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LOST ON THE FJELD.
193
chiefs round their heads: all along the road I found
family groups standing by the wayside. The horses
were waiting at this station, where the whole party was
to make a relay. A little beyond the station I met the
cortege, which consisted of about a dozen carrioles and
one leather-looking gig or chaise, in which the Prince
was driving.
On the following morning I proposed to cross the
fjeld to Skeaker, but it rained and drizzled, and the
mists hung upon the moors, and my host, an intelligent
man, spoke rather earnestly of the dangers of the fjeld
under such circumstances. He was an intelligent man,
who had read the saga of the old Scandinavian poets,
and seemed well acquainted with them. I walked on
in the afternoon to the next station through a widening
portion of the valley, which hereabouts presents no very
striking features.
From the Hoset station there is another track over the
Kjolen Fjeld, and I started upon this at about seven in
the morning. After passing over a plain of reindeer
moss, I walk up a long wild-wooded valley, and reached
some huts, or saeters, rather sooner than I anticipated,
from the position they have on the map, according to
which the track over the fjeld here turns off to the left.
I accordingly crossed a bridge just erected, and found a
track taking nearly the course required. The track
was but an ill-defined one, and after a while I lost it
completely out on the wild rolling moorland, over
which I then steered by compass alone. After a few
miles of this, I reached a ridge of mountains, and
o
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