CHAPTER XXIII.

A PICNIC.

_August 24._--There is a brood of ryper on the brow of the mountain above our camp, which we always put up when we walk over Glopit armed with rods, but never when we take a gun. There were originally eight of them, but one has succumbed to a merlin which hunts up there; and they are remarkably tame, so that when we put them up we throw stones at them, and fully expect to kill them by that means, but somehow they have escaped with their lives until now. This conduct has become unbearable, and we have sworn 'this day that brood shall die;' so the first thing after breakfast Esau and the Skipper toiled up the mountain with pockets full of cartridges and guns ready for the slaughter of the innocents. It takes just three quarters of an hour to get to the top; and after reaching it we tramped over some millions of acres in search of that brood, and of course it never obtruded itself on the scene. Finally the Skipper went home in disgust, remarking that 'he wished every ryper in Norway was at the bottom of Gjendin;' while Esau said 'he would stay up there a month or two and find those birds if they were anywhere on our sheet of the Ordnance map.'

The Skipper had hardly walked 200 yards towards camp before he trod on the old cock, who got up observing kek! kek! kekkekkek_kek_, kurrack: kur_rack_; kurrack, krackrackackckkkkk! in an extremely indignant tone of voice, and the rest of the family immediately followed him, astonishing the Skipper so much that he missed the lot; and though we marked them down quite near we could not persuade any of them to risk their lives in flight again.

The language used on this occasion scorched the herbage off so large a patch of ground, that John down below thought that Glopit had suddenly commenced a volcanic eruption.

There are two kinds of birds known as ryper in Norway--the fjeld or skarv ryper, which is, we think, identical with our ptarmigan; and the dal or skog ryper, which we believe to be the same bird as the willow grouse of North America. The former of these is not numerous anywhere, but a few are always seen by the reindeer hunter up on the highest parts of the mountains, among the snow and rocks. They do not attempt much concealment, but their grey bodies and white wings are so exactly the colour of their habitation that it is very difficult to see them, as they sit perfectly still on the stones. If you do happen to catch sight of one, in all probability after looking at him for a little you will suddenly be aware that there is a small family of others all about him, and will wonder how they escaped your notice at first. They are not very useful for sporting purposes, as they are never found in great numbers, are too tame to give any trouble, and not particularly good to eat. The skog ryper is the bird which takes the place of the British grouse for the sportsman in Norway: he lives at a lower altitude than the skarv ryper, among the willows, wimberries, and stunted birches. In plumage he is not unlike our grouse, but not quite so red in shade, and with a white wing. During the summer he feeds on wimberry leaves, heather, and occasional bits of willow, and he is then almost if not quite equal to a grouse in flavour, but in winter, when there is nothing but willow to be had, the flesh becomes bitter and not nice to eat: the poor birds are then snared in great numbers, and may be seen hanging in English shops as 'ptarmigan,' which with their then white plumage they much resemble. After a good breeding season these skog ryper are very numerous in any favourable place in Norway, but they are so much inclined to lie close, that without dogs it is impossible to do much with them. Gjendin is too steep and desolate for them, but between the east end of the lake and Sjödals Vand there is some first-rate country, and also a little at the west end.

After lunch we all manned Esau's canoe, which is the largest, because he is the smallest man; and set off down the lake to Leirungsö, the place where the professor's hut is built at the edge of the waterfall which runs out of a small lake there (not the real Leirung's Vand, which is further to the east).

The Skipper had noticed a remarkably fine bed of mölte bær there, which we expected to be just about ripe now, and so we had determined to picnic (!) there, forsooth, as if our life were not one perpetual and perennial picnic.

Leirungsö is nearly four miles from our camp, and the professor's hut is an extremely comfortable and convenient little dwelling, in a most charming situation. Only one thing has been wanting, reindeer: he never found any, and left his hut a fortnight ago for a place further north, where we afterwards heard he had good sport.

After landing, the Skipper and Esau climbed up the valley to the little lake in search of something to shoot, while John remained to bathe and fish at the fall. There were lots of duck on the little lake, and in the rushy swamp at its upper end, and the Skipper put up a large brood of ryper, which we marked into a very small patch of willow scrub surrounded by bare ground. We walked through and through that patch, and threw so many stones into it that we fancy we must have killed and buried most of them, for we only persuaded four of them to fly again, three of which we secured. Our shooting was soon over, and then we gathered a lot of mölte bær, and returned to John, who was getting dinner ready; and after a regal repast of kidneys, reindeer pie, and mölte, paddled home by moonlight, arriving soon after nine.

We beguiled the journey home by songs and accompaniments by the following celebrated artists: Messrs. John, Skipper, and Esau. Among other songs was an original composition by John--air, 'Bonnie Dundee'--

ODE TO THE LAST POT OF MARMALADE.

To the fishers of Gjendin the bold Skipper spoke: 'There is one two-pound pot that as yet is unbroke;[1] So rouse ye, my gallants, and after our tea Let us "go for" our Keiller's[2] own Bonnie Dundee.'

(_Chorus._) Come! up with the Smör![3] Come! out with the Brod,[4] We'll have one more Spise[5] that's fit for a god; Come, whip off the paper and let it gae free, And we'll wade into Keiller's own Bonnie Dundee.

You may talk of your mölte[6] with sugar and milk, Your blueberry pasties, and jam of that ilk; They are all very well in the wilds, don't you see? But they can't hold a candle to Bonnie Dundee.

_Chorus as before._

Oh! the pies they were good, and the oven baked true, With its door of green sod, and its sinuous flue. Oh! the curry was toothsome as curry can be, But where is the equal of Bonnie Dundee?

_Chorus again, gentlemen._

There are ryper on Glopit[7] as fleet as the wind, And the Stor[8] Bock roams on the Skagastolstind; There are trout, teal, and woodcock, a sight for to see, But what meal can be perfect without our Dundee?

_Chorus, if you please._

Pandecages[9] are tasty, and omelettes are good; Our eggs, though antique, not unsuited for food; You can always be sure of at least one in three, But blue mould cannot ruin our Bonnie Dundee.

_Chorus, only more so._

Take[10] my soup, though 'tis luscious, my öl,[11] though 'tis rare, My whisky, though scanty, beyond all compare; Take my baccy, take all that is dearest to me, But leave me one spoonful of Bonnie Dundee.

_Chorus ad lib._

Esau supplied an encore verse:--

It has made our lot brighter, and helped us to bear Our troubles, the rain, mist, and cold northern air; And the Gjende fly,[12] green fly,[13] bug,[14] skeeter,[15] and flea, We should ne'er have done Deeing them but for Dundee.

_Chorus (of big, big D's)._

NOTES ON THE ABOVE COMPOSITION.

[Footnote 1: 'Unbroke.' This is bold poetic imagery, meaning unopened. Breakages were unknown during our expedition, and long experience justifies us in assuring the world that breaking the pot, though an effectual way of getting at the marmalade, is not a satisfactory method. It will be found much better to remove the bladder at the top. This may be depended on.]

[Footnote 2: Need we explain that 'Keiller's own Bonnie Dundee' alludes to the marmalade made by that great and good man? No, a thousand times no!]

[Footnote 3: 'Smör,' Norwegian butter, pronounced Smoeurr--and it tastes like that, too.]

[Footnote 4: 'Brod,' bread. The word does not rhyme to god, being pronounced something like Broat, but it looks as if it rhymed.]

[Footnote 5: 'Spise,' a meal, pronounced Speessa.]

[Footnote 6: 'Mölte,' cloudberry, pronounced Moulta.]

[Footnote 7: 'Glopit,' the mountain between Gjendin and Rus Vand.]

[Footnote 8: 'Stor,' big, pronounced Stora before a consonant.]

[Footnote 9: 'Pandecages,' pancakes.]

[Footnote 10: 'Take.' This word is only used by poetic licence, and must not be construed literally. When we attempted to 'take' John's whisky on our return to camp, there was a good deal of ill-feeling engendered, and he said that no one but himself understood the subtleties of æsthetic metaphor.]

[Footnote 11: 'Öl,' the ale of the country, 'rare' both in quality and, alas! in quantity.]

[Footnote 12: 'Gjende fly,' a fly peculiar to this lake, of which more anon.]

[Footnote 13: 'Green fly,' a charming creature like a large grey blue-bottle with green eyes; it bites a portion of flesh sufficient for its wants, and then goes away to eat it.]

[Footnote 14: 'Bug.' Again poetic licence. 'Cimex lectularius' has not been encountered during our stay in Norway this time; nevertheless he is not unknown in the country, as the sojourners in one of the Lillehammer hotels, not the Victoria, can testify.]

[Footnote 15: 'Skeeter.' The mosquito is a mournful and disgraceful fact; and so are the sand-fly, the stomoxys, and the flea. Memurudalen is more free from insects than any place we have tried.]

_August 25._--Still the same glorious weather, rather too glorious for our purling rivulet, which has now dwindled away to a mere thread of water, while even the larger stream on the hill behind the tent, which we use for bathing, is showing a marked decrease in volume.

The Skipper and Öla went out stalking directly after breakfast, and Esau climbed up on to Bes Hö to shoot ryper. John went over to Rus Vand to fish, and had a pleasant day. He managed somehow to drop his native 'tolle kniv' into the lake, and of course immediately discovered that that knife was the most precious thing he possessed, in fact, the only thing he cared about in this world; though until it fell into the lake, he had regarded it with very unenthusiastic feelings--feelings of tolle-ration, the Skipper said. So he undressed and dived for it for a long time, and at last was lucky enough to recover it.

It would have been a pleasing sight to a spectator, if any could have been present, to watch John playing at being a seal all by himself in Rus Vand, or standing on a rock poised on one leg like a heron, with his head sideways and keen eye piercing the cerulean wave. And it was good to see his proud bearing as he returned to camp with the 'tolle kniv' slung jauntily at his waist, and carrying over his shoulder the scaly spoil snatched from the vasty deep, as we used beautifully to word it in Latin verses--meaning the fish he had caught.

At 8 P.M. the Skipper had not returned, so we dined, and then sat round the fire wondering what could have happened to delay him; and as time went on and still he never came, we began to get very uneasy; there are so many dangers by which the reindeer hunter may be overtaken--avalanches, crevasses, fogs, snowdrifts, broken limbs, or getting lost. We could only hope that none of these had happened to the Skipper, and at eleven o'clock gave up any hopes of his return that night and turned in, there being then a very decided fog a short way up the Memurua valley.