along the coast of Blekinge, and which are nothing in the world but the big
stones that the giant threw.
"One can also tell because the salmon always go up in the Blekinge streams and
work their way up through rapids and still water, all the way to Småland.
"That giant is worthy of great thanks and much honour from the Blekinge people;
for salmon in the streams, and stone-cutting on the island ­ that means work
which gives food to many of them even to this day."
[Next]
Chapter VIII.
"Chapter VIII." by Selma Lagerlöf (1858-1940), translated by Velma Swanston
Howard.
From: The Wonderful Adventures of Nils. by Selma Lagerlöf. New York: Doubleday,
Page & Company, 1922, pp. 110-121.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BY RONNEBY RIVER
Friday, April first.
NEITHER the wild geese nor Smirre Fox had thought that they should ever run
across each other after leaving Skåne. But as it turned out the wild geese
happened to take the route over Blekinge, and thither Smirre Fox had also gone.
So far he had kept himself in the northern parts of the province; and since he
had not as yet seen any manor parks, or hunting grounds filled with game and
dainty young deer, he was more disgruntled than he could say.
One afternoon, when Smirre tramped around in the desolate forest district of
Mellanbygden, not far from Ronneby River, he saw a flock of wild geese fly
through the air. Instantly he observed that one of the geese was white and then
he knew, of course, with whom he had to deal.
Smirre began immediately to hunt the geese ­ as much for the pleasure of getting
a good square meal, as for the desire to be avenged for all the humiliation they
had heaped upon him. He saw that they flew eastward until they came to Ronneby
River. Then they changed their course, and followed the river toward the south.
He understood that they intended to seek a sleeping-place along the river-bank,
and he thought that he should be able to get at a pair of them without much
trouble. But when Smirre finally discovered the place where the wild geese had
taken refuge, he observed they had chosen such a well-protected spot that he
couldn't get near to them.
Ronneby River isn't any big or important body of water; nevertheless, it is just
as much talked of, because of its pretty shores. At several points it forces its
way forward between steep mountain walls that stand straight out of the water,
and are entirely overgrown with honeysuckle and bird-cherry, mountain-ash and
osier; and there isn't much that can be more delightful than to row out on the
little dark river on a pleasant summer day, and look upward at all the soft
green that fastens itself to the rugged mountain sides.
But now, when the wild geese and Smirre came to the river, it was cold and
blustery spring-winter; all the trees were nude, and there was probably no one
who thought the least little bit about the shore being ugly or pretty. The wild
geese thanked their good fortune that they had found a sandstrip wide enough for
them to stand upon, on a steep mountain wall. Before them rushed the river,
which is strong and turbulent in snow-melting time; behind them they had an
impassable mountain-rock wall, and overhanging branches screened them. They
couldn't have had it better.
The geese were asleep instantly; but the boy couldn't get a wink of sleep. As
soon as the sun had disappeared he was seized with a fear of the darkness, and a
wilderness-terror, and he began to long for human beings. Where he lay ­ tucked
in under the goose-wing ­ he could see nothing, and hear only a little; and he
thought if any harm were to come to the goosey-gander, he couldn't save him.
He heard noises and rustlings from all directions, and he grew so uneasy that he
had to creep from under the wing and seat himself on the ground, beside the
goose.
Long-sighted Smirre stood on the mountain summit and looked down upon the wild
geese. "You may as well give this pursuit up first as last," he said to himself.
"You can't climb such a steep mountain; you can't swim in such a wild torrent;
and there isn't the tiniest strip of land below the mountain which leads to the
sleeping-place. Those geese are too wise for you. Don't ever bother yourself
again to hunt them!
But Smirre, like all foxes, had found it hard to give up an undertaking already
begun, and so he laid down on the extremest point of the mountain edge, and
never took his eyes off the wild geese. While he lay and watched them, he
thought of all the harm they had done him. Yes, it was their fault that he had
been driven from Skåne, and had been obliged to move to poverty-stricken
Blekinge. He worked himself up to such a pitch, as he lay there, that he wished
the wild geese were dead, even if he himself should not have the satisfaction of
eating them.
When Smirre's resentment had reached this height, he heard rasping in a large
pine close to him, and saw a squirrel come down from the tree hotly pursued by a
marten. Neither of them noticed Smirre; and he sat quietly and watched the
chase, which went from tree to tree. He looked at the squirrel, who moved among
the branches as lightly as though he'd been able to fly. He looked at the
marten, who was not so skilled at climbing as the squirrel, but who still ran up
and along the branches just as securely as if they had been even paths in the
forest. "If I could only climb half as well as either of them," thought the fox,
"those things down there wouldn't sleep in peace very long!
As soon as the squirrel had been captured, and the chase was at an end, Smirre
walked over to the marten, but stopped two steps away from him, to signify that
he did not wish to cheat him of his prey. He greeted the marten in a very
friendly manner, and wished him good luck with his catch. Smirre chose his words
well ­ as foxes always do. The marten, on the contrary, who, with his long and
slender body, his fine head, his soft skin, and his light brown neck-piece,
looked like a little marvel of beauty, but in reality was nothing but a crude
forest dweller ­ hardly answered him. "It surprises me, said Smirre, "that such
a fine hunter as you should be satisfied with chasing squirrels when there is
much better game within reach." Here he paused; but when the marten only grinned
impudently at him, he continued: "Can it be possible that you haven't seen the
wild geese that stand under the mountain wall? or are you not a good enough
climber to get down to them?"
This time he didn't have to wait for an answer. The marten rushed up to him with
back bent, and every separate hair on end. "Have you seen wild geese?" he
hissed. "Where are they? Tell me instantly, or I'll bite your neck off!" "But
you must remember that I'm twice your size ­ so be a little polite. I ask
nothing better than to show you the wild geese," returned Smirre.
The next instant the marten was on his way down the steep; and while Smirre sat
and watched how he swung his snake-like body from branch to branch, he thought:
"That pretty tree-hunter has the Wickedest heart in all the forest. I believe
that the wild geese will have me to thank for a bloody awakening."
But just as Smirre was waiting to hear the geese's death-rattle, he saw the
marten tumble from branch to branch ­ and plump into the river so the water
splashed high. Soon thereafter, wings beat loudly and strongly and all the geese
went up in a hurried flight.
Smirre intended to hurry after the geese, but he was so curious to know how they
had been saved that he sat there until the marten came clambering up. The poor
thing was soaked in mud, and stopped every now and then to rub his head with his
fore-paws. "Now wasn't that just what I thought ­ that you were a booby, and
would go and tumble into the river?" said Smirre, contemptuously.
"I'm no booby. You don't have to scold me," said the marten. "I sat ­ all ready
­ on one of the lowest branches thinking how 1 should manage to tear a whole lot
of geese to pieces, when a little creature, no bigger than a squirrel, jumped up
and threw a stone at my head with such force that I fell into the water; and
before I had time to pick myself up ­ "
The marten didn't have to say any more. He had no audience. Smirre was already a
long way off in pursuit of the wild geese.
In the meantime Akka had flown southward in search of a new sleeping-place.
There was still a little daylight; and, besides, the half moon hung high in the
heavens, so that she could see a little. Luckily, she was well acquainted in
these parts, because it had happened more than once that she had been
wind-driven to Blekinge when travelling over the Baltic in the spring.
She followed the river as long as she could see it winding through the moon-lit
landscape, like a black, shining snake. In this way she came way down to
Djupafors ­ where the river first hides itself in an underground channel and
then, clear and transparent, as though it were made of glass, rushes down in a
narrow cleft, and breaks into bits against the bottom in glittering drops and
flying foam. Below the white falls lay a few stones, between which the water
rushed away in a wild torrent cataract. Here Mother Akka alighted. This was
another good sleeping-place ­ especially thus late in the evening, when no human
beings moved about. At sunset the geese would hardly have been able to camp
there, for Djupafors does not lie in any wilderness. On one side of the falls is
a paper factory; on the other, which is steep and tree-grown, is Djupadal Park,
where people always stroll about on the steep and slippery paths to enjoy the
wild stream's rushing movement down in the ravine.
It was about the same here as at the former place; none of the travellers in the
least realized that they had come to a pretty and well-known place. They thought
rather that it was ghastly and dangerous to stand and sleep on slippery, wet
stones, in the middle of a rumbling waterfall. But they had to be content, if
only they were protected from carnivorous animals.
The geese fell asleep instantly, while the boy could find no rest in sleep, but
sat beside them that he might watch over the goosey-gander.
After a while, Smirre came running along the river-shore. He spied the geese
immediately where they stood out in the foaming whirlpools, and understood that
he couldn't get at them here, either. Still he couldn't make up his mind to
abandon them, but sat down on the shore and looked at them. He felt very much
humbled, and thought that his entire reputation as a hunter was at stake.
All of a sudden, he saw an otter come creeping up from the falls with a fish in
his mouth. Smirre approached him but stopped within two steps of him, to show
that he didn't wish to take his game from him.
"You're a remarkable one, who can content yourself with catching a fish while
the stones are covered with geese!" said Smirre. He was so eager, that he hadn't
taken time to choose his words with his usual care. The otter didn't turn his
head once in the direction of the river. He was a vagabond ­ like all otters ­
and had fished many times by Vomb Lake, and probably knew Smirre Fox. "I know
very well how you act when you want to coax away a salmon trout, Smirre," said
he.
"Oh! is it you, Gripe?" said Smirre, and was delighted; for he knew that this
particular otter was a quick and accomplished swimmer. "I don't wonder that you
do not care to look at the wild geese, since you can't manage to get out to
them." But the otter, who had swimming-webs between his toes, and a stiff tail,
which was as good as an oar, and a skin that was water-proof, didn't wish to
have it said of him that there was a waterfall that he wasn't able to manage. He
turned toward the stream; and as soon as he caught sight of the wild geese, he
threw the fish away, rushed down the steep shore and into the river.
If it had been a little later in the spring, so that the nightingales in
Djupafors had been at home, they would have sung for many a day of Gripe's
struggle with the rapid. For the otter was thrust back by the waves many times,
and carried down river; but he fought his way steadily up again. He swam forward
in still water; he crawled over stones, and gradually came nearer the wild
geese. It was a perilous trip, which might well have earned the right to be sung
by the nightingales.
Smirre followed the otter's course with his eyes as well as he could. Presently
he saw that the otter was in the act of climbing up to the wild geese. But just
then it shrieked shrill and wild. The otter tumbled backward into the water, and
was carried away as if he had been a blind kitten. An instant later, there was a
great crackling of geese's wings. They rose and flew away to find another
sleeping-place.
The otter soon came ashore. He said nothing, but commenced to lick one of his
fore-paws. When Smirre sneered at him because he hadn't succeeded, he burst out:
"It was not the fault of my swimming-art, Smirre. I had raced all the way over
to the geese, and was about to climb up to them when a tiny creature came
running, and jabbed me in the foot with something sharp. It hurt so, I lost my
footing, and then the current took me."
He didn't have to say any more. Smirre was already far off, on his way to the
wild geese.
Once again Akka and her flock had to take a night fly. Fortunately, the moon had
not gone down; and with the aid of its light, she succeeded in finding another
of those sleeping-places which she knew of in that neighbourhood. Again she
followed the shining river toward the south. Over Djapadal's manor, and over
