“They are safe and well, but I intended to sail for Gottenburg to-morrow morning. I have almost concluded to do so, and leave some one to accompany the boys to Gottenburg in the steamer. I do not like to delay the whole fleet for them.”
“It would take a long time to beat out of the fjord against a head wind,” added Paul.
“If the wind is fair to-morrow morning, I shall sail, whether they arrive or not.”
“A steamer leaves for Gottenburg on Saturday morning, and she may arrive as soon as your ship,” added Paul.
“Very true. I think I will leave Peaks to look out for the absentees. Are you sure the steamer goes on Saturday?”
“Yes, sir; here is the time table,” replied Paul, producing a paper he had obtained at Mr. Bennett’s. “Dampskibet Kronprindsesse Louise.”
“That’s Norwegian, Paul. Can you read it?” laughed Mr. Lowington.
“A little. ‘Hver Löverday;’ that means on Saturday; ‘at 6 fm.,’ which is early in the morning. She arrives at Gottenburg about midnight.”
“That will answer our purpose very well. We shall get under way early in the morning, Paul.”
“Then I will go on board of the yacht to-night, sir; but you need not wait for me, for I think I can catchyou if you should get two or three hours the start of me. I haven’t used my balloon jib yet, and am rather anxious to do so.”
“I shall not wait for you, then, Paul.”
After a long conversation with Mrs. Blacklock, in which he assured her again that nothing but firmness on her part could save her son from ruin, the principal left the hotel, and returned to the ship. In the evening Mr. and Mrs. Kendall went on board of the Grace. On the following morning, the wind being a little north of west, the signal for sailing was displayed on board of the Young America, and at six o’clock the fleet were under way. The weather was beautiful, and the fresh breeze enabled all the vessels to log eight knots an hour, which brought them fairly into the Skager Rack early in the afternoon.
“I suppose we are off the coast of Sweden now,” said Norwood, as he glanced at the distant hills on the left.
“The pilot said Frederikshald was in this direction,” replied Captain Lincoln, pointing to the shore. “It is at the head of a small fjord, and is near the line between Norway and Sweden.”
“Charles XII. was killed there—wasn’t he?”
“That’s the place. The fortress of Frederiksteen is there, on a perpendicular rock four hundred feet high.”
“I wish we went nearer to the Swedish coast,” added Norwood.
“We shall see enough of it before we leave the Baltic,” said Lincoln.
“Probably we shall not care to see it after we have been looking at it a week.”
“According to the chart, this part of the coast is fringed with islands, but they don’t look so bare and desolate as those of Norway. I had an idea that everything on this side of the ocean was entirely different from what we see on our side,” added the captain.
“That was just my idea.”
“But it isn’t so. It is almost the same thing here as the coast of Maine. The shore here is hilly, and through the glass it looks as though it was covered with pine forests.”
“I expect to see something different before we return.”
“Not in the Baltic; for I fancy most of the southern coast looks like that of our Middle and Southern States.”
“Up here, even the houses look just as they do at home.”
“I don’t believe we shall find it so in Denmark.”
As there was little to be seen, the regular routine of the squadron was followed, and those who were in the steerage, attending to their recitations, did not feel that they were losing anything. Later in the day, the wind was light, and the vessels made very little progress, though the course brought them nearer to the coast, where on the port bow appeared a high promontory, extending far out into the sea. The wind died out entirely just before sunset, and the sails hung motionless from the spars; for there was no swell to make them thrash about, as at sea. It was utter silence, and it was hard to believe that very ugly storms often made sad havoc in this channel.
When the sun rose the next morning it brought with it a light breeze from the west, and the fleet again skimmed merrily along over the water. Its course was near the town of Marstrand, a noted Swedish watering-place, situated on an island. Soon after, pilots were taken, and the vessels stood into the harbor of Gottenburg, which is formed by the mouth of Göta River. Along the sides of the channel were posts set in the water, for the convenience of vessels hauling in or out of the harbor. The fleet came to anchor in a convenient part of the port, and those on board proceeded to take a leisurely survey of the city. The portion of the town nearest to them was built on low, flat land, and they could see the entrances of various canals. Farther back was a series of rugged hills, which were covered with pleasant residences and beautiful gardens. After dinner the students were mustered on deck, to listen to a few particulars in regard to the city, though it was understood that the general lecture on Sweden would be reserved until the arrival of the squadron at Stockholm.
“What city is this?” asked Mr. Mapps.
“Gottenburg,” replied a hundred of the students.
“That is plain English. What do the Swedes call it?”
“G-ö-t-e-b-o-r-g,” answered Captain Lincoln, spelling the word.
“Perhaps I had better call on Professor Badois to pronounce it for you.”
“Yāt-a-borg,” said the instructor in languages, repeating the pronunciation several times, which, however, cannot be very accurately expressed with English characters. “And the river here is Ya-tah.”
“The French call the cityGothembourg. It is five miles from the sea, and is connected with Stockholm by the Göta Canal, which is a wonderful piece of engineering. Steamboats ply regularly between Gottenburg and the capital through this canal, the voyage occupying three or four days.”
“I intend to make a trip up this canal as far as the Wenern Lake, with the students,” said Mr. Lowington.
A cheer greeted this announcement, and then the professor described the canal minutely.
“The principal street of Gottenburg,” he continued, “is on the canal, extending through the centre of the city. There are no remarkable buildings, however, for the city is a commercial place. It was founded by Gustavus Adolphus, and, like many other cities of the north, being built of wood, it has several times been nearly destroyed by fire. The buildings now are mostly of stone, or of brick covered with plaster. The environs of the city, as you may see from the ship, are very pleasant. Now a word about the money of Sweden. The government has adopted a decimal system, of which the unit is theriksdaler, containing one hundredöre. The currency in circulation is almost entirely paper, though no bills smaller than one riksdaler are issued. The silver coins in use are the half and the quarter riksdaler, and the ten-öre piece; the latter being a very small coin. On the coppers, the value in öre is marked. A riksdaler is worth about twenty-seven cents of our money. Sweden is a cheap country.”
The signal was made for embarking in the boats,and in a few moments the Gottenburgers, as well as the people on board of the foreign vessels in the harbor, were astonished by the evolutions of the squadron. The students landed, and dividing into parties, explored the city. Their first care was to examine the canal, and the various craft that floated upon it; but the latter, consisting mainly of schooners, were not different from those they saw at home. They visited the exchange, the cathedral, the residence of the governor of the province, and other principal edifices.
“How do you feel, Scott?” asked Laybold, after they had walked till they were tired out, and it was nearly time to go to the landing-place.
“Tired and hungry,” replied the wag. “I wonder if these Swedishers have anything to eat.”
“Probably they do; here’s a place which looks like a restaurant.”
“I feel as though I hadn’t tasted food for four months. Let’s go in.”
They entered the store, which was near theBourse. A neatly-dressed waiter bowed to them, and Scott intimated that they wanted a lunch. The man who understood English, conducted them to a table, on which a variety of eatables was displayed, some of which had a familiar look, and others were utterly new and strange. The waiter filled a couple of wine-glasses from a decanter containing a light-colored fluid, and placed them before the boys.
“What’s that?” asked Scott, glancing suspiciously at the wine-glass.
“Finkel,” replied the man.
“Exactly so; that’s what I thought it was,” repliedScott, who had never heard of the stuff before. “Is it strong?”
“No,” answered the waiter, shaking his head with a laugh. “Everybody drinks it in Sweden.”
“Then we must, Laybold, for we are somebody.”
Scott raised the glass. The fluid had the odor of anise-seed, and was not at all disagreeable. The taste, too, was rather pleasant at first, and Scott drank it off. Laybold followed his example. We must do them the justice to say that neither of them knew what “finkel” was. Something like strangulation followed the swallowing of the fluid.
“That’s not bad,” said Scott, trying to make the best of it.
“No, not bad, Scott; but what are you crying about?” replied the other, when he recovered the use of his tongue.
“I happened to think of an old aunt of mine, who died and left me all her money,” added Scott, wiping his eyes. “But you needn’t cry; she didn’t leave any of the money to you.”
“What are you going to eat?”
“I generally eat victuals,” replied Scott, picking up a slice of bread on which was laid a very thin slice of smoked salmon. “That’s not bad.”
The waiter passed to Laybold a small plate of sandwiches, filled with a kind of fish-spawn, black and shining. The student took a huge bite of one of them, but a moment elapsed before he realized the taste of the interior of the sandwich; then, with the ugliest face a boy could assume, he rushed to the door, andviolently ejected the contents of his mouth into the street.
“What’s the matter?” demanded the waiter, struggling to keep from laughing.
“What abominably nasty stuff!” exclaimed Laybold. “It’s just like fish slime.”
“Don’t you like it, Laybold?” asked Scott, coolly.
“Like it? I don’t like it.”
“Everybody in Sweden eats it,” said the waiter.
“What’s the matter with it? Is it like defunct cat?” asked Scott.
“More like defunct fish. Try it.”
“I will, my lad,” added Scott, taking a liberal bite of one of the sandwiches.
“How is it?” inquired Laybold.
“First rate; that’s the diet for me.”
“Very good,” said the waiter.
“You don’t mean to say you like that stuff, Scott.”
“The proof of the pudding is the eating of the bag. I do like it, even better than ‘finkel.’”
“I don’t believe it. No one with a Christian stomach could eat such stuff.”
“You judge by your own experience. I say it is good. Yours isn’t a Christian stomach, and that’s the reason you don’t like it.”
“You are a heathen, Scott.”
“Heathen enough to know what’s good.”
“Some more finkel, sir?” suggested the waiter.
“No more finkel for me,” replied Scott, whose head was beginning to whirl like a top.
“Better take some more,” laughed Laybold, who was in the same condition.
“I can’t stop to take any more; I’m hungry,” replied Scott, who continued to devour the various viands on the table, till his companion’s patience was exhausted.
“Come, Scott, we shall be late at the landing.”
“We won’t go home till morning,” chanted the boozy student.
“I will go now;” and Laybold stood up, and tried to walk to the door—a feat which he accomplished with no little difficulty.
“Don’t be in a hurry, my boy. Come and take some finkel.”
“I don’t want any finkel.”
“Then come and pay the bill. I shall clean out this concern if I stay any longer.”
“How much, waiter?” stammered Laybold.
“One riksdaler.”
“Cheap enough. I should have been broken if they charged by the pound for what I ate.”
“That’s so,” added Laybold, as he gave the waiter an English sovereign, and received his change in paper.
“Now, my boy, we’ll go to sea again,” said Scott, as he staggered towards the door. “See here, Laybold.”
“Well, what do you want?” snarled the latter.
“I’ll tell you something, if you won’t say anything about it to any one.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t tell the principal.”
“No.”
“Well, then, we’re drunk,” added Scott, with a tipsy grin.
“You are.”
“I am, my boy; I don’t know a bob-stay from a bowling hitch. And you are as drunk as I am, Laybold.”
“I know what I am about.”
“So do I know what you are about. You are making a fool of yourself. Hold on a minute,” added Scott, as he seated himself on a bench before a shop.
“Come along, Scott.”
“Not for Joseph.”
“We shall be left.”
“That’s just what I want. I’m not going to present myself before the principal in this condition—not if I know it.”
Laybold, finding that it was not convenient to stand, seated himself by the side of his companion. Presently they discovered a party of officers on their way to the boats, and they staggered into a lane to escape observation. The two students, utterly vanquished by “finkel,” did not appear at the landing, and the boats left without them.
ON THE WAY TO THE RJUKANFOS.
“What may the Rjukanfos be?” asked Clyde Blacklock, after his courier had started on his return to Christiania.
“O, it’s a big thing,” replied Sanford. “You can bet high on it.”
“Doubtless I can; but is it a mountain, a river, or a lake?”
“’Pon my word, I don’t know. Here, Norway!” he shouted to Ole, who was with the rest of the party.
“I’m here, Mr. Coxswain,” replied the waif.
“What’s the Rjukanfos? You told me we ought to go there; but I’ll be hanged if I know whether it’s a lake or a river.”
“Neither a lake nor a river,” replied Ole. “It’s a big waterfall.Fos, on the end of a word, always makes a waterfall of it. There’s another, the Vöringfos; but that’s too far away.”
“How far is it?”
“I don’t know; but it’s a long distance,” added Ole. “All the other fellows think we are going to Christiania in the morning.”
“All but Stockwell and Rodman,” answered Sanford, who had told Ole about the new recruit.
“So you are going to play it upon them—are you?” laughed Clyde.
“Just a little. We don’t want to leave Norway without seeing something of the country, and the rest of the fellows won’t go. So we are going to take them along with us.”
“Excellent! That will be a magnificent joke,” exclaimed Clyde. “I’m with you. I suppose you all ran away from the ship when you found the tyranny was too much for you.”
“O, no! We didn’t run away. We wouldn’t do that. Somehow, by an accident, our boat was stove, and we were carried off by a steamer. Then we couldn’t get back to Christiansand before the ship sailed, and we were obliged to come across the country to Christiania, you see.”
“I see,” replied Clyde, knowingly. “But you don’t mean to go back to the ship—do you?”
“Certainly we do,” protested Sanford.
“Then you are bigger spoonies than I thought you were.”
“But we are afraid the ship will be gone before we can reach Christiania.”
“O, you are afraid of it.”
“Very much afraid of it.”
“You wouldn’t cry if you found she had gone—would you?”
“Well, perhaps we should not cry, for we think we ought to be manly, and not be babies; but, of course, we should feel very bad about it.”
“O, you would!”
“Certainly we should; for if we were caught runningaway, staying away longer than is necessary, or anything of that sort, our liberty would be stopped, and we should not be allowed to go on shore with the rest of the fellows.”
“You are a deep one, Mr. Coxswain,” added Clyde.
“O, no! I’m only a simple-minded young man, that always strives to do his duty as well as he knows how.”
“I dare say you think it is your duty to visit the—what-ye-call-it?—the waterfall.”
“You see it is just as near to go that way as the other.”
“Is it?”
“Well, if it isn’t, we shall not know the fact till after we have been there.”
“I think I understand you perfectly, Mr. Coxswain; but I don’t intend to return to the ship under any circumstances.”
“You can do as you please, but if we should happen to miss the ship, why, we shall be obliged to travel till we find her.”
“Exactly so,” laughed Clyde.
“But don’t understand me that we mean to run away, or to keep away from the ship any longer than is absolutely necessary; for we are all good boys, and always mean to obey our officers.”
“I don’t mean to do any such thing. After I hear that the ship has left Christiania, I shall go there, find my mother, and travel where I please.”
The next morning the party started on their journey, and by the middle of the afternoon arrived at a station between Lysthus and Tinoset, where the roadto the Rjukanfos branched off from that to the capital. They were compelled to wait an hour here for a change of horses. Rogues rarely believe that they are suspected, and Sanford was confident that his companions, with the exception of Rodman and Stockwell, had no idea of his intentions. Burchmore had not failed to notice the repeated conferences between those who were plotting the mischief. He was not quite satisfied with the delay which had enabled the party to catch that solitary salmon at Apalstö. He was one of the first to enter the station-house where the carioles stopped. On the table he found “The Hand-book of Norway,” which contained a large map. He was anxious to possess this book.
“Hvor?” said he, using a word he had learned of Ole, which meant “how much,” at the same time holding up the book, and exhibiting his money.
“Tre,” replied the woman in the room; by which he understood her to mean three marks, for at the same time she laughingly held up three fingers.
Burchmore paid the money, and put the book into his pocket. Retreating behind the stable with Churchill, who rode in the cariole with him, he produced the volume, and spread out the map. Without much difficulty he found the road by which the party had come. Everything was right so far, and he was satisfied that they should arrive at Kongsberg that night.
“Can you make out what’s up, Burchmore?” asked Churchill, with whom the former had discussed his doubts and fears.
“No; everything is right. Here we are, at thebranching off of these two roads,” replied Burchmore, indicating the locality with the point of his knife.
“But Sanford is up to something. He, and Ole, and Stockwell are whispering together half the time. Perhaps they mean to leave us somewhere on the road.”
“They can, if they like,” added Burchmore. “I am cashier, you know. Each fellow has paid me seven pounds, which I have changed into species and marks. No other one has any Norwegian money, or, at least, not more than a specie or two. They won’t leave me.”
“They wouldn’t make anything by it.”
“And Sanford runs with that English fellow, who seems to be a little fast.”
“He’s a hard one,” added Churchill, shaking his head.
“Let them go it; I can keep the run of them now,” said Burchmore, as he folded up the map, and put the Hand-book in his pocket. “Don’t say anything about this book, Churchy.”
“Not a word.”
“I know where we are now, and I think I shall know better than to wait a whole day for horses again. That was a sell.”
“Do you think so?”
“I thought so at the time, but I didn’t want to make a fuss. I changed a sovereign for Ole yesterday, and I believe Sanford has bought him up. Never mind; we take the right hand road here, and as long as we keep moving I haven’t a word to say.”
In less than an hour the horses were ready, and theprocession of carioles moved off. Ole and Sanford led the way, and turned to the left, instead of the right.
“That’s wrong,” said Burchmore, very much excited.
“But what do they mean by going this way?” added Churchill.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care; I only know it is the wrong way. Hallo!” he shouted to Sanford, and stopped his pony, which compelled three others behind him to stop also.
“What’s the matter?” called Sanford.
“You are going the wrong way,” replied the cashier.
“No, this is right; come along;” and the coxswain started his team again.
But Burchmore refused to follow him, and continued to block the way against those behind him.
“Out of the way!” cried Clyde, who was in the rear.
“This is not the right way to Kongsberg,” said Burchmore.
“Out of the way, or I’ll smash you!” added the imperious Briton.
The cashier was a peaceable young gentleman, and turned his horse out of the road. The cariole of Sanford was now out of sight.
“Why don’t you go ahead?” demanded Tinckner. “How do you know it is the wrong road?”
“I am certain of it. Those fellows are up to some trick.”
As a portion of the procession did not follow its leader, Sanford and his companions turned back.
“What’s the matter, Burchmore? Why don’t you come along?” cried the coxswain, angrily.
“This is not the right road.”
“Isn’t it, Ole?” added the coxswain, turning to his companion in the cariole.
“Certainly it is.”
“I know it isn’t,” protested the cashier, vehemently. “You are up to some trick.”
“What trick?” asked Sanford, mildly, as he put on his look of injured innocence.
“I don’t know what; but I know this is not the right road to Kongsberg.”
“Who said anything about Kongsberg? We intend to go by the shortest way. Don’t we, Ole?”
“To be sure we do,” replied the ready waif. “We are not going way round by Kongsberg.”
“You can’t bluff me.”
“Don’t want to bluff you. Go whichever way you like; and the one who gets to Christiania first is the best fellow. That’s all I have to say.”
Sanford turned his pony, and drove off again, followed by Clyde, Stockwell, and Rodman.
“How do you know this isn’t the right way?” inquired Tinckner.
“I’ll tell you,” replied the cashier, jumping out of the cariole, and taking the Hand-book from his pocket.
The others soon joined him, and exhibiting the map, he explained his position to his friends.
“Here’s another road to Kongsberg,” said Summers, indicating its direction on the map. “They may be going that way.”
“It is possible,” added Burchmore, puzzled by this discovery. “It is farther that way than by Lysthus.”
“Not much; there’s hardly any difference. I’m in favor of following Sanford.”
So were nearly all of them, and the cashier finally yielded. The tourists resumed their seats, and soon overtook the coxswain, who had evidently expected to be followed. Burchmore was annoyed by the discovery he had made, but as the pony attached to the cariole slowly climbed the hills, he studied the map and the text of the book he had bought.
“We can’t go much farther on this tack,” said he, as he folded up his map.
“What’s to prevent us from keeping on to the north pole?” asked Churchill.
“It is almost night, in the first place, and in the second, we shall come to a lake in the course of an hour, where we must take boats.”
“I don’t believe anything is wrong about the matter.”
“Don’t you? Then what are we doing up here?”
“Never mind; we shall soon come to that other road, and then we shall know whether Sanford means to go to Kongsberg or not.”
“He has stopped ahead of us. He is waiting for us to come up,” added Burchmore.
“Yes; and there is the road which turns off to the right.”
“Why don’t he go ahead?”
Sanford and those who had arrived with him left the carioles, and gathered at the junction of the two roads. Burchmore followed their example.
“What’s the matter? What are you stopping here for?” demanded Clyde Blacklock, rather imperiously.
“Some of the fellows think we are going to play them a trick,” said Sanford, with his sweet and innocent smile.
“Who thinks so?” asked Clyde.
“Burchmore.”
“Which is Burchmore?”
“That’s my name,” replied the cashier, rather indifferently.
“Are you the fellow that wants to break up the party?” blustered Clyde.
“No, I’m not. I’m the fellow that wants to go to Christiania. We ought to have kept to the right at the last station.”
“I insist on going this way.”
“I don’t object; you can go whichever way you please,” added the cashier, very gently.
“But we mean to keep the party together; and we might as well fight it out here as in any other place.”
Clyde threw off his overcoat, as though he intended to give a literal demonstration of his remark.
“I don’t consider you as one of the party,” added Burchmore.
“Don’t you?”
“No, I do not. You don’t belong to our ship, and I don’t pay your bills.”
“No matter for that. If you are not willing to go the way the rest of us wish to go, I’ll pound you till you are willing.”
“No, no, Old England; we don’t want anythingof that sort. Burchmore is a first-rate fellow,” interposed the politic Sanford.
“You leave this fellow to me; I’ll take care of him. I can whip him out of his boots.”
“I shall stick to my boots for the present,” replied Burchmore, who did not seem to be intimidated by the sharp conduct of the Briton. “I am willing to listen to reason, but I shall not be bullied into anything.”
“What do you mean by bullied? Do you call me a bully?” foamed Clyde.
“You can draw your own inferences.”
“Do you call me a bully?” demanded Clyde, doubling his fists, and walking up to the cashier.
“Enough of this,” said Sanford, stepping between the Briton and his intended victim. “We shall not allow anybody to lick Burchmore, for he is a good fellow, and always means right.”
“I don’t allow any fellow to call me a bully,” replied Clyde.
“He didn’t call you a bully. He only said he would not be bullied into anything.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“No matter if it is, Old England. You volunteered to pound him if he wouldn’t go with us; and it strikes me that this is something like bullying,” added the coxswain, with a cheerful smile.
“I shall thrash him for his impudence, at any rate.”
“It isn’t exactly civil to tell a fellow you will pound him if he won’t go with us; and who shall thrash you for your impudence, eh, Old England?”
“I mean what I say.”
“We shall allow no fight on this question, my gentle Britisher. If you should happen to hit Burchmore, I have no doubt he would wallop you soundly for your impudence.”
“I should like to see him do it,” cried Clyde, pulling off his coat, and throwing himself into the attitude of the pugilist.
“No, you wouldn’t, Albion; and if you would you can’t have that pleasure. There will be no fight to-day.”
“Yes, there will,” shouted Clyde.
“Not much;” and Sanford, Rodman, and Stockwell placed themselves between Burchmore and Clyde.
“Dry up, Great Britain!” added Wilde.
“We have a point to settle here,” continued Sanford, taking no further notice of the belligerent Briton. “The right hand road goes to Kongsberg; but there is no hotel in that direction where we could sleep to-night. I propose, therefore, that we go on to—what’s the name of the place, Norway?”
“Tinoset,” replied Ole.
“To Tinoset, where there is a big hotel.”
“How far is it?” asked Churchill.
“Only two or three miles. Then to-morrow we can go on to Kongsberg, unless you prefer to go a better way. I’m always ready to do just what the rest of the fellows say,” added Sanford.
The matter was discussed in all its bearings, and even Burchmore thought it better to sleep at Tinoset.
“All right,” said Sanford, as he moved off towards his cariole.
“Not yet,” interposed Clyde, who still stood withhis coat off. “I haven’t settled my affair with this spoony.”
Burchmore and Churchill walked leisurely towards their vehicle, while Rodman and Stockwell covered the retreat.
“If you thrash him, you thrash the whole of us, Great Britain,” said Rodman.
“What kind of a way is that?” demanded the disgusted Briton.
“We won’t have any fight over this matter,” added Stockwell. “Jump in, and let us be off.”
“We’ll settle it when we get to that place,” replied Clyde, seeing that this opportunity was lost.
The procession resumed its journey, and in half an hour arrived at Tinoset. As it was early in the season, the hotel was not crowded, as it sometimes is. The town is at the foot of Lake Tins, upon which the little steamer Rjukan made three trips a week each way. The boat was to depart the next morning for Ornæs, which is only a few miles from the Rjukanfos. Sanford declared that the most direct route to Christiania was by steamer through this lake, and then by cariole the rest of the journey. Ole, of course, backed up all he said, and most of the boys wished to go that way. For some reason or other, Burchmore kept still, though he did not assent to the coxswain’s plan, and the question was still open when the tourists were called to supper.
“Ole, I want to see you alone,” said the cashier, after the meal was finished.
“What for?” asked Ole.
“I have some money for you.”
“For me?”
“Come along.”
Burchmore led the way to the lake, where they found a retired place.
“What money have you for me?” demanded the astonished Norwegian.
“How much did Sanford give you for humbugging us?”
“For what?”
“For playing this trick on us?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The coxswain gave you a sovereign for fooling us. I’ll give you five species, which is more than a sovereign, if you do what I want.”
“I will,” replied Ole, promptly.
“In the first place, where are you taking us?”
“To Christiania.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed the cashier, producing his book. “I know all about it. You ought to have gone to Lysthus, instead of taking the left hand road. We are two Norwegian miles out of our way now. Sanford has paid you a sovereign to lead us to some place he wishes to visit. Where is it?”
“I only do what’s right,” protested Ole.
“Bah! I know better! The story that no horses could be had at Apalstö was a humbug. I’ll give you five species if you will do as I tell you.”
Ole looked complacent, and held out his hand for the money.
“I don’t pay till the work is done; but my word is as good as my bond.”
The waif had an “itching palm,” and, after considerablediscussion, the terms of payment were settled.
“Now, where are we going?” asked the cashier.
“To the Rjukanfos. It is a big waterfall, with high mountains—one of the finest places in Norway.”
“Exactly so; but we are not going there,” added Burchmore, decidedly. “You will engage the carioles for to-morrow morning, and we must be in Kongsberg by noon, and near Christiania by night.”
“Sanford will kill me,” replied Ole.
“No, he won’t; we will take care of him.”
“I can manage it, first rate. I will tell Sanford that we can go up quicker on the other side of the lake, and then cross over.”
“Tell him what you please, but my plan must be carried out,” answered Burchmore, who, perhaps, believed that he should be justified in fighting the coxswain with his own weapons.
“Here you are; I’ve been looking for you,” said Clyde, presenting himself sooner than he was wanted. “You thought you would keep out of my way—did you?”
“I have not given that subject any attention,” replied Burchmore, coolly.
“Yes, you have; you sneaked off here to keep out of my way.”
“As you please,” replied Burchmore, who began to walk slowly towards the road.
“You don’t escape me this time,” added Clyde, placing himself in front of the cashier.
“I have no wish to escape you.”
“Yes, you have; you are a Yankee coward!”
“Perhaps I am; but I’m not afraid of a British bully.”
“Do you call me a bully?”
“Most distinctly I do, and I can prove my words.”
Clyde was rather startled by this exhibition of pluck, which he had not expected.
“You call me a bully—do you?”
“I do.”
“Then we’ll settle it here. Off with your coat,” blustered Clyde, as he divested himself.
“I never fight if I can help it; but I always defend myself,” replied Burchmore, resuming his walk towards the road.
“Do you mean to run away?” demanded Clyde.
“No; I mean to walk very leisurely back to the station-house.”
“No, you don’t!” said the Briton, again placing himself before the cashier.
Ole, who did not care, under the circumstances, to be seen with Burchmore by any one of the party, had disappeared by this time; but meeting Sanford near the lake, he had informed him what Clyde was doing. The coxswain hastened to the spot, with Stockwell and two or three others. But they were a little too late; for Clyde, feeling that he had gone too far to recede with honor, had struck Burchmore. When Sanford and the rest of the party reached the place, the belligerent Briton lay on the ground, where, after a sharp set-to and a black eye, he had been thrown by his cool opponent. He picked himself up, and was preparing for another onslaught, when the coxswain stepped between the combatants.
“Enough of that, Albion,” said he.
Clyde made a rush towards Burchmore, but the others interfered, and held him back. In vain he struggled in his wrath, but the stout coxswain and his companions threw him upon the ground, and held him there till his anger had in a measure subsided.
“Be off, Burchmore,” said Sanford. “We will take care of him.”
“I am not afraid of him,” replied the cashier.
“Of course you are not; but clear out, and let us have peace.”
“He is afraid of me!” roared Clyde.
“Nonsense, Great Britain! He would have mauled you to death if we hadn’t interfered. He can whip his weight in wildcats.”
Burchmore walked away, and soon disappeared beyond the houses. Clyde foamed in his wrath for a while, but finally consented to be pacified, promising, very faithfully, to whip the cashier the next time he caught him alone.
“Don’t you do it, Albion. You never will see your mother again if you attempt it. Wait a few days, and then, if you insist upon it, we will let Burchmore thrash you all you want,” replied Sanford, as they walked back to the station-house.
Clyde had a bad-looking eye, and perhaps believed that he had had a narrow escape; but he still maintained his credit as a bully. At the hotel, the question of the route for the next day came up. Burchmore insisted upon going to Christiania by the way of Kongsberg, and Sanford, who had consulted Ole again, assented. The waif had assured him that theycould reach the Rjukanfos quicker and better by the road than by the lake.
The next morning the carioles were ready, and the tourists renewed their journey, and went back on the road by which they had come, till they came to that which led to Kongsberg. The “forbud” had been duly forwarded, and there were no delays or interruptions.
“Where’s the lake?” asked Sanford, when they had been riding about two hours.
“O, the road don’t go near the lake, till we get to the place where we cross,” replied Ole, who was carrying out in good faith the arrangement he had made with the cashier.
“How shall we cross the lake?”
“In a steamer which goes at seven o’clock in the morning.”
“All right,” replied the unsuspecting Sanford.
“We shall come to a large town at noon; and we musn’t stop a minute there, or those fellows will find where they are. We can tell them it is Kongsberg, you know,” added the wily waif.
“Just so,” laughed Sanford; “we’ll tell them it is Kongsberg, and they won’t know the difference.”
“I don’t think they will.”
At noon, agreeably to the promise of Ole, the travellers arrived at the large town, where they were obliged to change horses.
“This is Kongsberg, Burchmore,” said the coxswain.
“Is it, really? or are you playing some trick upon us?” replied the cashier.
“’Pon my word this is Kongsberg. Isn’t it, Ole?”
“Yes, certainly,” answered the waif, winking slyly to Burchmore.
“All right, Sanford; if you are satisfied, I am.”
“I know it is Kongsberg. I have been here before,” added Clyde, wishing to give his testimony in carrying out the deception.
It was quite true that he had been in Kongsberg, but Ole took care that he should not go to the part of the town he had visited before. The road looked familiar to him; but as he rode alone, he had no opportunity to state the fact to others. Before night the party arrived at Drammen, where a regular line of steamers runs to Christiania.
“That’s the lake—is it?” said Sanford, pointing to the Drammen River, which, below the town, is nearly two miles wide.
“That’s it.”
“What does Burchmore say? Does he know where he is?”
“Not yet; I shall tell him this is Drammen, and he will believe me.”
“Good! and we will all stick to it that this is Drammen,” added Sanford.
“But suppose we should meet some one here who knows about the ship? This is a large town—bigger than that other which we called Kongsberg.”
“Whom can we meet?”
“I don’t know.”
“I should hate to have any one tell the principal that we have been to the Rjukanfos.”
“Some of the officers may come up here.”
“We must keep out of sight, then.”
Others thought this would be good policy in a large town. As they were fatigued, they retired early, and did not come down the next morning till it was nearly time to leave in the steamer. They all went on board, and were soon moving down the river.
“Are we going across the lake, Ole?” asked Sanford.
“This is a kind of arm of the lake, about a dozen miles long. We shall come to the lake in a couple of hours,” replied the waif.
“All right; but it must be a very large lake.”
“The biggest in Norway.”
In a couple of hours the steamer arrived at Holmsbo, on the Christiania Fjord.
“Now you can see that this is a large lake,” said Ole.
“But where are we?” demanded Burchmore. “Is this the way to Christiania?”
“Certainly it is,” replied Sanford, who did not yet recognize the fjord, though the truth could not be much longer concealed. “Don’t you know this water?”
“No, I don’t.”
“This is Christiania Fjord.”
“Is it, really?”
“Yes, it is; you can bet your life upon it.”
“I am satisfied then.”
In another hour the steamer was fairly in the fjord; Sanford and Stockwell began to rub their eyes; for the scenery looked strangely familiar, though they could not fully identify anything.
“What place is that ahead?” asked Sanford. “I am almost sure I have seen it before.”
“So am I,” replied Stockwell.
“That place?” added the cashier.
“Yes; what is it?”
“If this is Christiania Fjord, that must be Dröbak. I have a map here,” said Burchmore, producing his book, and displaying the map. “Here we are; there’s Holmsbo, and this must be Dröbak.”
“I don’t understand it,” replied the perplexed coxswain.
“Don’t you? Why, I think it is as clear as mud,” laughed Burchmore. “We shall be in Christiania in a couple of hours. I thought you were playing some trick upon us, Sanford; but I see now that you were all right. There’s the captain; he speaks English.”
“What town is that, captain?” asked the coxswain.
“Dröbak; we shall be in Christiania in about two hours,” answered the master.
“Where’s Ole?” demanded the coxswain, much excited.
“What does it mean?” said Clyde.
“I don’t know. Where’s Ole?”
The waif evidently considered discretion the better part of valor, for he could not be found; and the coxswain and those in his confidence realized that they had been “sold” in their own coin.
THE BOATSWAIN AND THE BRITON.
“Where’s Ole? I don’t understand it,” repeated Sanford, after he had made another ineffectual search for the missing waif.
“We have been sold, instead of selling those fellows,” added Stockwell.
“That’s so; and I should rather like to know how it was done. Ole has sold us out.”
“Is this your Rjukanfos?” demanded Clyde Blacklock, who had been looking for some one upon whom to pour out his wrath.
“Not exactly,” answered Sanford, indifferently, for he did not particularly enjoy the airs of the Briton.
“But what do you mean by bringing me here?” added Clyde.
“I didn’t bring you here. You came of your own free will and accord.”
“No, I didn’t; you said we were going to the waterfall.”
“We thought so ourselves; but we have been deceived. Ole has sold out and made fools of us. You are no worse off than the rest of us.”
“To whom did he sell out?” asked Clyde, appeased when he learned that he was not the only sufferer.
“I don’t know. I don’t understand it at all. We have been cheated out of the Rjukanfos, and brought to Christiania.”
“Well, what are you going to do about it?” inquired Stockwell.
“We can’t do anything about it. I suppose we shall be on board of the ship in an hour or two, telling the principal how hard we tried to be here before.”
“But I’m not going back to Christiania,” protested Clyde.
“I don’t see how you can help yourself. This boat don’t stop again till she arrives there.”
“I will not go to the ship again, at any rate,” added Clyde.
“Do as you like about that; it isn’t our business.”
Clyde was much disturbed by the situation. As he always regarded himself as the central figure of the group, he began to suspect that the apparent miscarriage of the plan was a trick to lure him back to the ship; but Sanford seemed to be honest, and to be entirely discomfited by the discovery. Burchmore and Churchill were highly elated at the success attending their scheme, which had, indeed, exceeded their expectations; but they were as much mystified by the disappearance of Ole as the victims of the trick. Being unable to speak the language, they could not inquire for the absentee; but they made a very diligent search for him. They were more successful than Sanford’s party had been, for, in going forward, they heard some high words in the quarters of the steamer’s crew, in the forecastle. Listening for a moment, they heard the voice of Ole, who appeared to haveconcealed himself in that part of the vessel, and was properly regarded as an intruder by the rightful occupants thereof.
“Come out here, Ole,” shouted Burchmore. “We want you.”
Ole turned from the Norwegian sailors, who were scolding at him for taking possession of their quarters, to his friends and allies.
“Where’s Sanford?” he asked, rather timidly.
“On deck.”
“He’ll kill me.”
“Nonsense! We will take care of you against any odds,” said the cashier, laughing heartily at the fears of the waif. “They have only just ascertained where they are. Come up, Ole.”
Thus assured, the young Norwegian climbed up the ladder, much to the satisfaction of the sailors. Burchmore was too well pleased with the trick he had played upon the conspirators to confine the knowledge of it to Churchill and himself, and had explained it to all who were not actually in the confidence of the coxswain. A majority of the party were thus arrayed on his side, though two or three of them would as readily have chosen the other side. The cashier was evidently the safer leader.
“Sanford and that Englishman will pound me for the trick,” repeated Ole, as he glanced at the quarter-deck, where his victims were considering the situation.
“No, they won’t; we are able and willing to protect you,” replied Burchmore. “Come, we will go aft, and hear what they have to say.”
The cashier led the way, and the waif reluctantly followed him.
“I believe you wanted to see Ole,” said Burchmore, who could hardly look sober, he was so pleased with the result of his operations.
“Yes; I did wish to see him,” answered Sanford, rather coldly. “I will see him some other time.”
“O, I thought you wanted him now,” laughed Burchmore. “I am satisfied that this is really Christiania Fjord.”
“So am I,” added the coxswain, with a sickly smile.
“And you were quite right, too, in saying that large place was Drammen,” chuckled Burchmore.
“Certainly I was.”
“Neither were you mistaken in regard to Kongsberg.”
“I find that I was not.”
“I suppose you remember the Irishman’s turtle, that swallowed his own head, Sanford?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t mean to say that you swallowed your own head; but you found it just where you didn’t expect to find it. Isn’t that so?”
“We are going to talk the matter over with Ole by and by.”
“Do it now. I know all about it. You and Ole arranged the first part of our journey, including the day’s fishing we had at Apalstö; and Ole and I arranged the last part of it. It is an even thing now, and if you won’t complain of the last part, I won’t say a word about the first.”
“I don’t understand it.”
“Don’t you! Well, you gave Ole a sovereign to arrange things for you in the beginning, and I gave him five species to arrange them for me afterwards. You can’t complain of a fellow, who sells himself at all, for making as much money as he can. Ole only did that.”
“He sold us out,” growled Sanford.
“Of course he did; if you buy a man, you mustn’t grumble when he does a second time what you encouraged him to do in the first instance. But you were going to take us off to the Rjukanfos, fifty or sixty miles out of our way, without our knowledge or consent. I smelt a mice, and turned the tables,” laughed the cashier.
“Yes, and you cheated me,” interposed Clyde.
“I had nothing whatever to do with you,” answered Burchmore, mildly.
“You led me here when I wanted to go another way.”
“You went where you pleased, so far as I was concerned. I never invited you to come with me, or even consented to your doing so.”
“Did you say the place we came to yesterday was Kongsberg?”
“I did, and so it was. But I think it was Sanford who first proclaimed the fact, and I cheerfully assented to its correctness,” chuckled Burchmore.
“But you deceived me, and I’ll have it out with you,” continued Clyde.
“Just as you please about that; but you had better let that black eye bleach out before you begin again.”
“I can whip you!” blustered Clyde. “I’ll meet you anywhere.”
“No, I thank you. If we meet for any such purpose as you suggest, it will be by accident.”
“See here, Great Britain; you needn’t make another row,” said Sanford.
“I’m going to whip this fellow for what he has done, and for calling me a bully.”
“You are a bully,” added Sanford.
“That’s so,” exclaimed Stockwell.
“Now you can lick the whole of us, if you insist upon it,” continued the coxswain.
“Perhaps I will,” retorted Clyde, shaking his head fiercely. “You have got me into a pretty scrape.”
“You are in the same boat as the rest of us.”
“The squadron isn’t here,” shouted Wilde; for the steamer had by this time arrived within sight of the harbor.
“Can the ship have sailed?” asked Sanford, after the party had satisfied themselves that not one of the vessels of the little fleet was there.
“I suppose she has,” replied Burchmore. “To-day is Friday, and she didn’t intend to lie here all summer.”
“Good!” exclaimed Clyde. “That makes everything all right for me. I’m satisfied now.”
Indeed, he was so delighted with the discovery that the ship had sailed, as to be even willing to forego the pleasure of thrashing his companions. The steamer went up to the wharf, and the party landed. Sanford and his friends appeared to be willing to take a reasonable view of the situation, and to accept it withoutgrumbling, satisfied that they had been beaten with their own weapons. They were not sorry that the squadron had departed, for this circumstance gave them a new respite from the discipline of the ship, and enabled them to prolong “the trip without running away.”
“What are you going to do now?” asked Clyde, as they landed.
“We shall follow the ship, and try to join her,” replied Sanford. “That’s what we’ve been trying to do ever since we left Christiansand—isn’t it, Burchmore?”
“Certainly it is,” replied the cashier; “though we were detained one day at Apalstö, and narrowly escaped being carried by accident to the Rjukanfos.”
“Are you going to blow upon us, Burch?” demanded Stockwell, warmly.
“Am I? Did you ever know me to do such a thing?” added Burchmore, earnestly.
“No! no!” replied the whole party.
“I don’t think it was just the thing to cheat some of us as you did; but I believe we are about even on that now.”
“Of course we all want to get back to the ship as soon as possible,” added Sanford, rubbing his chin, significantly.
“Certainly. She has gone to Gottenburg, and all we have to do is to follow her,” said Churchill.
“But if you want to go there by the way of the Cape of Good Hope, Sanford, it will be better to have the matter understood so in the beginning,” added Burchmore. “I, for one, don’t like to be bamboozled.”
“I won’t try it on again,” said Sanford.
“All right, then; if you do, you may fetch up at Cape Horn.”
“Where shall we go now?” asked Sanford.
“To the Victoria Hotel. It is the best in the place,” replied Clyde.
“That’s the very reason why we don’t want to go there. We are not made of money, and we may run out before we are able, with our utmost exertions, to reach the ship,” added the cashier.
“But my mother is there,” continued Clyde.
“Go to your mother, Great Britain, if you like. We shall stay at some cheap hotel,” added Sanford.
Clyde protested in vain against this arrangement, and the Americans, with the aid of Ole, found a small hotel, suited to their views of economy. The Briton went with them; but when they were installed in their new quarters, he left them to find his mother, at the Victoria. After dinner, the coxswain and his party wandered all over the city. At the Castle of Agerhaus, they saw an English steamer receiving freight. They ascertained that she was bound to Gottenburg, and would sail at seven o’clock that evening. They immediately decided, as they had seen enough of Christiania, to take passage in her. The arrangement was speedily made, and they went on board, without troubling themselves to inform Clyde of what they intended to do. When the sun went down that evening the party were far down the fjord.
Sanford had ascertained that the ship sailed early on Thursday morning, and the steamer on which they had taken passage could not arrive at Gottenburg tillnearly noon on Saturday. It was understood that the squadron would remain but a short time at this port, and it was possible that it would have departed for Copenhagen before the steamer arrived. He hoped this would prove to be the case; but he studied a plan by which the excursion of the party could be prolonged, if the hope should not be realized. He did not wish to return to the ship, because he thought it was pleasanter to travel without the restraints of discipline. Perhaps most of his party sympathized with him, and thought they could have a better time by themselves. Sanford desired to inform Clyde of the intention of the party to leave in the English steamer, and to take him along with them; but his companions overruled him unanimously, for they were too glad to get rid of an impudent, overbearing, and conceited puppy, as he had proved himself to be. The coxswain had no better opinion of him than his friends; but as Clyde was a runaway, according to his own confession, it might smooth their own way, in returning to their duty, if they could deliver him up to the principal. He was even willing to resort to strategy to accomplish this end; but Clyde was so disagreeable that he was saved from this trap.
The ship had gone, and every vessel of the squadron had departed with her. Clyde felt that all his trials were ended, and he had nothing more to fear from the big boatswain. He walked confidently to the Victoria Hotel, where he was sure to find his mother. He had even arranged in his mind the reproaches with which he intended to greet her for delivering him over to the savage discipline of the YoungAmerica, as he regarded it, and as, doubtless, it was for evil-doers. He passed into the passage-way which led to the court-yard. As he entered the office on the right to inquire for Mrs. Blacklock, he encountered Peaks, who no sooner saw him than he laid violent hands upon him.
“Let me alone!” shouted Clyde, struggling to escape from the grasp of his powerful antagonist.
“Not yet, my beauty,” replied the boatswain, as he dragged his victim into his own room, which was near the office. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I want to see my mother,” growled Clyde, when he had exhausted his strength in the fruitless struggle to escape.
“I dare say you do; babies always want to see their mothers.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“Then behave like a man.”
Peaks deposited him on a chair, and permitted him to recover his breath.
“Where is my mother?” demanded Clyde.
“She is safe and well, and you needn’t bother your head to know anything more about her,” answered Peaks. “She has turned over a new leaf, so far as you are concerned, youngster, and is going to have us make a man of you.”
“Where is she?”
“No matter where she is.”
“Can’t I see her?”
“No, sir.”
“I must see her.”
“Perhaps you must, my hearty; but I don’t thinkshe wants to see you till you are a decent young gentleman. She told me to be sure and put you on board of the ship, and I’m going to do it.”
“Where is the ship?”
“She sailed for Gottenburg yesterday morning; but we shall find her in good time,” replied Peaks, taking a bundle from the bureau, which contained the young Briton’s uniform. “Now, my bantam, you don’t look like a gentleman in that rig you’ve got on. Here’s your gear; put it on, and look like a man again, whether you are one or not. Those long togs don’t become you.”
The boatswain unfolded the uniform of Clyde, which he had left in his chamber when he leaped out of the window.
“I’m not going to put on those clothes,” protested the unhappy youth.
“No?”
“I’m not!”
“Then I’m going to put them on for you.”
“I’ll cry murder.”
“If you cry anything, I shall put a dirty handkerchief in your mouth. Look here, my chicken; don’t you know that you are making a fool of yourself? You mean to strain your own timbers for nothing. You’ll put this rig on anyhow, and it depends on yourself whether you will do it with or without a broken head.”
Clyde looked at the clothes and then at the brawny boatswain. It was foolish to resist, and he yielded to the force of circumstances. He put on the ship’s uniform, and threw himself into a chair to await the further pleasure of his tyrant.
“Now you look like a respectable young gentleman, my lad,” said Peaks.