4. In The Moonlight

When Herr Arne had been dead a fortnight there came some nights of

clear, bright moonlight, and one evening Torarin was out with his

sledge. He checked his horse time after time, as though he had

difficulty in finding the way. Yet he was not driving through any

trackless forest, but upon what looked like a wide and open plain,

above which rose a number of rocky knolls.

The whole tract was covered with glittering white snow. It had

fallen in calm weather and lay evenly, not in drifts and eddies.

As far as the eye could see there was nothing but the same even

plain and the same rocky knolls.

"Grim, my dog," said Torarin, "if we saw this tonight for the

first time we should think we were driving over a great heath. But

still we should wonder that the ground was so even and the road

free from stones and ruts. What sort of tract can this be, we

should say, where there are neither ditches nor fences, and how

comes it that no grass or bushes stick up through the snow? And

why do we see no rivers and streams, which elsewhere are wont to

draw their black furrows through the white fields even in the

hardest frost?"

Torarin was delighted with these fancies, and Grim too found

pleasure in them. He did not move from his place on the load, but

lay still and blinked.

But just as Torarin had finished speaking he drove past a lofty

pole to which a broom was fastened.

"If we were strangers here, Grim, my dog," said Torarin, "we might

well ask ourselves what sort of heath this was, where they set up

such marks as we use at sea. 'This can never be the sea itself?'

we should say at last. But we should think it utterly impossible.

This that lies so firm and fast, can this be only water? And all

the rocky knolls that we see so firmly united, can they be only

holms and skerries parted by the rolling waves? No, we should

never believe it was possible, Grim, my dog."

Torarin laughed and Grim still lay quiet and did not stir. Torarin

drove on, until he rounded a high knoll. Then he gave a cry as

though he had seen something strange. He put on an air of great

surprise, dropped the reins and clapped his hands.

"Grim, my dog, so you would not believe this was the sea! Now you

can tell what it is. Stand up, and then you will see that there is

a big ship lying before us! You would not recognize the beacons,

but this you cannot mistake. Now I think you will not deny that

this is the sea itself we are driving over."

Torarin stayed still awhile longer as he gazed at a great vessel

which lay frozen in. She looked altogether out of place as she lay

with the smooth and even snowfields all about her.

But when Torarin saw a thin column of smoke rising from the

vessel's poop he drove up and hailed the skipper to hear if he

would buy his fish. He had but a few codfish left at the bottom of

his load, since in the course of the day he had been round to all

the vessels which were frozen in among the islands, and sold off

his stock.

On board were the skipper and his crew, and time was heavy on

their hands. They bought fish of the hawker, not because they

needed it, but to have someone to talk to. When they came down on

to the ice, Torarin put on an innocent air.

He began to speak of the weather. "In the memory of man there has

not been such fine weather as this year," said Torarin. "For

wellnigh three weeks we have had calm weather and hard frost. This

is not what we are used to in the islands."

But the skipper, who lay there with his great gallias full-laden

with herring barrels, and who had been caught by the ice in a bay

near Marstrand just as he was ready to put to sea, gave Torarin a

sharp look and said: "So then you call this fine weather?"

"What should I call it else?" said Torarin, looking as innocent as

a child. "The sky is clear and calm and blue, and the night is

fair as the day. Never before have I known the time when I could

drive about the ice week after week. It is not often the sea

freezes out here, and if once and again the ice has formed, there

has always come a storm to break it up a few days after."

The skipper still looked black and glum; he made no answer to all

Torarin's chat. Then Torarin began asking him why he never found

his way to Marstrand. "It is no more than an hour's walk over the

ice," said Torarin. But again he received no answer. Torarin could

see that the man feared to leave his ship an instant, lest he

might not be at hand when the ice broke up. "Seldom have I seen

eyes so sick with longing," thought Torarin.

But the skipper, who had been held ice-bound among the skerries

day after day, unable to hoist his sails and put to sea, had been

busy the while with many thoughts, and he said to Torarin: "You

are a man who travels much abroad and hears much news of all that

happens: can you tell me why God has barred the way to the sea so

long this year, keeping us all in captivity?"

As he said this Torarin ceased to smile, but put on an ignorant

air and said: "I cannot see what you mean by that."

"Well," said the skipper, "I once lay in the harbour of Bergen a

whole month, and a contrary wind blew all that time, so that no

ship could come out. But on board one of the ships that lay there

wind-bound was a man who had robbed churches, and he would have

gone free but for the storm. Now they had time to search him out,

and as soon as he had been taken ashore there came good weather

and a fair wind. Now do you understand what I mean when I ask you

to tell me why God keeps the gates of the sea barred?"

Torarin was silent awhile. He had a look as though he would make

an earnest answer. But he turned it aside and said: "You have

caught the melancholy with sitting here a prisoner among the

skerries. Why do you not come in to Marstrand? I can tell you

there is a merry life with hundreds of strangers in the town. They

have naught else to do but drink and dance."

"How can it be they are so merry there?" asked the skipper.

"Oh," said Torarin, "there are all the seamen whose ships are

frozen in like yours. There is a crowd of fishermen who had just

finished their herring catch when the ice stayed them from sailing

home. And there are a hundred Scottish mercenaries discharged from

service, who lie here waiting for a ship to carry them home to

Scotland. Do you think all these men would hang their heads and

lose the chance of making merry?"

"Ay, it may well be that they can divert themselves, but, as for

me, I have a mind to stay out here."

Torarin gave him a rapid glance. The skipper was a tall man and

thin; his eyes were bright and clear as water, with a melancholy

look in them. "To make that man merry is more than I or any other

can do," thought Torarin.

Again the skipper began of his own accord to ask a question.

"These Scotsmen," he said, "are they honest folk?"

"Is it you, maybe, that are to take them over to Scotland?" asked

Torarin.

"Well," said the skipper, "I have a cargo for Edinburgh, and one

of them was here but now and asked me would I take them. But I

have small liking to sail with such wild companions aboard and I

asked for time to think on it. Have you heard aught of them? Think

you I may venture to take them?"

"I have heard no more of them but that they are brave men. I doubt

not but you may safely take them."

But no sooner had Torarin said this than his dog rose from the

sledge, threw his nose in the air, and began to howl.

Torarin broke off his praises of the Scotsmen at once. "What ails

you now, Grim, my dog?" he said. "Do you think I stay here too

long, wasting the time in talk?"

He made ready to drive off. "Well, God be with you all!" he cried.

Torarin drove in to Marstrand by the narrow channel between

Klovero and Koo. When he had come within sight of the town, he

noticed that he was not alone on the ice.

In the bright moonlight he saw a tall man of proud bearing walking

in the snow. He could see that he wore a plumed hat and rich

clothes with ample puffs. "Hallo!" said Torarin to himself; "there

goes Sir Archie, the leader of the Scots, who has been out this

evening to bespeak a passage to Scotland."

Torarin was so near to the man that he drove into the long shadow

that followed him. His horse's hoofs were just touching the shadow

of the hat plumes.

"Grim," said Torarin, "shall we ask if he will drive with us to

Marstrand?"

The dog began to bristle up at once, but Torarin laid his hand

upon his back. "Be quiet, Grim, my dog! I can see that you have no

love for the Scotsmen."

Sir Archie had not noticed that any one was so close to him. He

walked on without looking round. Torarin turned very quietly to

one side in order to pass him.

But at that moment Torarin saw behind the Scottish gallant

something that looked like another shadow. He saw something long

and thin and gray, which floated over the white surface without

leaving footprints in the snow or making it crunch.

The Scotsman advanced with long and rapid strides, looking neither

to the right hand nor to the left. But the gray shadow glided on

behind him, so near that it seemed as though it would whisper

something in his ear.

Torarin drove slowly on till he came abreast of them. Then he

could see the Scotsman's face in the bright moonlight. He walked

with a frown on his brow and seemed vexed, as though full of

thoughts that displeased him.

Just as Torarin drove past, he turned about and looked behind him

as though aware of someone following.

Torarin saw plainly that behind Sir Archie stole a young maid in a

long gray garment, but Sir Archie did not see her. When he turned

his head she stood motionless, and Sir Archie's own shadow fell

upon her, dark and broad, and hid her.

Sir Archie turned again at once and pursued his way, and again the

maiden hurried forward and made as though she would whisper in his

ear.

But when Torarin saw this his terror was more than he could bear.

He cried aloud and whipped up his horse, so that it brought him at

full gallop and dripping with sweat to the door of his cabin.