The Modern Vikings

VI

Five years have passed since Fiddle-John and his sons were rescued from misery by Mr. Tenney. They now live in the porter’s lodge of Mr. Tenney’s beautiful Berkshire country-seat; and Fiddle-John, with all his eccentricities, makes a very acceptable porter. The little stone cottage at the gate of the larger villa looks very picturesque with the green vines trailing over it, and it is very comfortably and prettily furnished. Little Karen is now a matronly little body, with a strict sense of order, and many housewifely accomplishments. She goes to the public school in the morning, but studies at home in the afternoon, and keeps her father company. The boys are both big fellows now, and they are as good Americans as any to the manner born. Truls brags of American enterprise, and the blessings of democratic institutions, as if every drop of his Norse blood had become naturalized. He is an engineer, and earns good wages, and is full of hopefulness for the future. It need scarcely be said that his sister adores him, and regards him as one of the most remarkable men of the century.

Alf, who has inherited his father’s handsome face, and incapacity for practical concerns, is at present preparing to enter college. Mr. Tenney is much interested in him, as a lad of unusual ability and a singular sweetness of character; and it is owing to his generosity that Alf has been able to follow the career for which he is by nature and inclination adapted. He has his father’s beautiful voice, too, and makes a sensation in the church choir every Sunday when he sustains the lovely tenor solo in the anthems “As Pants the Hart,” and “I Know that My Redeemer Liveth.”

He is a rather serious fellow, with thoughtful eyes, and a frank and open countenance. Some think he would have a fine career as a clergyman, but it is difficult to tell whether his inclination, in later years, will turn in that direction. His father, however, does all in his power to encourage this ambition, and it is not unlikely that his hopes may some day be fulfilled. In fact, it is Fiddle-John’s favorite occupation to hope and dream about the future of his sons.

During the long summer afternoons he sits in the shadow of the vines, outside of his cottage, while his daughter reads aloud to him from the old Norse ballad books which he yet loves so dearly. And it happens very frequently, then, that the young ladies and gentlemen who are visiting at the neighboring villas come, in a company, and beg him to sing to them. They throw themselves down in easy attitudes upon the soft, close-trimmed lawn; and their bright garments, their crimson sunshades, and their fresh, youthful faces make a fine picture against the green background of elms and chestnut trees.

To the gentle and guileless minstrel it is a great pleasure to see these gay and happy creatures; and when the young girls hang upon his arms and urge him to sing, his eyes beam with delight.

“Now, do sing, Fiddle-John,” they coaxingly say. “You know we have walked miles and miles to hear your voice. And here is a young lady from New York, who never heard a Norse song in all her life, and is disappointed, because you look so nice and gentle, and not wild and savage as a son of the Vikings should.”

Fiddle-John likes this kind of banter very well; and when, finally, he yields to their coaxing and lifts up his clear, strong voice, singing the sad, wild ballads of his native land, there falls a hush upon the noisy company, as if they were in the presence of a renowned artist. These are Fiddle-John’s happiest moments. And it was just on such an occasion when, on a beautiful afternoon in July, he had been entertaining the young people with his songs, that a swarthy-looking Savoyard walked up before his door, and began to whip up a bear which danced to a tune from “Il Trovatore,” played upon a wheezy hand-organ.

“Stop, you sacrilegious brute!” said one of the young men, addressing, not the bear, but his master; “we have a better kind of music here than your asthmatic organ can produce.”

The Savoyard, being apparently well accustomed to this manner of address, swung his organ across his back and was about to take his departure, when Karen, prompted by some idle impulse, stepped up to the bear and patted it. Then a sudden change came over the young man’s countenance. He stared for a moment fixedly at the little girl.

“Take care, Carina mia,” he said, with a smile; “that bear is a real one!”

“Annibale!” she cried in surprise; and, to be sure, it was Annibale!

He had grown five years older, but in other respects he had changed but little. He knew but very little more English than he had done on the day of his arrival, and his ambition still did not extend beyond hand-organs and bears. He reaped a plentiful harvest of coins that night; but that was owing to little Karen, and not to the doleful hand-organ. She ran into the cottage and spread out upon the lawn a rug, made out of a small bear-skin. “Do you know that, Annibale?” she cried.

“Garibaldi, my poor Garibaldi!” exclaimed the Savoyard, while the tears glittered in his eyes; and he stooped down and caressed the furry head.

Now the curiosity of the young ladies was excited, and the whole company clamored for the story of Annibale and the bear-skin. They all seated themselves in a ring about Fiddle-John, and he told the story, as I have told it to you. For I had the good luck to be one of the listeners.

1

Skees are a kind of snowshoe, four to six feet long, bent upward in front, with a band to attach it to the foot in the middle.

2

Lord Dufferin tells, in his Letters from High Latitudes, how the Icelandic pilots conversed with him in Latin, and other travellers have many similar tales to relate.

3

Professor Willard Fiske, formerly of Cornell University, was instrumental in collecting in the United States a library of several thousand volumes, which he presented to the Icelanders on the one thousandth birthday of their nation.

4

The auk cannot fly well, but uses its wings for swimming and diving.

5

The burgomaster gull is the largest of all gulls. It is thirty inches long, exclusive of its tail, and its wings have a span of five feet.

6

The national knife of Norway. It has a round or oblong handle of wood, bone, or ivory, often beautifully carved, and a slightly curved, one-edged blade, with a sharp point.

7

The sheriffs in Norway are by law required to pay, in behalf of the State, certain premiums for the killing of bears, wolves, foxes, and eagles.

8

A species of grouse.

9

The finishing-stroke.

10

Skees (Norwegian skier) are a peculiar kind of snow-shoes, generally from five to nine feet long, but only a few inches broad. They are made of tough pine-wood, and are smoothly polished on the under side, so as to make them glide the more easily over the surface of the snow. In the middle there are bands to put the feet into, and the front end of each skee is pointed and strongly bent upward. This enables the runner to slide easily over logs, hillocks, and other obstacles, instead of thrusting against them. The skee only goes in straight lines; still the runner can, even when moving with great speed, change his course at pleasure by means of a long pole which he carries for this purpose, and uses as a sort of rudder. Skees are especially convenient for sliding downhill, but are also, for walking in deep snow, much superior to the common American snow-shoes.

11

“Ah, Mr. Truls, Garibaldi and I are half dead.”

12

All Norse peasant lads wear a sheathed knife at the side, called a “tolle-knife.”