeon in a deserted pigsty
for breaches of discipline of which he was entirely guiltless,
and trudged uncomplainingly through rain and sleet and snow, as
scout or spy, or what-not, at the behest of his exacting
commander.
It was all so very real to him that he never would have thought
of doubting the importance of his mission. He was rather honored
by the trust reposed in him, and was only intent upon earning a
look or word of scant approval from the superb personage whom he
worshipped.
Halvor Reitan, the chief of the East-Siders, was a big, burly
peasant lad, with a pimpled face, fierce blue eyes, and a shock
of towy hair. But he had muscles as hard as twisted ropes, and
sinews like steel.
He had the reputation, of which he was very proud, of being the
strongest boy in the valley, and though he was scarcely sixteen
years old, he boasted that he could whip many a one of twice his
years. He had, in fact, been so praised for his strength that he
never neglected to accept, or even to create, opportunities for
displaying it.
His manner was that of a bully; but it was vanity and not malice
which made him always spoil for a fight. He and Viggo Hook had
attended the parson's "Confirmation Class," together, and it was
there their hostility had commenced.
Halvor, who conceived a dislike of the tall, rather dainty, and
disdainful Viggo, with his aquiline nose and clear, aristocratic
features, determined, as he expressed it, to take him down a peg
or two; and the more his challenges were ignored the more
persistent he grew in his insults.
He dubbed Viggo "Missy." He ran against him with such violence
in the hall that he knocked his head against the wainscoting; he
tripped him up on the stairs by means of canes and sticks; and he
hired his partisans who sat behind Viggo to stick pins into him,
while he recited his lessons. And when all these provocations
proved unavailing he determined to dispense with any pretext, but
simply thrash his enemy within an inch of his life at the first
opportunity which presented itself. He grew to hate Viggo and
was always aching to molest him.
Halvor saw plainly enough that Viggo despised him, and refused to
notice his challenges, not so much because he was afraid of him,
as because he regarded himself as a superior being who could
afford to ignore insults from an inferior, without loss of
dignity.
During recess the so-called "genteel boys," who had better
clothes and better manners than the peasant lads, separated
themselves from the rest, and conversed or played with each
other. No one will wonder that such behavior was exasperating to
the poorer boys. I am far from defending Viggo's behavior in
this instance. He was here, as everywhere, the acknowledged
leader; and therefore more cordially hated than the rest. It was
the Roundhead hating the Cavalier; and the Cavalier making merry
at the expense of the Roundhead.
There was only one boy in the Confirmation Class who was doubtful
as to what camp should claim him, and that was little Marcus
Henning. He was a kind of amphibious animal who, as he thought,
really belonged nowhere. His father was of peasant origin, but
by his prosperity and his occupation had risen out of the class
to which he was formerly attached, without yet rising into the
ranks of the gentry, who now, as always, looked with scorn upon
interlopers. Thus it came to pass that little Marcus, whose
inclinations drew him toward Viggo's party, was yet forced to
associate with the partisans of Halvor Reitan.
It was not a vulgar ambition "to pretend to be better than he
was" which inspired Marcus with a desire to change his
allegiance, but a deep, unreasoning admiration for Viggo Hook.
He had never seen any one who united so many superb qualities,
nor one who looked every inch as noble as he did.
It did not discourage him in the least that his first approaches
met with no cordial reception. His offer to communicate to Viggo
where there was a hawk's nest was coolly declined, and even the
attractions of fox dens and rabbits' burrows were valiantly
resisted. Better luck he had with a pair of fan-tail pigeons,
his most precious treasure, which Viggo rather loftily consented
to accept, for, like most genteel boys in the valley, he was an
ardent pigeon-fancier, and had long vainly importuned his father
to procure him some of the rarer breeds
He condescended to acknowledge Marcus's greeting after that, and
to respond to his diffident "Good-morning" and "Good-evening,"
and Marcus was duly grateful for such favors. He continued to
woo his idol with raisins and ginger-snaps from the store, and
other delicate attentions, and bore the snubs which often fell to
his lot with humility and patience.
But an event soon occurred which was destined to change the
relations of the two boys. Halvor Reitan called a secret meeting
of his partisans, among whom he made the mistake to include
Marcus, and agreed with them to lie in ambush at the bend of the
road, where it entered the forest, and attack Viggo Hook and his
followers. Then, he observed, he would "make him dance a jig
that would take the starch out of him."
The others declared that this would be capital fun, and
enthusiastically promised their assistance. Each one selected
his particular antipathy to thrash, though all showed a marked
preference for Viggo, whom, however, for reason of politeness,
they were obliged to leave to the chief. Only one boy sat
silent, and made no offer to thrash anybody, and that was Marcus
Henning.
"Well, Muskrat," cried Halvor Reitan, "whom are you going to take
on your conscience?"
"No one," said Marcus.
"Put the Muskrat in your pocket, Halvor," suggested one of the
boys; "he is so small, and he has got such a hard bullet head,
you might use him as a club."
"Well, one thing is sure," shouted Halvor, as a dark suspicion
shot through his brain, "if you don't keep mum, you will be a
mighty sick coon the day after to-morrow."
Marcus made no reply, but got up quietly, pulled a rubber sling
from his pocket, and began, with the most indifferent manner in
the world, to shoot stones down the river. He managed during
this exercise, which everybody found perfectly natural, to get
out of the crowd, and, without seeming to have any purpose
whatever, he continued to put a couple of hundred yards between
himself and his companion.
"Look a-here, Muskrat," he heard Halvor cry, "you promised to
keep mum."
Marcus, instead of answering, took to his heels and ran.
"Boys, the scoundrel is going to betray us!" screamed the chief.
"Now come, boys! We've got to catch him, dead or alive."
A volley of stones, big and little, was hurled after the
fugitive, who now realizing his position ran for dear life. The
stones hailed down round about him; occasionally one vicious
missile would whiz past his ear, and send a cold shudder through
him. The tramp of his pursuers sounded nearer and nearer, and
his one chance of escape was to throw himself into the only boat,
which he saw on this side of the river, and push out into the
stream before he was overtaken.
He had his doubts as to whether he could accomplish this, for the
blood rushed and roared in his ears, the hill-side billowed under
his feet, and it seemed as if the trees were all running a race
in the opposite direction, in order to betray him to his enemies.
A stone gave him a thump in the back, but though he felt a
gradual heat spreading from the spot which it hit, he was
conscious of no pain.
Presently a larger missile struck him in the neck, and he heard a
breathless snorting close behind him. That was the end; he gave
himself up for lost, for those boys would have no mercy on him if
they captured him.
But in the next moment he heard a fall and an oath, and the voice
was that of Halvor Reitan. He breathed a little more freely as
he saw the river run with its swelling current at his feet.
Quite mechanically, without clearly knowing what he did, he
sprang into the boat, grabbed a boat-hook, and with three strong
strokes pushed himself out into the deep water.
At that instant a dozen of his pursuers reached the river bank,
and he saw dimly their angry faces and threatening gestures, and
heard the stones drop into the stream about him. Fortunately the
river was partly dammed, in order to accumulate water for the
many saw-mills under the falls. It would therefore have been no
very difficult feat to paddle across, if his aching arms had had
an atom of strength left in them. As soon as he was beyond the
reach of flying stones he seated himself in the stern, took an
oar, and after having bathed his throbbing forehead in the cold
water, managed, in fifteen minutes, to make the further bank.
Then he dragged himself wearily up the hill-side to Colonel
Hook's mansion, and when he had given his message to Viggo, fell
into a dead faint.
How could Viggo help being touched by such devotion? He had seen
the race through a fieldglass from his pigeon-cot, but had been
unable to make out its meaning, nor had he remotely dreamed that
he was himself the cause of the cruel chase. He called his
mother, who soon perceived that Marcus's coat was saturated with
blood in the back, and undressing him, she found that a stone,
hurled by a sling, had struck him, slid a few inches along the
rib, and had lodged in the fleshy part of his left side.
A doctor was now sent for; the stone was cut out without
difficulty, and Marcus was invited to remain as Viggo's guest
until he recovered. He felt so honored by this invitation that
he secretly prayed he might remain ill for a month; but the wound
showed an abominable readiness to heal, and before three days
were past Marcus could not feign any ailment which his face and
eye did not belie.
He then, with a heavy heart, betook himself homeward, and
installed himself once more among his accustomed smells behind
the store, and pondered sadly on the caprice of the fate which
had made Viggo a high-nosed, handsome gentleman, and him--Marcus
Henning--an under-grown, homely, and unrefined drudge. But in
spite of his failure to answer this question, there was joy
within him at the thought that he had saved this handsome face of
Viggo's from disfigurement, and--who could know?--perhaps would
earn a claim upon his gratitude.
It was this series of incidents which led to the war between the
East-Siders and the West-Siders. It was a mere accident that the
partisans of Viggo Hook lived on the west side of the river, and
those of Halvor Reitan mostly on the east side.
Viggo, who had a chivalrous sense of fair play, would never have
molested any one without good cause; but now his own safety, and,
as he persuaded himself, even his life, was in danger, and he had
no choice but to take measures in self-defence. He surrounded
himself with a trusty body-guard, which attended him wherever he
went. He sent little Marcus, in whom he recognized his most
devoted follower, as scout into the enemy's territory, and
swelled his importance enormously by lending him his field-glass
to assist him in his perilous observations.
Occasionally an unhappy East-Sider was captured on the west bank
of the river, court-martialed, and, with much solemnity,
sentenced to death as a spy, but paroled for an indefinite
period, until it should suit his judges to execute the sentence.
The East-Siders, when they captured a West-Sider, went to work
with less ceremony; they simply thrashed their captive soundly
and let him run, if run he could.
Thus months passed. The parson's Confirmation Class ceased, and
both the opposing chieftains were confirmed on the same day; but
Viggo stood at the head of the candidates, while Halvor had his
place at the bottom.[1]
[1] In Norway confirmation is always preceded by a public
examination of the candidates in the aisle of the church. The
order in which they are arranged is supposed to indicate their
attainments, but does, as a rule, indicate the rank and social
position of their parents.
During the following winter the war was prosecuted with much
zeal, and the West-Siders, in imitation of Robin Hood and his
Merry Men, armed themselves with cross-bows, and lay in ambush in
the underbrush, aiming their swift arrows against any intruder
who ventured to cross the river.
Nearly all the boys in the valley between twelve and sixteen
became enlisted on the one side or the other, and there were
councils of war, marches, and counter-marches without number,
occasional skirmishes, but no decisive engagements. Peer Oestmo,
to be sure, had his eye put out by an arrow, as has already been
related, for the East-Siders were not slow to imitate the example
of their enemies, in becoming expert archers.
Marcus Henning was captured by a hostile outpost, and was being
conducted to the abode of the chief, when, by a clever stratagem,
he succeeded in making his escape.
The East-Siders despatched, under a flag of truce, a most
insulting caricature of General Viggo, representing him as a
rooster that seemed on the point of bursting with an excess of
dignity.
These were the chief incidents of the winter, though there were
many others of less consequence that served to keep the boys in a
delightful state of excitement. They enjoyed the war keenly,
though they pretended to themselves that they were being ill-used
and suffered terrible hardships. They grumbled at their duties,
brought complaints against their officers to the general, and
did, in fact, all the things that real soldiers would have been
likely to do under similar circumstances.
II.
THE CLASH OF ARMS
When the spring is late in Norway, and the heat comes with a
sudden rush, the mountain streams plunge with a tremendous noise
down into the valleys, and the air is filled far and near with
the boom and roar of rushing waters. The glaciers groan, and
send their milk-white torrents down toward the ocean. The
snow-patches in the forest glens look gray and soiled, and the
pines perspire a delicious resinous odor which cheers the soul
with the conviction that spring has come.
But the peasant looks anxiously at the sun and the river at such
times, for he knows that there is danger of inundation. The
lumber, which the spring floods set afloat in enormous
quantities, is carried by the rivers to the cities by the sea;
there it is sorted according to the mark it bears, showing the
proprietor, and exported to foreign countries.
In order to prevent log-jams, which are often attended with
terrible disasters, men are stationed night and day at the
narrows of the rivers. The boys, to whom all excitement is
welcome, are apt to congregate in large numbers at such places,
assisting or annoying the watchers, riding on the logs, or
teasing the girls who stand up on the hillside, admiring the
daring feats of the lumbermen.
It was on such a spring day, when the air was pungent with the
smell of sprouting birch and pine, that General Viggo and his
trusty army had betaken themselves to the cataract to share in
the sport. They were armed with their bows, as usual, knowing
that they were always liable to be surprised by their vigilant
enemy. Nor were they in this instance disappointed, for Halvor
Reitan, with fifty or sixty followers, was presently visible on
the east side, and it was a foregone conclusion that if they met
there would be a battle.
The river, to be sure, separated them, but the logs were at times
so densely packed that it was possible for a daring lad to run
far out into the river, shoot his arrow and return to shore,
leaping from log to log. The Reitan party was the first to begin
this sport, and an arrow hit General Viggo's hat before he gave
orders to repel the assault.
Cool and dignified as he was, he could not consent to skip and
jump on the slippery logs, particularly as he had no experience
in this difficult exercise, while the enemy apparently had much.
Paying no heed to the jeers of the lumbermen, who supposed he was
afraid, he drew his troops up in line and addressed them as
follows:
"Soldiers: You have on many previous occasions given me proof of
your fidelity to duty and your brave and fearless spirit. I know
that I can, now as always, trust you to shed glory upon our arms,
and to maintain our noble fame and honorable traditions.
"The enemy is before us. You have heard and seen his challenge.
It behooves us to respond gallantly. To jump and skip like
rabbits is unmilitary and unsoldierlike. I propose that each of
us shall select two large logs, tie them together, procure, if
possible, a boat-hook or an oar, and, sitting astride the logs,
boldly push out into the river. If we can advance in a tolerably
even line, which I think quite possible, we can send so deadly a
charge into the ranks of our adversaries that they will be
compelled to flee. Then we will land on the east side, occupy
the heights, and rout our foe.
"Now let each man do his duty. Forward, march!"
The lumbermen, whose sympathies were with the East-Siders, found
this performance highly diverting, but Viggo allowed himself in
nowise to be disturbed by their laughter or jeers. He marched
his troops down to the river-front, commanded "Rest arms!" and
repeated once more his instructions; then, flinging off his coat
and waistcoat, he seized a boat-hook and ran some hundred yards
along the bank of the stream.
The river-bed was here expanded to a wide basin, in which the
logs floated lazily down to the cataract below. Trees and
underbrush, which usually stood on dry land, were half-submerged
in the yellow water, and the current gurgled slowly about their
trunks with muddy foam and bubbles. Now and then a heap of
lumber would get wedged in between the jutting rocks above the
waterfall, and then the current slackened, only to be suddenly
accelerated, when the exertions of the men had again removed the
obstruction.
It was an exciting spectacle to see these daring fellows leap
from log to log, with birch-bark shoes on their feet. They would
ride on a heap of lumber down to the very edge of the cataract,
dexterously jump off at the critical moment, and after half a
dozen narrow escapes, reach the shore, only to repeat the
dangerous experiment, as soon as the next opportunity offered
itself.
It was the example of these hardy and agile lumbermen, trained
from childhood to sport with danger, which inspired Viggo and his
followers with a desire to show their mettle.
"Sergeant Henning," said the General to his ever-faithful shadow,
"take a squad of five men with you, and cut steering-poles for
those for whom boat-hooks cannot be procured. You will be the
last to leave shore. Report to me if any one fails to obey
orders."
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13