CHAPTER XXII

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THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE SKAL.

“When shaws beene sheene and shrads full fayre, And leaves both large and long, ’Tis merry walking in the fayre forest, To hear the small birde’s song.”

_Robin Hood._

“These mounds I yet may clamber, And look on the rocks so grey,— On these huge stones on the summits I can lie, as oft I lay.

“And if it soughs in the forest, In the beechwood’s native land,— And if the wave roars deeply, I nod to sea and strand.

“O, never my heart forgetteth The cairn, the wood, and the strand,— For my heart is only at home in The warrior’s fatherland.”

_Holger Danske-Ingemann._

The sun had not yet lighted up the spires of the fir-trees, when a buzz of voices and a shuffling of feet broke the slumbers of the head-quarters party. Länsman Matthiesen, true to his word, had not slept before he had picked out his fifty mountaineers, chalking their hats at the back with the letters “H.F.,” standing for hög fjeld, or the high forest, indicating the position they were to occupy.

While Birger was still rubbing his eyes and kicking up Jacob to boil the morning’s coffee, Matthiesen was numbering them from 1 to 50, with chalk, in the front of their hats, and selecting their skalfogdar, who were marked, as the Captain had been on the preceding evening, with the letters “S.F.” It is usual to appoint a skalfogde to every ten men; but, as these were to be divided into small parties, it was thought expedient to appoint one to every five, it being understood that, whenever any of these parties were united, the skalfogde whose number was lowest should reckon as senior, and command the whole.

Fire-arms are not very plentiful in any part of Sweden, but Matthiesen had so picked his men, that about one-fifth of them had something of the sort,—most of these weapons looking very much more formidable to the sportsmen who carried them than to the game at which they were pointed. The rest were armed with poles, many of which had spikes at the end. Here and there was an old sword or a pistol that had seen service in the Thirty years’ War; but most of the men carried very efficient axes,—an excellent weapon against a tree, and not a bad one with a bear in close conflict, if such a thing ever does take place in a skal; but the fact is, the beasts on these occasions are so completely cowed, that they rarely, if ever, show fight.

The men had been searched that morning, and all their brandy taken from them, and the rest of their provisions examined, to see if there was enough to last out the number of days for which they had been summoned. But, before starting, Birger served out to each a horn of hot coffee from Jacob’s soup kettle, with a double allowance of sugar in it; for if there is anything that comes near to brandy in the estimation of a Swede, it is sugar, which he eats and drinks whenever he can get it, like a very child.

Birger then, having first taken a careful survey of the whole plan of the skal, a copy of which Matthiesen had placed in his hand, summoned the Parson and Torkel, and, placing himself at the head of his party, gave the word to march. This was obeyed in a very military fashion,—for every Swede is or has been a militia-man, and is very proud of his soldiering,—and the party was soon lost among the green shades of the forest.

Moodie watched them very composedly, and then quietly set himself down to breakfast, not a little to the discomposure of the Captain, who, if he had had his will, would have been walking sentry on his post with his rifle in his hand, looking out fiercely for the bears,—a proceeding which, as the dref or driving party was not to move till noon, and then would be twenty miles from the scene of action, evinced, to say the least of it, more zeal than discretion.

The Captain need not, however, have disquieted himself, for the preparations all that time were going steadily forward. Moodie, having selected six of the most experienced hunters as Adjutanter or lieutenants, left them to nominate and chalk off the fifty Skalfogdar which his party required, and to distribute the men into tens in such a way that every part of the line should be equally provided with fire-arms. The farmer who owned the land had offered his services as personal attendant, or what the Jagmästere had called Quartermaster-General; and Moodie, quite aware that the authorities of the place, who knew the characters and capabilities of the men, would set in order these details much better than he could, permitted them to manage things their own way, and interfered but little with their arrangements.

It was not before ten that everything was put into proper order, and the little flags prepared which were to mark out the ground; but then Moodie readily enough got his men into marching order, and proceeded to take up the position. This was distant about four miles (English) from the place of meeting; the road to it leading down the glade, and at right angles to the direction taken by Birger and his party that morning.

If Moodie had seemed apathetic and dilatory while others were capable of doing the work, there was no want of energy in him when the party had arrived at the ground. His orders were given with that distinctness and decision which evinces an intimate acquaintance with the business in hand, and ensures the prompt obedience of all engaged in it.

Two of the Adjutanter, with three men from each skalfogde’s command were detached to establish the line which the hållet was finally to occupy, and to mark out with little flags of white calico, on which were painted their numbers, the post of each subdivision. In the meanwhile the main strength of his party were engaged in preparing the mountain road which the Jagmästere had pointed out for what is termed the shooting line,—that is to say, the line on which the dref or driving division was finally to halt, having thus enclosed the game in the patch of wood between it and the hållet, which is called the skalplats.

The shooting line was formed, by cutting down the junipers and lower branches of the trees for about twenty yards on each side of a mountain road which ran parallel to the front of the position; but the great labour was to remove everything that had been cut, for, had such evident traces of man’s work been left, not one single head of game would have ventured across the clearing. For this reason, also, Moodie began his work in this place, leaving the clearing of his own line for future operations, in order that he might give time for the scent to clear away,—and therefore it is, that when the shooting line is once formed, no one is ever permitted to cross till the dref arrives, driving the game before them.

The peculiar kind of the ground had, in this instance, caused the skalplats to be made very much larger than is usual; in fact, it was nearly half a mile deep, and very much more than half a mile in front width—and from this it would be difficult to dislodge game which had been thoroughly frightened. But Moodie’s English education had suggested a remedy: besides the main shooting line, the axe-men were instructed to subdivide the skalplats by parallel “rides,” as they are called in an English cover, running from front to rear, so that a marksman placed at the end of any of these would have a fair shot, as the game moved from one block of forest to another.

All this, however, was a work of time as well as labour, and though four hundred men were employed about it, and though they worked as men work who combine pleasure with duty, the day was far advanced, and the skal had begun for some hours before Moodie took his final survey, and, dispatching the Captain and his party to their post in the mountains, withdrew his workmen to their own position on the reverse slope of the spur. Having posted his sentries on the crest of the hill, he dismissed the remainder to procure their suppers, and to make themselves as comfortable as was consistent with extreme watchfulness.

Long before any serious impression had been made by Moodie, on the shooting line, Birger and the remains of his party had reached his farthest post, having taken his route along the crest of the heights. Calculating his time with military precision, he had visited the heads of all the different passes, stationing at each a picket, the strength of which was in proportion to its ascertained importance, or blocking it up with an abattis of trees—a very easy thing to do, for the bear, when his suspicions are fairly roused, turns readily at the slightest appearance of a trap. And now, as the minute hand of his watch indicated twelve, a fact which he took care to point out to the Parson, Matthiesen was in the act of displaying from the branch of a dead fir tree which overhung the precipice, the long fluttering slip of white calico, which not only marked out the position of the pass to those below, but was the agreed signal that it was occupied.

The day was bright and hot, as a northern summer’s day generally is, and within the cover of the woods not a breath of wind had been felt; but on the exposed cliff, where they then stood, or rather lay—for the recumbent was decidedly the favourite position;—a light and refreshing air was just creeping up the sides of the cliffs, stirring the feathery leaves of the birches, but leaving the heavier foliage at rest.

It was a joyous scene, as the eye traversed the tops of the great forest stretched out like a map below, and traced the different colours of the foliage—here was a thick, close array of firs, forming a solid column, of miles in extent—there were the serried ranks of the spiry spruce,—here, again, where the axe had been at work selecting the best trees and leaving the rest to succeed as chance had planted, there was a broad, park-like expanse full of juniper underwood, bordered, it may be, by a belt of birch, the consequences of some forgotten fire, or a patch of white poplars, indicating a marshy bit, or a dozen or so of restless aspens, balancing their leaves when all around was still;—here, again, was a svedgefall, as they term the places where the wind gets under the branches of the firs, and levels acres of them together. Sometimes these form parks of exceeding beauty, as the young trees grow up sparsely; but here and there, where they are too small to be worth removing, they lie, entangled with weeds and undergrowth, a mass of rottenness and a stronghold of Bruin, out of which it will sometimes take hours to drive him.

Here and there, too, was a sœter, or, as we are now in Sweden, a satterval, or mountain pasture farm, with its low roof of pine-branches and its meadow of rough hay, which generally stood in large cocks, ready to be removed as soon as the snow should form a road; round most of these, groups of cattle might be seen; but there was no smoke from their chimneys, for every human being was at the skal.

Far in the distance, indeed too far to be seen, except where the sun lighted up its waters and returned a dazzling reflection, was the river, already guarded by its fleet of boats, though these were entirely invisible from the cliffs.

To the southward, the range of heights sank gradually into the plain, which here was traversed by the main road, cutting both the ridge and the river at right angles.

Beyond this, all was one black, dreary, desolate wilderness, without a shrub, or a bush, or a blade of grass; nothing but bare, grey, ghost-like trunks of dead trees, stretching forth their charred and blackened branches, and looking as if a curse was resting on them. Three years ago that blackened track had been a flourishing pine forest, but the fire had passed over it, and it was gone. According to a generally received Swedish superstition, though the birch might succeed it, no pine could grow there again for ever: the burnt tree had been cursed in itself and in its seed.

This superstition is actually borne out by fact: cut a pine-forest, and a pine-forest succeeds it; burn a pine-forest, and the succeeding trees, when they do again clothe the ground, are invariably birch. In reality, this is not so strange as it seems at first sight; the fir is the natural seed of the country, and the young fir is the hardiest tree,—wherever that tree will grow no other can compete with it; but its seed is heavy, and cannot fall far from the parent tree, when once vegetation is destroyed,—the fir-seed can never travel into the wasted land; but the birch-seed flies in the wind, and its young seedlings are invariably the first green which succeeds a fire.

This black wilderness was one cause among many which had induced the Jagmästere to select this particular spot for his skal; no game would willingly break through his line when they knew that miles of uncovered country must be traversed before they could again find shelter. He had, therefore, that morning marshalled his dref along the high road, by placing them in position there, and numbering their hats as they stood, from the centre to each flank; but, true to his word, no sooner had the white flag fluttered from Birger’s post, than his bugle sounded the advance along his whole line, and the skal was already begun.

The Parson and Birger, whose work for that morning was done, were seated on the outer ridge, with their feet fairly overhanging the precipice, reconnoitring with their glasses the progress of the dref, as here and there the men emerged into a more open space, which the skalfogdar were taking advantage of, in order to reform or repair their line, and re-establish their communications with the parties right and left of them.

Every now and then a sudden shout, followed by half-a-dozen shots, marking the place by a light puff of smoke, (Swedish powder makes plenty of that), would point the glasses to some particular spot,—but on no occasion was any game visible from above.

According to law, all shouting is strictly forbidden in skals, and so is firing at small game, and so is the presence of women or boys, upon the express count that they are too noisy; but these laws seem to have been made for no other purpose except that the people might enjoy the pleasure of hunting and breaking the law at the same time, for no one ever thinks of keeping them; shouting is incessant, women are plentiful, and, as for shooting at small game, the best chance a cock-robin stands of his life consists in the very great probability of a Swedish piece missing fire, or a Swedish marksman missing his aim.

And, indeed, it is universally admitted by the moderns that their forefathers were in error; that not only shouts and musketry are useful in keeping up the men’s pluck and pointing out to each other their whereabouts, but they are positively of advantage in driving the game. When the ring is once completed, either by artificial or natural means, and the game is fairly surrounded, it is far better that it should be aroused by distant shouts, and should be suffered to slink off quietly and unseen, approaching by degrees the hållet, where, after all, it must be brought up by the standing line, than that it should be surprised by the dref advancing in silence. A startled bear is just as likely to bolt backwards as forwards, and, if he does, the chances are that he gets off scot free. He must be an unlucky bear, indeed, who, at the earlier part of a skal, and before the men have closed in, charges the line and gets more than one shot at him; and a most particularly unlucky bear must he be if that shot takes effect, whereas it is just as likely to take effect on some Jan or Karl, who stands with his eyes and mouth open as the “Disturber” rushes by,—and thus affords, in his own person, the only chance of a sitting shot, which Swedes delight in;—indeed, this is almost the only way in which accidents do happen in skals; the bear very seldom revenges himself, but he now and then gets people to do it for him.

The Parson sat reclining against a rock, very much at his ease, sometimes watching the progress of the skal, sometimes picking off the stalks from a quantity of ground-mulberries[50] which he had gathered during that morning’s march. Indeed, the Parson, in the course of that march, had succeeded in making a very pretty figure of himself: his knowledge of botany amounted simply to a desire of appropriating to himself every unusual flower he came across; so that by the end of the day his hat, which was of that description popularly known as a wide-awake, was generally surrounded by a garland fit for a May-queen.

In the present instance, the front of his hat exhibited a purple plume of the “laf-reseda,” which perfumed the air around him with an odour like that of the night-scented stock. He had placed it there not so much for that or for its beauty, as because, like the ground-mulberry, it is never seen south of the latitude in which they then were—not even in the south of Sweden. Twining round the hat-band was a wreath of “Baldur’s brow,” a beautiful white flower, dedicated in heathen times to the god of Innocence, and still bearing his name, and retaining a portion of its ancient sanctity.[51] The lily of the valley, which in Sweden signifies much the same as it does in England, formed its appropriate companion; and so might the heart’s-ease, which fairly tinged the hill sides with blue and yellow, had it retained any equivalent to its English appellation; but in Sweden it is called “skart-blom,” and is appropriated to the Devil. It is the flower the witches decorate themselves with when they ride by night to the Satanic rendezvous, and dance infernal polkas in the wilds of Blaakulla.

“See!” said Birger, “look at that white flag! there it is, glancing against the corner of those firs in the svedgefall; now you see another in a line with it,—that is the Ordningsman and his party; he marks the centre of the advancing line. Before they started, the Jagmästere will have given him his precise bearing from the centre of the hållet, and his business is to attend neither to the bears nor to the beating, but to advance steadily on his own line; for that purpose he has those three flagsmen allotted to him. There, you see that fellow on the farther edge of the svedgefall, showing his flag from that black-looking fir?—look through your glass, and you will easily make out the Ordningsman himself; there he is, with his compass in his hand, close by the farthest flag; he is taking the bearings of the first man that we made out; and there is the third now advancing to take up a new position. What he has to do is to keep those flags always in the straight line, and all the rest dress from him.”

Just then, the Jagmästere rode, or rather clambered, into the svedgefall on his little cream-coloured pony, which, accustomed to the work, scrambled about the fallen trees more like a dog than a horse. He was attended by a large party on foot; one of these, who might be termed his orderly, had to lead his horse round by the forest cattle tracks, whenever it happened, as it very frequently did happen, that the under-stuff was too thick for a horseman to traverse.

His right wing, which had been beating the easier and more open country towards the river, had got some distance in advance, and he was evidently directing the Ordningsman to halt in the svedgefall till the left had time to come up. Messengers were dispatched right and left; the bugles began to sound, some the “advance” and some the “halt,” and those parts of the line which had begun to emerge from the trees, were seen collecting in little groups in different attitudes of rest, lighting their pipes, or visiting their havresacs for their mid-dag’s mad of black bread and hard white cheese.

Before long the left wing, the advanced flank of which was under their feet, made itself to be both heard and seen. The ground here was much more difficult, because at the immediate foot of the cliff the _debris_ of ages had formed themselves into a very steep slope. This part, rugged and uneven with fallen blocks of stone, was covered with a close brake of underwood, not only of juniper, but of hazels and rowan bushes, all matted together by brambles,—as well as birch and ash, the last of which, winding its long roots among the stones, had in most places attained the dignity of timber trees.

Well aware that every head of game disturbed along the whole line would, if possible, seek refuge here, the Jagmästere had intended that his left wing should be thrown forward, and had allotted a hundred men, under the most experienced of his Adjutanter, to search the ground well, keeping a mile or so in advance of the line. The eagerness of the men on first starting had somewhat disturbed this arrangement, for at the beginning the cover, along the greater part of the line, had consisted of firs, which not only screened the men from the eyes of their officers, but, by destroying the under-stuff, permitted them to get forwards without any great exertion. It was to rectify this that the halt had been called.

“What is that?” said the Parson, jumping up and scattering half his mulberries down the precipice, as a rush of wings came sharp round the corner of the rock, and a great cock-tjäder, as big as a turkey, came close over his head, and dashed into the firs that crested the hill.

“That,” said Birger, unslinging his rifle, “that is a hint that we ought to keep a better look-out;—not that we should have had that fellow though, for, awkward and heavy as they seem, they rush along like a round shot, when once they get into their flight. But never mind, we shall have more of them presently—mind where you shoot, though, if you use your rifle,—there will be a peasant or two knocked over before we have done, most likely. We do not think much of that, but you would not like to be playing Archbishop Abbott[52] yourself, would you?”

The Parson laughed, as he examined and poised his double-barrelled gun—for the rifle was in the charge of Torkel,—and made a successful right and left shot among a covey of orre grouse that were skimming over the tree-tops at his feet.

“Oh, if you stick to small shot,” said Birger, who had despatched a human retriever down the watercourse to pick up the birds, “you may fire away in the men’s faces if you like; there is not a Swede who would not stand the chance of a peppered jacket, to be able to pick up an article of game,”—a sentiment fully confirmed by the grinning faces of the picket, for whose benefit he had translated his words.

“But we are not likely to have bears coming up to us, if we keep up such a popping as this,” said the Parson.

“‘A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush;’ if there are bears within the skal, depend upon it we shall get them, sooner or later. Fire away! most of us like a broiled grouse for supper.”

“Here goes for the bird of Yggdrasil,” as a magnificent peregrine falcon came floating through the air, as if by the mere act of volition; “he shall never sit again between the eyes of the eagle.”[53]

Birger had, however, miscalculated his distance, for the bird, taking no more notice of his shot than if they had been hailstones, sailed quietly on his course, without turning to the right or left.

“The bird of the gods bears a charmed life,” said the Parson, “it is no use firing at him. Come, load away! look sharp, or you will lose your next chance.”

Game, however, is nowhere very plentiful, either in Norway or in Sweden; and though every eye in the picket was on the look-out, nothing more was seen, except a blue Alpine hare, that came quietly lopping up the watercourse, and sat on its hind legs, innocently looking Matthiesen in the face during the minute and half in which he was taking aim; the shot, however, was successful at last, and puss was destined to supply the evening kettle.

“If you want a chance at big game,” said Birger, “I will tell you what you should do; it is altogether against the law, no doubt—and that is one of the few laws relating to skals that ought to be observed;—but if you were to slip down one of these watercourses with Torkel, and take your course quietly and silently through the fjeld, keeping four or five miles ahead of the dref, more unlikely things have happened than that you should set your eyes upon some beast or other stealing off. You have got your compass, and you cannot be lost in a little strip of a forest like this, not half a dozen miles across. Besides, every stream you come to runs from our pickets, which you may always reach by following it. You can always distinguish them in the day-time by their flags, and if you should be overtaken by night—”

“If I should,” said the Parson, “there is nothing I should like better. Torkel will soon get up a fire. I have plenty of provisions in my havresac, and a little of the contraband, too,” he added, shaking his bottle; “they forgot to search me; so that if we should be out at night, we will try if we cannot make a night of it.”

“So be it, then,” said Birger; “be early at the Captain’s post, that is all, for you may depend upon it, if I know anything of the lie of the country, there will be sport there long before the dref comes up. You will probably find me there before you.”

“Au revoir, then,” said the Parson, as he swung himself off the cliff on which he had been sitting, into the boughs of an ash, and thus dropped into the watercourse; down this he disappeared, with Torkel after him, floundering, crashing, and rolling the stones before him.

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