Walter's Adventures by Zacharias Topelius

Walter's First Adventure

On Walter's home as well as Lunkentus and the striped shirt.

Not far from the road there is a farm called Hemgård. Maybe you remember the two beautiful rowan trees next to the red-painted fence, and the well with the tall bucket and the garden with the nice berry bushes, which are the first to turn green in the spring and in the summer hang all the way down to the ground with their wonderful berries. Behind the garden there is a paddock with tall aspens which whisper in the morning breeze, behind the paddock is the road, behind the road are the woods, and behind the woods is the whole wide world. But on the other side of the farm is the lake, and on the other side of the lake is the village, and all around there are fields and meadows, some of them yellow and some of them green.

There in the nice little house with the white window frames, with the neat little porch and the tidy stairs which are always strewn with finely chopped juniper, live good hard-working and proper people. Walter’s parents live there, his brother Fredrik, sister Lotta, old Lena and Jonas and Karo and Bravo and Putte and Murre and Kuckeliku. Karo lives in the doghouse, Bravo lives in the horse-barn, Putte the cat lives mostly with Jonas, Murre the other cat lives a little here and a little there, and Kuckeliku lives in the hen-house. The hen-house is Kuckeliku’s kingdom.

Walter is six years old; soon he will start school. He can't read yet, but he can do many other things. He can hop like a crow, stand on his head, roll a somersault, fight a thumb war, catch a ball, jump off of things, bat a trissa, catch panfish, ride a sled, throw a snowball, crow like a rooster, ride a hobby horse, eat a sandwich, and drink buttermilk. He can walk on the sides of his boots, rip his pants, wear a hole in his shirt, make snot rockets, break plates, throw a ball through a windowpane, draw stick figures on important papers, pull the string off of the spinning wheel, tramp all over the herb garden, eat himself sick with gooseberries, and learn his lesson from a spanking. All in all he has a good heart, but a bad memory, at least when it comes to his mamma’s and pappa’s admonitions, and so he winds up having lots of adventures.

Now you’ll get to hear about them.

One beautiful summer day, when Walter woke up, his mother was sitting on the edge of his bed and kissed him and said, “today it is the twentieth of July! God bless you, dear child!”

And then his pappa came up to him and kissed him, and his brother and sister were already dressed, and Walter saw Lena and Jonas in the doorway, and everyone looked so happy, and as if they shared a secret. Karo wagged his tail as usual, and Jesse Putte leaped past the bed, and Bravo whinnied out in the yard, and Kuckeliku was holding a speech out there from atop the garden fence. It was always the same speech, there was never any variation, but it sounded very important, and that was the most important thing.

A little embarrased, Walter rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and chuckled to himself. He knew what all this was about: today was his sixth birthday.

In a flash Walter was out of bed to look for his clothes, which usually lay wherever he had thrown them the evening before, because our little Walter, as little as he was, was also a huge slob, and it didn't help at all to tell him to put this or that neatly onto his chair. But today he was excused from a scolding, and his mamma handed him a brand new summer outfit: a gray jacket, pants, and a vest. Now that was really something, to go around wearing a vest! Even his new shirt lay nicely ironed on the edge of his bed, his brand new socks were laying on the chair’s armrest, and his little boots, which last night were completely covered in mud were now proudly shining on the floor by the bed. So today it was easy for Walter to look polished and sharp, and the only funny thing was that in his hurry Walter put the left boot on his right foot, but really, that was no big deal, it worked anyway. It was not right, but it was no sin.

Out in the dining room the table was decorated for a birthday with flowers and wreaths, a pretzel, and a ship: complete with masts, sails, bowsprit, and real rigging: Jonas had worked on it for a long time, he who once had been a sailor. Walter had wished for such a ship for a long time, his happiness was beyond description, and his ship needed a name at once. And it got one, a proud name too: it was called Lunkentus.

“This afternoon we’re going to row out to Granholm across the lake,” his father said and nodded, “and then you can find out what Lunkentus can do.”

“Can’t Walter just sail his boat in a tub?” said his mother, “I’m afraid of Walter playing in the lake.”

“What?! Sail Lunkentus in a water tub?” cried Walter, offended and annoyed.

“I guess we’ll just have to see how well you behave yourself,” said his father. “You may not row the boat by yourself out on the lake. However, you may bring Lunkentus along.”

Said and done. That afternoon they all got in the big boat and rowed over to Granholm. It was so beautiful, and the lake was so calm, and the little minnows were swimming in big schools along the shallows by the beach. On the shore there were strange rocks, some where black, some where white, and some seemed to be made solely for skipping over the water. When they arrived mamma was in charge of laying out the picnic and coffee in the green grass, and never before had sourdough bread and sweet milk tasted so good: it was beyond description. The only problem was that the mosquitoes had an excellent appetite too and they considered Walter their sandwich. But Walter swung a bundle of leafy twigs about himself and fought like a desperate courage: one against a thousand. And that was really something, to be so fearsome and so brave.

When that was done pappa took his shotgun and went into the woods while mamma and Lotta went to pick arctic raspberries, Lena washed the cups, and so it fell to Jonas the watch the boys. The sunshine was warm, Fredrik slept, and Jonas, who had stayed up the night before to put the finishing touches on Lunkentus, slept too. Then Walter felt like it was time to try out his ship.

He walked down to the beach, loaded Lunkentus with white stones, appointed an ant as helmsman and commanded him to sail away to Spain. The breeze blew slowly from land, and Lunkentus made his master proud. Walter thought he had never seen a more beautiful ship. My, how it swayed proudly on the rippling waves! How it gathered speed! How it heaved gallantly in the wind! Lunkentus was sailing to Spain, but Walter stood on the shore with a string and was careful to make sure that Spain did not lie too far off in the geography of Granholm.

Now came a gust of wind. Just as he was having the most fun, the string slipped out of Walter’s hand, and...Goodbye Lunkentus! Now he sailed all alone out into the big, wide lake.

Walter dashed to the boat, but it was too big and heavy, he couldn’t push it out. He ran like a madman along the shore, “Lunkentus is running away! Lunketus is sailing to Spain for real!” Now, a fisherman lived nearby, and though his boat was gone there was an old dough trough there, laying turned over on the beach. Walter didn’t pause to think for long. He pushed the trough out into the water, jumped in, and began to pole his way forward with a little stick.

The trough was a bit tippy, but still it worked excellently, at least in the beginning. The wind blew from shore and pushed the trough slowly out into deep water. And yet Walter could come no nearer to the runaway, for Lunkentus sailed much faster.

Walter was a bit taken aback when he could no longer feel the bottom with his stick. The trough difted farther and farther out to sea, it began to lurch in the waves, and was near to capsizing.

Now Walter started to scream, as loud as he could. Walter’s first adventure was very near to being his last.

But as luck would have it Jonas woke up, and his eyes widened in terror when he saw, far out on the lake, a little baking trough rocking on the water, and a shrieking little boy in it. Jonas, good old Jonas, had many years behind him and was a little slow on his feet, but now he leaped up and sprang to the shore, pushed the boat out and rowed toward Walter so hard the oars creaked and groaned. When Walter noticed him he found his courage had come back again. “Now don’t you go thinking that I’m scared!” he said, and boldly stood up. But this was more than the trough could handle, it soon capsized, and Walter fell headfirst into the lake.

“No, just look at that foolish boy!” cried Jonas and rowed so violently that one of the oars broke. But by then he was quite close, so he grabbed Walter by his hair and pulled him up into the boat. He has some tough bangs, our Walter. “Brrr!” he said, when he came up out the Fish’s Kingdom.

“Save Lunkentus! Save Lunkentus!” was the first thing he shouted, with his mouth still full of water. And how the water drained off him, and how his boots went squish, slurp when he moved his feet!

Jonas laughed. “Lunkentus! I don’t care about Lunktenus!” he said, half mad and half happy. And so he rowed the boat, limping along with one and a half oars, back to shore again.

And now there was a hullabaloo. Pappa yelled and mamma cried, Lotta sniffed and Fredrik sighed, Lena shook her head and Jonas looked a little sheepish. But Walter, he wasn’t afraid at all, once he had solid ground under his feet again, and he thought it wasn’t all that dangerous. After all, he can swim.

“Oh yes, with your hands on the bottom!” laughed Jonas.

“I didn’t feel any bottom!” said Walter defiantly. “You should have let me be, and then I could have swam back to shore.”

“But where are we going to find him dry clothes, and quick?” said mamma. “Lotta, go run the fisher’s stuga and ask if we can borrow some of his childrens’ clothes!”

Lotta ran off and was back a moment later. “They only have a very small little boy, and an older girl,” she said, “Here are the girl’s nightshirt and her striped sunday skirt, along with stockings and shoes.

“Am I going to walk around in girl clothes?” demanded Walter.

“Yes, you are my boy,” said mamma with that firm tone of voice that was not good to defy. “It’ll be your punishment, and you can be grateful that you got off so easily. You’ve earned yourself a proper switching!”

There was nothing for it. In a moment Walter was dressed and looked quite peculiar in his striped skirt. “Come here, and I can do your hair for you!” said Lotta. But Walter waved his arms and stomped off into the woods while his clothes dried.

After he had walked for a little while he met a hunter, who said to him, “Little girl, can you please show me the way to the fisherman’s stuga?”

“I am not a girl,” said Walter, and proudly walked by.

A bit further he came across an old woman picking blueberries. Walter walked right up to her, put his hands on his hips and said, “I’m not a girl, I am a man!”

“Oh, I see,” said the woman, still picking berries.

Deeper in the woods there were a few poor boys collecting tree-fodder for their sheep. “Hey, there goes the salmon-fisher’s daughter, Brita,” they said to each other, “she can help us carry the leaves down to the boat. Come, Brita, why are you lazing about in the woods anyway?”

“I’m no Brita!” cried Walter, and for safety’s sake picked up a nice big stick.

“Ha! Listen to that!” said the boys, and started throwing pinecones at the supposed girl.

Walter threw pinecones back, and there was war in the forest. The bullets whined among the threes, but the enemy was superior, and Walter had to retreat.

It isn’t easy to run over tree stumps in a skirt for someone who was used to running with freedom-loving legs. The enemy caught up with Walter and bombarded him from every direction. “We’ll teach you a lesson for being lazy when you could make yourself useful!” they shouted.

“I’m no girl, I’m a man!” Walter yelled, and swung his stick all around. But when that didn’t work, he untied the skirt and left it hanging. The skirt was pitched on a juniper bush, and Walter ran away in a very peculiar outfit. All the boys laughed, in the tree branches the jays and the squirrel laughed, and the whole forest was filled with a great merriment.

Walter came back to the beach sweating and red. “I don’t want to be a girl! I’m never ever going to be a girl again!” he shouted from far away, on the edge of tears.

“Oh, don’t cry my dear boy,” said his mamma. “Girls are often just as good as any boy could ever be. But look here, come and take your own clothes, which are now dry. Lotta, go look for the skirt, and bring it back to the fisherman’s stuga with our thanks."

Walter got dressed again, and quite fast, too. He felt so light and nimble and comfortable in his own clothes. Now he got to be a boy again, now he was a man, now he felt strong enough to wage a pinecone war against an entire battalion. He had suffered a humiliating defeat. “How is somebody supposed to be brave,” declared Walter, “how can anybody be a warrior, a fighter, a hero, when he has the rotten luck of being dressed in a skirt?”

And then they all went back home. Walter sat at the edge of the boat and held his stick in the lake, making the water rush around the stick. The lake was completely smooth, like glass, and the afternoon skies blushed in surprise when they saw their own beauty in the mirror. The remarkable thing was, that down there in the water there was a sky, just as deep as the other was high, and down there their swam pink colored clouds, just like the ones that sailed up above. Walter thought to himself, that if the shiny water was made of glass, then boy, would it be a fun place to go ice-skating. He almost thought that it was a shame that such a beautiful mirror should be broken by Jonas’s oars, and the boat itself left a big crack in the surface. And when the boat approached Hemgård’s beach it was strange and wonderful to see how all the birches stood on their heads down in the water, and in the depths the sun shone through the green leaves, and down there the birds flew from branch to branch under the water.

Hardly had the boat reached the dock before Walter shouted and jump to land first. What was it he saw that excited him so? What else, than his own proud ship, his lost, his dearly missed Lunkentus, that lay there against the shore and rolled with the little waves. Lunkentus had had a good helmsman who knew his navigation, the ant had manned the rudder like a real sailor and steered straight into the right harbor. Sure, Lunkentus listed a little to one side, and much of the cargo had been lost at sea. But there is plenty of that kind of cargo in Spain. And Lunkentus made many more voyages, laden with stones, ants, and hopes and dreams.

Dreams are a light ballast, and often founder, but no matter, just as long as vocation’s ant and life’s Lunkentus find the right haven in the end.