by Jules Verne
Joel and Hulda, though they had not yet caught sight of him, heard his cry.
"What is that?" exclaimed Joel, springing to his feet.
"A cry!" replied Hulda.
"Yes, a cry of distress."
"From what direction did it come?"
"Let us listen."
Both looked first to the right, and then to the left of the fall, but they saw nothing, though they had certainly heard the words "Help! help!" uttered during one of the intervals between each rebound of the Rjukan.
The cry was repeated.
"Joel, some one who is in danger is calling for help," cried Hulda. "We must go to his aid."
"Yes, sister; and he can not be far off. But in what direction? Where is he? I see no one."
Hulda hastily climbed a little knoll behind the mossy rock upon which she had been sitting.
"Joel!" she cried, suddenly.
"Do you see him?"
"There, there!"
As she spoke she pointed to the imprudent man whose body seemed to be almost overhanging the abyss. If his foothold upon a tiny ledge of rock failed him, or he was seized with dizziness, he was lost.
"We must save him!" said Hulda.
"Yes," replied Joel, "if we can keep our wits about us we shall perhaps be able to reach him."
Joel gave a loud shout to attract the attention of the traveler, who immediately turned his head toward the spot from which the sound proceeded; then the worthy fellow devoted a few moments to deciding how he could best rescue the stranger from his dangerous position.
"You are not afraid, are you, Hulda?" he asked.
"No, brother."
"You know the Maristien well, do you not?"
"I have crossed it several times."
"Then walk along the brow of the cliff, gradually getting as near the traveler as you possibly can; then allow yourself to slide down gently toward him, and take him by the hand, so as to prevent him from falling any further; but do not let him try to lift himself up, because if he should be seized with vertigo he would certainly drag you down with him, and you would both be lost."
"And you, Joel?"
"While you are traversing the brow of the cliff I will creep along the edge of it on the river-side. I shall reach him about as soon as you do, and if you should slip I shall perhaps be able to prevent you both from falling."
Then, taking advantage of another interval in the roaring of the torrent, Joel shouted in stentorian tones:
"Don't move, sir. Wait; we will try to get to you!"
Hulda had already disappeared behind the trees that crowned the ledge, in order to ascend the Maristien from the other side of the declivity, and Joel soon caught a glimpse of the fast-receding form of the brave girl at the turn in the path where the last trees grew.
He, in turn, at the peril of his life, had begun to creep slowly along the shelving edge of the ledge that surrounds the Rjukan. What wonderful coolness, what steadiness of foot and of hand were required to thus advance in safety along the edge of an abyss whose borders were drenched with the spray of the cataract!
In a parallel direction, but at least one hundred feet above his head, Hulda was advancing obliquely in order to reach the traveler more easily; but the position of the latter was such that she could not see his face, that being turned toward the cataract.
Joel, on reaching a spot directly below the unfortunate man paused, and after planting his foot firmly in a small crevice in the rock, called out:
"Hallo, sir!"
The traveler turned his head.
"Don't move, sir; don't move an inch, but hold fast!"
"I'll do that, my friend, never fear," replied the stranger in a tone that reassured Joel. "If I hadn't a good grip, I should have gone to the bottom of the Rjukan a quarter of an hour ago."
"My sister is also coming to help you," continued Joel. "She will take hold of your hand, but don't attempt to get upon your feet until I reach you. Don't even move."
"No more than a rock," replied the traveler.
Hulda had already begun to descend the ledge, carefully selecting the less slippery parts of the slope with the clear head of a true daughter of the Telemark.
And she, too, now called out as Joel had done:
"Holdfast, sir."
"Yes; I am holding fast, and I assure you that I shall continue to do so as long as I can."
"And above all don't be afraid!" added Hulda.
"I am not afraid."
"We'll save you yet!" cried Joel.
"I hope so, indeed; for by Saint Olaf I shall never succeed in getting out of this scrape myself."
It was evident that the tourist had lost none of his presence of mind; but his fall had probably disabled him, and all he could do now was to keep himself upon the narrow shelf of rock that separated him from the abyss.
Meanwhile Hulda continued her descent, and in a few minutes reached the traveler; then, bracing her foot against a projecting point in the rock, she caught hold of his hand.
The traveler involuntarily attempted to raise himself a little.
"Don't move, sir, don't move," cried Hulda. "You will be sure to drag me down with you, for I am not strong enough to keep you from falling! You must wait until my brother reaches us. When he gets between us and the fall you can then try to get up."
"That is more easily said than done I fear."
"Are you so much hurt, sir? I hope you have broken no bones."
"No; but one leg is badly cut and scratched."
Joel was about twenty yards from them, the rounded shape of the brow of the cliff having prevented him from joining them at once. He was now obliged to climb this rounded surface. This was, of course, the most difficult and also the most dangerous part of his task.
"Don't make the slightest movement, Hulda!" he cried. "If you should both slip while I am not in a position to break your fall you would both be killed."
"You need not fear that, Joel!" replied Hulda. "Think only of yourself, and may God help you!"
Joel began to crawl slowly up the rock, dragging himself along on his belly like a veritable reptile. Two or three times he narrowly escaped sliding down into the abyss below, but finally he succeeded in reaching the traveler's side.
The latter proved to be an elderly but still vigorous-looking man, with a handsome face, animated with a very genial and kindly expression.
"You have been guilty of a very imprudent act, sir," remarked Joel as soon as he recovered his breath.
"Imprudent!" repeated the traveler. "Yes, and as absurd as it was imprudent."
"You have not only risked your life, but--"
"Made you risk yours."
"Oh! that is my business," replied Joel, lightly. Then he added, in an entirely different tone: "The thing to be done now is to regain the brow of the cliff, but the most difficult part of the task is already accomplished."
"The most difficult?"
"Yes, sir. That was to reach you. Now we have only to ascend a much more gradual slope.
"Still, you had better not place much dependence upon me, my boy. I have a leg that isn't of much use to me just now, nor will it be for some time to come I fear."
"Try to raise yourself a little."
"I will gladly do so if you will assist me."
"Then take hold of my sister's arm. I will steady you and push you from below."
"Very well, my friends, I will be guided entirely by you; as you have been so kind as to come to my assistance, I can not do less than yield you implicit obedience."
Joel's plan was carried out in the most cautious manner, and though the ascent was not made without considerable difficulty and danger, all three accomplished it more easily and quickly than they had thought possible. Besides, the injury from which the traveler was suffering was neither a sprain nor dislocation, but simply a very bad abrasion of the skin; consequently, he could use his limbs to much better purpose than he had supposed, and ten minutes later he found himself safe on the other side of the
Maristien.
Once there, he would have been glad to rest awhile under the pines that border the upper _field_ of the Rjukanfos, but Joel persuaded him to make one more effort. This was to reach a hut hidden among the trees, a short distance from the rock, on which the brother and sister had seated themselves on first arriving at the fall. The traveler yielded to their solicitations, and supported on one side by Hulda, and on the other by Joel, he finally succeeded in reaching the door of the humble dwelling.
"Let us go in, sir," said Hulda. "You must want to rest a moment."
"The moment will probably be prolonged to a quarter of an hour."
"Very well, sir; but afterward you must consent to accompany us to Dal."
"To Dal? Why, that is the very place I was going to!"
"Can it be that you are the tourist who was expected from the north?" asked Joel.
"Precisely."
"Had I foreseen what was going to happen, I should have gone to the other side of the Rjukanfos to meet you."
"That would have been a good idea, my brave fellow. You would have saved me from a foolhardy act unpardonable at my age."
"Or at any age," replied Hulda.
The three entered the hut which was occupied by a family of peasants, a father and two daughters, who received their unexpected guests with great cordiality.
Joel was able to satisfy himself that the traveler had sustained no injury beyond a severe abrasion of the skin a little below the knee; but though the wound would necessitate a week's rest, the limb was neither broken nor dislocated.
Some excellent milk, an abundance of strawberries, and a little black bread were offered and accepted. Joel gave incontestable proofs of an excellent appetite, and though Hulda eat almost nothing, the traveler proved a match for her brother.
"My exertions have given me a famous appetite," he remarked; "but I must admit that my attempt to traverse the Maristien was an act of the grossest folly. To play the part of the unfortunate Eystein when one is old enough to be his father--and even his grandfather--is absurd in the highest degree."
"So you know the legend?" said Hulda.
"Of course. My nurse used to sing me to sleep with it in the happy days when I still had a nurse. Yes, I know the story, my brave girl, so I am all the more to blame for my imprudence. Now, my friends, Dal seems a long way off to a cripple like myself. How do you propose to get me there?"
"Don't worry about that, sir," replied Joel. "Our kariol is waiting for us at the end of the road, about three hundred yards from here."
"Hum! three hundred yards!"
"But downhill all the way," added Hulda.
"Oh, in that case, I shall do very well if you will kindly lend me an arm."
"Why not two, as we have four at your disposal?" responded Joel.
"We will say two then. It won't cost me any more, will it?"
"It will cost you nothing."
"Except my thanks; and that reminds me that I have not yet thanked you."
"For what, sir?" inquired Joel.
"Merely for saving my life at the risk of your own."
"Are you quite ready to start?" inquired Hulda, rising to escape any further expression of gratitude.
"Certainly, certainly. I am more than willing to be guided by the wishes of the other members of the party."
The traveler settled the modest charge made by the occupants of the cottage; then, supported by Joel and Hulda, he began the descent of the winding path leading to the river bank.
The descent was not effected without many exclamations of pain; but these exclamations invariably terminated in a hearty laugh, and at last they reached the saw-mill, where Joel immediately proceeded to harness the horse into the kariol.
Five minutes later the traveler was installed in the vehicle, with Hulda beside him.
"But I must have taken your seat," he remarked to Joel.
"A seat I relinquish to you with the utmost willingness."
"But perhaps by a little crowding we might make room for you?"
"No, no, I have my legs, sir--a guide's legs. They are as good as any wheels."
Joel placed himself at the horse's head, and the little party started for Dal. The return trip was a gay one, at least on the part of the traveler, who already seemed to consider himself an old friend of the Hansen family. Before they reached their destination they found themselves calling their companion M. Silvius; and that gentleman unceremoniously called them Hulda and Joel, as if their acquaintance had been one of long standing.
About four o'clock the little belfry of Dal became visible through the trees, and a few minutes afterward the horse stopped in front of the inn. The traveler alighted from the kariol, though not without considerable difficulty. Dame Hansen hastened to the door to receive him, and though he did not ask for the best room in the house, it was given to him all the same.
CHAPTER IX.
Sylvius Hogg was the name that the stranger inscribed upon the inn register, that same evening, directly underneath the name of Sandgoist, and there was as great a contrast between the two names as between the men that bore them. Between them there was nothing whatever in common, either mentally, morally, or physically. One was generous to a fault, the other was miserly and parsimonious; one was genial and kind-hearted, in the arid soul of the other every noble and humane sentiment seemed to have withered and died.
Sylvius Hogg was nearly sixty years of age, though he did not appear nearly so old. Tall, erect, and well built, healthy alike in mind and in body, he pleased at first sight with his handsome genial face, upon which he wore no beard, but around which clustered curling locks of silvery hair; eyes which were as smiling as his lips, a broad forehead that bore the impress of noble thoughts, and a full chest in which the heart beat untrammeled. To all these charms were added an inexhaustible fund of good humor, a refined and liberal nature, and a generous and self-sacrificing disposition.
Sylvius Hogg, of Christiania--no further recommendation was needed. That told the whole story. And he was not only known, appreciated, loved and honored in the Norwegian capital, but throughout the entire country, though the sentiments he inspired in the other half of the Scandinavian kingdom, that is to say in Sweden, were of an entirely different character.
This fact can easily be explained.
Sylvius Hogg was a professor of law at Christiania. In some lands to be a barrister, civil engineer, physician, or merchant, entitles one to a place on the upper rounds of the social ladder. It is different in Norway, however. To be a professor there is to be at the top of the ladder.
Though there are four distinct classes in Sweden, the nobility, the clergy, the gentry, and the peasantry, there are but three in Norway--the nobility being utterly wanting. No aristocracy is acknowledged, not even that of the office-holder, for in this favored country where privileged persons are unknown, the office-holder is only the humble servant of the public. In fact, perfect social equality prevails without any political distinctions whatever.
Sylvius Hogg being one of the most influential men in the country, the reader will not be surprised to learn that he was also a member of the Storthing; and in this august body, by the well-known probity of his public and private life even more than by his mighty intellect, he wielded a powerful influence even over the peasant deputies elected in such large numbers in the rural districts.
Ever since the adoption of the Constitution of 1814, it may be truly said that Norway is a republic with the King of Sweden for its president; for Norway, ever jealous of her rights, has carefully guarded her individuality. The Storthing will have nothing whatever to do with the Swedish parliament; hence it is only natural that the most prominent and patriotic members of the Storthing should be regarded with distrust on the other side of the imaginary frontier that separates Sweden from Norway.
This was the case with Sylvius Hogg. Being extremely independent in character, and utterly devoid of ambition, he had repeatedly declined a position in the Cabinet; and a stanch defender of
all the rights of his native land, he had constantly and unflinchingly opposed any threatened encroachment on the part of Sweden.
Such is the moral and political gulf between the two countries that the King of Sweden--then Oscar XV.--after being crowned at Stockholm, was obliged to go through a similar ceremony at Drontheim, the ancient capital of Norway. Such too is the suspicious reserve of Norwegian men of business, that the Bank of Christiania is unwilling to accept the notes of the Bank of Stockholm! Such too is the clearly defined line of demarkation between the two nations that the Swedish flag floats neither over the public buildings of Norway, nor from the masts of Norwegian vessels. The one has its blue bunting, bearing a yellow cross; the other a blue cross upon a crimson ground.
Sylvius Hogg was a thorough Norwegian in heart and in soul, and stoutly defended her rights upon all occasions; so, when in 1854 the Storthing was discussing the question of having neither a viceroy nor even a governor at the head of the state, he was one of the most enthusiastic champions of the measure.
Consequently, though he was by no means popular in the eastern part of Scandinavia, he was adored in the western part of it, even in the most remote hamlets. His name was a household word throughout Norway from the dunes of Christiansand to the bleak rocks of the North Cape, and so worthy was he of this universal respect that no breath of calumny had ever sullied the reputation of either the deputy or the professor. But though he was a Norwegian to the core he was a hot-blooded man, with none of the traditional coldness and apathy of his compatriots; but much more prompt and resolute in his thoughts and acts than most Scandinavians, as was proved by the quickness of his movements, the ardor of his words, and the vivacity of his gestures. Had he been born in France, one would have unhesitatingly pronounced him a Southerner.
Sylvius Hogg's fortune had never exceeded a fair competence, for he had not entered into politics for the purpose of making money. Naturally unselfish, he never thought of himself, but continually of others; nor was he tormented by a thirst for fame. To be a deputy was enough for him; he craved no further advancement.