OF OBERHAUSEN AND A POACHER 263 



custom had hitherto been. Immunity had made 

 him reckless. Greed had grown with success. 

 And now this painful expose resulted. He clung 

 to a bunch of his net with one hand ; with the 

 other he menaced Oberhausen or appealed to 

 Heaven indiscriminately. Oberhausen held on to 

 the net. To all Mr. Ibsen's arguments, abuse, and 

 protestations he made one reply : " Ikke forstaar " 

 " I do not understand," the simple, dignified, all- 

 sufficing answer of the Briton in difficulties abroad. 

 As I stepped ashore I heard these words barked 

 out in Norwegian. "To blazes with your ikke 

 forstaar ! Give me my net." This was his last 

 effort. He yielded to superior force ; the net and 

 a murdered sea-trout of 4 Ib. weight which had 

 spent the night in it were put into the boat, and 

 while I rowed Oberhausen towards home, where 

 the cause was to be tried by Mr. Thorwaldsen, 

 president of the committee, he told me his tale. 



He had, it seems, marked the net's corks in the 

 very entering in of the sea-stream, and as the tide 

 receded he had been able, by deep, indignant 

 wading, to secure it. He had no sooner hauled 

 it to the lake-side, a matter of half a mile, than 

 Mr. Ibsen appeared like a whirlwind, demanding 

 his net shamelessly, swearing at Oberhausen, and 

 striking him (so manifest was his villainy) on the 

 chest. The rest I knew. 



