The inn I was at in Laurvig this journey was not the same that I was at before.It is a good one--the people civil,and the accommodations decent.They seem to be better provided in Sweden;but in justice I ought to add that they charge more extravagantly.
My bill at Tonsberg was also much higher than I had paid in Sweden,and much higher than it ought to have been where provision is so cheap.Indeed,they seem to consider foreigners as strangers whom they shall never see again,and may fairly pluck.And the inhabitants of the western coast,isolated,as it were,regard those of the east almost as strangers.Each town in that quarter seems to be a great family,suspicious of every other,allowing none to cheat them but themselves;and,right or wrong,they support one another in the face of justice.
On this journey I was fortunate enough to have one companion with more enlarged views than the generality of his countrymen,who spoke English tolerably.
I was informed that we might still advance a mile and a quarter in our cabrioles;afterwards there was no choice,but of a single horse and wretched path,or a boat,the usual mode of travelling.
We therefore sent our baggage forward in the boat,and followed rather slowly,for the road was rocky and sandy.We passed,however,through several beech groves,which still delighted me by the freshness of their light green foliage,and the elegance of their assemblage,forming retreats to veil without obscuring the sun.
I was surprised,at approaching the water,to find a little cluster of houses pleasantly situated,and an excellent inn.I could have wished to have remained there all night;but as the wind was fair,and the evening fine,I was afraid to trust to the wind--the uncertain wind of to-morrow.We therefore left Helgeraac immediately with the declining sun.
Though we were in the open sea,we sailed more amongst the rocks and islands than in my passage from Stromstad;and they often forced very picturesque combinations.Few of the high ridges were entirely bare;the seeds of some pines or firs had been wafted by the winds or waves,and they stood to brave the elements.
Sitting,then,in a little boat on the ocean,amidst strangers,with sorrow and care pressing hard on me--buffeting me about from clime to clime--I felt "Like the lone shrub at random cast,That sighs and trembles at each blast!"On some of the largest rocks there were actually groves,the retreat of foxes and hares,which,I suppose,had tripped over the ice during the winter,without thinking to regain the main land before the thaw.
Several of the islands were inhabited by pilots;and the Norwegian pilots are allowed to be the best in the world--perfectly acquainted with their coast,and ever at hand to observe the first signal or sail.They pay a small tax to the king and to the regulating officer,and enjoy the fruit of their indefatigable industry.
One of the islands,called Virgin Land,is a flat,with some depth of earth,extending for half a Norwegian mile,with three farms on it,tolerably well cultivated.
On some of the bare rocks I saw straggling houses;they rose above the denomination of huts inhabited by fishermen.My companions assured me that they were very comfortable dwellings,and that they have not only the necessaries,but even what might be reckoned the superfluities of life.It was too late for me to go on shore,if you will allow me to give that name to shivering rocks,to ascertain the fact.
