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Advanced
Unity Game
Development
Victor G Brusca
Development
Victor G Brusca
Visual Studio
Victor G Brusca
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-7851-2
While the advice and information in this book are believed to be true
and accurate at the date of publication, neither the authors nor the
editors nor the publisher can accept any legal responsibility for any
errors or omissions that may be made. The publisher makes no
warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material contained
herein.
I’d like to dedicate this book to my Mom. Thank you so much for
buying me that Packard Bell 386DX2 66MHZ desktop with 8MB of
RAM, 2MB of video RAM, and multimedia CD-ROM. It was one of the
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments xvii
Chapter Conclusion
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Chapter Conclusion
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�������������������������������
�������������������������������
������������������������ 15
Chapter 3: Base Class 17
Chapter Conclusion
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
������������������������ 24
Table of ConTenTs
Class Review:
BounceScript�������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
����������������� 28
Demonstration: BounceScript
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
��� 36
Demonstration: RoadScript
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
������� 43
Demonstration: WaypointCheck
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
52
Demonstration: TrackHelpScript
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
������������������������������ 58
Chapter Conclusion
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
������������������������ 60
vi
Table of ConTenTs
Demonstration: CollideScript
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���� 90
Demonstration: CarSensorScript
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
��������������������������� 110
Chapter Conclusion
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���������������������� 111
Demonstration: EngineWhineScript
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
����������������������� 122
Demonstration: LapTimeManager
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
������������������������� 133
vii
Table of ConTenTs
Demonstration: PopupMsgTracker
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
������������������������� 135
Demonstration: Utilities
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���������� 147
Demonstration: CameraFollowXz
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
��������������������������� 152
Demonstration: WaypointCompare
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
������������������������ 153
Chapter Conclusion
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���������������������� 154
Demonstration: CharacterMotor
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���������������������������� 171
viii
Table of ConTenTs
Enumerations: MouseLookNew
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
����������������������������� 178
Demonstration: MouseLookNew
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���������������������������� 181
Chapter Conclusion
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���������������������� 183
Demonstration: BasePromptScript
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
������������������������ 192
Demonstration: GamePauseMenu
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
������������������������� 196
Demonstration: GameHelpMenu
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���������������������������� 209
Chapter Conclusion
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���������������������� 210
ix
Table of ConTenTs
Demonstration: PlayerState
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���� 260
Chapter Conclusion
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���������������������� 260
Enumerations: GameState
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
������ 264
Demonstration: GameState
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
����� 309
Chapter Conclusion
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���������������������� 309
Build Settings
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
312
Generic Platform
Settings����������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���������� 312
iOS Settings
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���������������������������� 314
Android Settings
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
��������������������� 315
WebGL Settings
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�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���������������������� 315
Table of ConTenTs
Input Mapping
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
������������������������������
315
UI/Menu System
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
��������������������� 317
Data Persistence
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������� 324
Memory Management
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
������������ 324
Static Objects
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
������������������������� 325
AI Opponents
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������� 325
Cameras
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�� 327
Project Performance
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
��������������� 327
Chapter Conclusion
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���������������������� 330
Chapter Conclusion
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
���������������������� 345
Accomplishments
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
������������������������ 347
Acknowledgments
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
����������������������� 349
Saying Goodbye
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
�������������������������������
��������������������������� 351
Index 353
xi
About the Author
xiii
About the Technical Reviewer
The companies he’s worked with include Zaha Hadid, DRDO India,
Mediamonks, and Line Creative.
xv
Acknowledgments
xvii
CHAPTER 1
Introduction and
Getting Started
With all of these different training options available, many of them for
free, what does this book offer that the others don’t? What makes it
stand out from the pack? Well, in most cases, the aforementioned
learning material will show you how to accomplish a simple task in
Unity. They’ll show you a small unfinished game or demo to illustrate
the material at hand. This book differs from the rest in that it
contains a complete code review, in detail, of a full featured and
complete Unity game. This includes the following general topics:
• Level/Track Building
• AI Opponents/Players
• Player Preferences
This book will guide you through the game’s code, scripts, models,
prefabs, and overall structure all the while showing you how the code
works with the Unity engine to define a complete, refined, game in
Unity. At the conclusion of this text, you’ll have gained experience in
the following areas of expertise as you are guided through the
implementation of a hover car racing game:
2. Review the code that powers the game. The code is separated into
the following groups:
a. Base Classes
b. Interaction Classes
d. Helper Classes
e. Input Classes
c. GameObject Tags
e. Scene Lighting
g. AI Opponents
At the end of the journey, you’ll have all the knowledge and
experience you need to make your next great game. Now that we
have an idea of what lies before us, let’s take the first step on our
journey and get our game development environment up and running.
Complete this process and make sure you finish the account
verification steps, as you’ll need an active account before you can
begin with the included racing game project.
3
Chapter 1 IntroduCtIon and GettInG Started
At the time of this writing, the correct way to work with Unity is
through the Unity Hub application. This application acts as an
abstraction layer and centralization point for your Unity projects. The
software lets you manage multiple projects, each one using a
different version of Unity. Find the downloads page on the Unity site
and download the latest version of Unity Hub. Install the software.
Once that’s done, open Unity Hub and log in with the account you
just created.
https://docs.unity3d.com/Manual/GettingStartedInstallingHub.html
Next up we’ll install the latest version of Unity. Open up Unity Hub, if
you’ve not done so already, and select the “Installs” tab on the left-
hand side of the screen. Select the latest version of Unity available
and choose the modules you want to install along with the Unity
editor.
For the purposes of this text, we recommend that you select only the
modules listed in the following. Of course, if you have your own
thoughts on what modules you want installed, please feel free to do
so. The only requirement we have is that “Visual Studio” is configured
as the default scripting IDE for the Unity editor. You can install Visual
Studio separately, but I’ll only provide instructions on how to install it
as a Unity module.
this is required.
2. Select the native build module for your operating system. Choose
one of the following depending on your operating system:
You can install new modules or uninstall existing ones through the
Unity Hub software. Select the “Installs” tab and then click the three
dots on the tiles of the target Unity editor version. Select “Add
Modules” from the context menu and you can customize the modules
installed for that version of the Unity editor. Try adding the
installation of the Android and WebGL build modules to your setup.
With them installed, you’ll have some interesting build targets to play
around with. Now that we 4
have that taken care of, let’s grab a copy of the racing game project
associated with this text. Navigate your browser to the following URL:
www.middlemind.net/urgbook/[BOOK PUBLICATION
https://github.com/Apress/
Advanced-Unity-Game-Development]
Find the latest version of the game project. Compare the Unity
version listed with the current version of the Unity editor you just
installed. If the game project version is older, try to install that
version of the Unity editor using the process listed previously. If the
older version isn’t available in the list of Unity editor versions, then
install the oldest available version.
This approach will safely upgrade the project to the latest version of
Unity. Let’s open up the project and check on a few things. Once the
racing game project is done loading, open up the “Preferences”
window, “Edit” ➤ “Preferences”, and select the “External Tools” tab.
Make sure that the “External Script Editor” preference is set to “Visual
Studio.”
If you don’t see “Visual Studio” in the list of available editors, go back
and check the installed modules for your version of the Unity editor
and make sure that “Visual Studio”
is installed. If you’re still running into issues, reinstall the Unity editor
and make sure to select the “Visual Studio” module.
Now that we got that little bit out of the way, let’s take the game for
a test drive while we have the Unity editor open. Let’s check to see
which scene has been opened, if any, by default. Look to the Unity
editor window’s title bar. The name of the currently opened scene
should be listed in the window title. If you see the word “Main13” or
“Main14”
listed in the title, then we’re good to go. If not, then we’ll have to
open the correct scene. Go to the “Project” panel, or if you don’t see
it, go to the main menu and select
Find the folder named “Scenes” and open it. Double-click the scene
named “Main13”.
Once the scene loads up, we’ll want to locate the “Game” panel. If
you can’t find it, follow 5
the aforementioned steps to open it. Once the panel opens, select it
and you should see a mess of UI and menus on the screen. This is
fine. Locate the play button at the top, center, of the editor window.
Before you press play, let me review the game’s controls.
To control the direction of the car, move the mouse left and right. To
accelerate the car, press the up arrow on the keyboard. You can use
the left and right arrow keys to
“strafe” the car left and right. To slow the car down, use the back
arrow key. Ok, now that you’ve got the basics, press play and then
click inside the game to make sure the input is active. Click the “Track
1” button of the main menu and play a few races.
Now that you’ve had a chance to play the game, let’s stop referring
to it as “the racing game.” Let’s now call it “Hover Racers.” So from
now on, when you see the words “Hover Racers,” I’m most likely
referring to the project or the game depending on the context. I will
use the words car, player, current player, racer, hover racer, or race
car to describe the players of the game, both human and AI.
Depending on the context, this could mean the current player, the
human player, or any opponent player in the game. Be aware of the
context.
A little bit about the game. Hover Racers is a complete racing game
that supports three race types: easy, classic, and battle. Three
difficulties: easy, medium, and hard.
And it comes with two built-in tracks. As we’ve seen, the game has a
complete UI implementation including in-game HUD and menu
system. Furthermore, the game has background music, sound
effects, and win conditions. The main takeaway here is that the game
is refined, professional, and complete. It’s not a demo or a tutorial
project. It’s a complete game with a decent set of fully implemented
features.
We’ll review the vast majority of the code together, so you don’t
necessarily need to be proficient in C#, but some programming
experience is recommended. Here are a few tutorials you can read to
get a basic understanding of Unity, Visual Studio, and C#:
• https://docs.microsoft.com/en- us/dotnet/csharp/
(introduction to C# tutorial)
• https://visualstudio.microsoft.com/vs/getting- started/
• https://docs.unity3d.com/Manual/LearningtheInterface.htm
• https://docs.unity3d.com/Manual/CollidersOverview.html
Chapter Conclusion
Now that we have all of that taken care of, we’re ready to start
reviewing the game’s code. But wait! We have to outline the game
we’re working on. Sure, we have a finished copy of the game, so this
seems a bit redundant, doesn’t it? Well, we need to really think of
this as a guided game review journey. As such, we’ll work on the
Hover Racers game specifications in the next chapter and we’ll review
the game’s code, in detail, in subsequent chapters.
CHAPTER 2
Game Specifications
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his Reverence, who anathematized the net-stealer. Nothing more came
of it till the next spring; when, upon the ice breaking, all the nets rose to
the surface, full of dead fish. Since then no fish has been found in the
lake. Mr. H—— might probably succeed in dissolving the charm.
“I see you are a fisherman,” said Mr. H——; “you’ll find the parson at
Mö, in Butnedal, a few miles off, an ‘ivrig fisker’ (passionate fisherman)
—ay! and his lady, too. They’ll be delighted to see you. They have no
neighbours, hardly, but peasants, and your visit will confer a greater
favour on them than their hospitality on you. That is a very curious
valley, sir. There are several ‘tomter’ (sites) of farm-houses, now
deserted, where there once were plenty of people: that is one of the
vestiges of the Black Death.”
On second thoughts, however, he informed me that it was just
possible that Parson S—— might be away; as at this period of the
summer, when all the peasants are up with their cattle at the Sæters,
the clergy, having nothing whatever to do, take their holiday.
CHAPTER IV.
Mine host at Dal—Bernadotte’s prudent benignity—Taxing the bill of costs—
Hurrah for the mountains—Whetstones—Antique wooden church—A wild
country—“Raven depth”—How the English like to do fine scenery—
Ancient wood-carving—A Norwegian peasant’s witticism—A rural rectory
—Share and chair alike—Ivory knife-handles—Historical pictures—An old
Runic calendar—The heathen leaven still exists in Norway—Washing day
—Old names of the Norsk months—Peasant songs—Rustic reserve—A
Norsk ballad.
Lying flat, I put my head through an embrasure, and looked down into
the Raven’s depth.
“Ah! it’s deeper than you think,” said my companion. “Watch this piece
of wood.”
I counted forty before it reached a landing-place, and that was not
above half the way.
Annoyed at our intrusion, two buff-coloured hawks and a large falcon
kept flying backwards and forwards within shot, having evidently chosen
this frightful precipice as the safest place they could find for their young.
Luckily for them, the horse and guide had gone on with my fowling-
piece, or they might have descended double-quick into the sable depths
below, and become a repast for the ravens; who, as in duty bound, of
course frequent the recesses of their namesake, although none were
now visible.
What a pity a bit of scenery like this cannot be transported to
England. The Norwegians look upon rocks as a perfect nuisance, while
we sigh for them. Fancy the Ravne jüv in Derbyshire. Why, we should
have Marcus’ excursion-trains every week in the summer, and motley
crowds of tourists thronging to have a peep into the dark profound, and
some throwing themselves from the top of it, as they used to do from
the Monument, and John Stubbs incising his name on the battlements,
cutting boldly as the Roman king did at the behests of that humbugging
augur; and another true Briton breaking off bits of the parapet, just like
those immortal excursionists who rent the Blarney Stone in two. Then
there would be a grand hotel close by, and greasy waiters with white
chokers, and the nape of their neck shaven as smooth as a vulture’s
head (faugh!) and their front and back hair parted in one continuous
straight line, just like the wool of my lady’s poodle. How strongly they
would recommend to your notice some most trustworthy guide, to show
you what you can’t help seeing if you follow your nose, and are not
blind—the said trustworthy guide paying him a percentage on all grist
thus sent to his mill. Eventually, there would be a high wall erected, and
a locked gate, as at the Turk Fall at Killarney, and a shilling to pay for
seeing “private property,” &c. &c. No, no! let well alone. Give me the
“Raven deep” when it is in the silent solitudes of a Norwegian forest,
and let me muse wonderingly, and filled with awe, at the stupendous
engineering of Nature, and derive such edification as I may from the
sight.
At Sandok we get a fresh horse from the worthy Oiesteen, and some
capital beer, which he brings in a wooden quaigh, containing about half
a gallon.
On the face of the “loft,” loft or out-house, I see an excellent
specimen of wood carving. “That,” said Oiesteen, “has often been
pictured by the town people.” All the farm-houses in this part of the
country used to be carved in this fashion. One has only to read the
Sagas to know why all these old houses no longer exist. It is not that
the wood has perished in the natural way; experience, in fact, seems to
show that the Norwegian pine is almost as lasting, in ordinary
circumstances, as stone, growing harder by age. The truth is, in those
fighting days of the Vikings, when one party was at feud with another,
he would often march all night when his enemy least expected him, and
surrounding the house where he lay, so as to let none escape, set it on
fire.
The lad who took charge of the horse next stage was called Björn
(Bear), a not uncommon name all over Norway. It was now evening,
and chilly.
“Are you cold, Björn?” said the student.
“No; the Björn is never chilly,” was the facetious reply. The nearest
approach to a witticism I had ever heard escape the mouth of a
Norwegian peasant.
Two or three miles to the right we descry the river descending by a
huge cataract from its birthplace among the rocky mountains of Upper
Thelemarken. Presently we join what professes to be the high road from
Christiania, which is carried some twenty miles further westward, and
then suddenly ceases.
Long after midnight, we arrived at the Rectory House at ——, where I
was to sleep. Mr. —— was an intelligent sort of person, very quiet and
affable, and dressed in homespun from head to foot. After breakfast, the
staple of which was trout from the large lake close by, I offered him a
weed, which he declined, with the remark, “Ieg tygge,” I chew. The
ladies, as usual, are kind and unassuming, with none of the female arts
to be found in cities. A friend of mine, proud of his fancied skill in talking
Norsk, was once stopping at a clergyman’s in Norway, when he
apologised to the ladies for his deficiencies in their language. He was
evidently fishing for compliments, and was considerably taken aback
when one of them, in the most unsophisticated manner, observed,
taking him quite at his word, “Oh yes, strangers, you know, often
confound the words, and say one for another, which makes it very
difficult to comprehend them.”
Ludicrous mistakes are sometimes made by the Norwegians also. An
English gentleman arrived at a change-house in Österdal late one
evening, and was lucky in obtaining the only spare bed. Presently, when
he was on the point of retiring to rest, a Norwegian lady also arrived,
intending to spend the night there. What was to be done? Like a gallant
Englishman as he was, with that true, unselfish courtesy which is not, as
in France, confined to mere speeches, he immediately offered to give up
his bed to the “unprotected female,” who was mistress of a little English.
“Many thanks; but what will you do, sir?” “Oh! I will take a chair for the
night.” At this answer the lady blushed, and darted out of the room, and
in a few minutes her carriole was driving off in the darkness. What could
be the meaning of it? The peasant’s wife soon after looked into the
room, with a knowing sort of look at the Englishman. He subsequently
discovered the key to the enigma. The lady thought he said “he would
take a share,” and was, of course, mightily offended. So much for a
smattering of a foreign language. Doubtless, from that day forward, she
would quote this incident to her female friends as an instance of the
natural depravity of Englishmen; and this scapegrace would be looked
upon as a type of his nation.
The priest has some knives, the handles of which are of ivory, and
exquisitely carved in a flowing pattern. They cost as much as three
dollars apiece, a great sum. But the artificer, who lives near, is the best
in Thelemarken, the part of Norway most celebrated for this art. The
patterns used are, I hear, of very ancient date; being, in some instances,
identical with those on various metal articles discovered from time to
time in the barrows and cromlechs.
The walls of the sitting-room are hung with some engravings on
national subjects, e.g., “Anna Kolbjörnsdatter og de Svenske,” “Olaf,
killed at Sticklestad,” and “Konrad Adeler, at Tenedos.” Kort Adeler,
whose name lives in a popular song by Ingemann, was born at Brevik, in
1622, but took service under the Venetians, and on one occasion fought
and slew Ibrahim, the Turkish admiral. Ibrahim’s sword and banner are
still to be seen at Copenhagen. Adeler’s successor, as Norwegian
Admiral, was the renowned Niels Juel, the Nelson of the North.
I saw tossing about the Manse an old Runic Calendar, which nobody
seemed to care anything about. It was found in the house when the
parson came there, and appeared occasionally to have been used for
stirring the fire, as one end was quite charred. Without much difficulty I
succeeded in rescuing it from impending destruction, and possess it at
this moment. Some of these calendars are shaped like a circle, others
like an ellipse. They were of two kinds. Messedag’s stav (mass-day
stave) and Primstav. But the latter term properly applies to a much more
complex sort of calendar than the other. It contained not only runes for
festivals and other days, but also the Sunday letter or quarters of the
moon for every golden number. Its name is derived from prima luna,
i.e., the first full moon after the vernal equinox. The primstav proper
was generally four feet long. The almanack I here obtained is flat, and
figured on two sides, not as some of the old Anglo-Saxon calendars
were, square, and figured on four sides. It is shaped like a flat sword, an
inch and a half broad and half an inch thick, and is provided with a
handle. The owner of it appears to have been born on the 6th June, as
his monogram which is on the handle occurs again on that day. On the
broad sides the days of the week are notched, and on the narrow sides
there is a notch for every seventh day; i.e., the narrow sides mark the
weeks, the broad sides the days.
The day-marks or signs do not go from January to July, and from July
to December. On the one side, which was called the Vetr-leid, winter
side, they begin with the 14th of October, or “winter night,” and reach to
the 13th of April. On the other side, which was called the summer side,
they begin with the 14th of April “summer night,” and go to the 13th of
October. The runes, or marks distinguishing the days, are derived from a
variety of circumstances: sometimes from the weather, or farming
operations, or from legends of saints. But it must be observed that
hardly two calendars can be found corresponding to each other. Some
are simpler, others more complex. In some, one saint’s day is
distinguished, in others another. Winter then began with the old
Norwegians on the 14th of October; Midwinter was ninety days after—
i.e., on the 11th January, and Midsummer ninety-four days from the
14th of April.
The great winter festival in honour of Thor, on 20th January, was
called Höggenät, i.e.—slaughter-night.[4] This word is derived from
högge (to cut or hew), on account of the number of animals slaughtered
in honour of Thor. The word still survives in Scotland, in Hogmanáy (the
last night of the old year).
Snorro Sturlesen informs us that it was Hacon the Good, foster-son of
our King Athelstan, who made a law that the great Asa, or heathen
festival, which used to be held for three successive days in January,
should be transferred to the end of December, and kept so many days
as it was usual to keep Christmas in the English Church. His missionaries
being Northmen who had resided in England, like St. Augustine, the
Apostle of England, accommodated themselves to the superstitions and
habits in vogue among the people they came to convert. The great
banquets, where people feasted on the flesh of horses and other
victims, were turned into eating and drinking bouts of a more godly
sort; and the Skaal to Odin assumed the shape of a brimming bowl to
the honour of the Redeemer, the Virgin, and the saints. In their cups, no
doubt, their ideas would become at times confused, and many a
baptized heathen would hiccup a health to Odin and Thor. Even now, as
we have seen, after the lapse of so many centuries, much of the old
heathen leaven infects their Christianity.
We may here observe that the Norwegian word for Saturday is
Löverdag, i.e., washing-day, as a preparation for the Sunday festival, so
that the division of time into weeks of seven days must have originated
in Norway within the period of its conversion to Christianity. Herein,
then, they differed from the Anglo-Saxons, who called it Sæterndæg
(Saturns-day); while the South Germans called it after the Jewish
Sabbath, Sambaztag, now Samstag. The Scandinavians had exhausted
their great gods upon the other days. Sun and Moon, Tyr, Odin, Thor,
and Freya, had been used up, so they took the appropriate name
Löverdag, above-mentioned.
The following are the old names of the Norsk months:
STAVE.
A. Oh! fair is the sight to see,
When the lads and the lasses are dancin’;
The cuckoo, he calls from the tree,
And the birds through the green wood are glancin’!
The whole winds up with a description of the married life of the pair.
A. The cock he struts into the house,
The bonder gives him corn,
The flocks on the northern lea browse,
And the shepherd he blows his horn.
“Very deep, sir,” said the boatman, as I let out my spinning tackle, in
the faint hopes of a trout for supper.
“Was the depth ever plumbed?” inquired I.
“To be sure, sir. That’s a long, long time ago—leastways, I have heard
so. There was an old woman at Kos-thveit yonder, whose husband had
the ill-luck to be drowned in the lake. She set people to work to drag for
his body, but nowhere on this side of the country could she get a rope
sufficiently long for the work. So she had to send to the city for one. At
last they reached the bottom, and found the lake as deep as it was
broad, with a little to spare, for the rope reached from Kos-thveit to
Rauland, just across the water, and then went twice round the church,
which you see standing alone, yonder on the shore, three miles off.”
“Who serves that church?” inquired I.
“Vinje’s Priest,” he answered. “That was his boat-house we passed.”
We landed on the eastern shore of the lake, at a spot called
Hadeland, where a cluster of farm-houses were to be seen upon a green
slope, showing some symptoms of cultivation. Richard Aslackson Berge,
the farmer at whose house I put up, a grimy, ill-clad fellow, quite
astounded me by the extent of his information. Catching sight of my
wooden calendar, he immediately fetched an old almanack, which
contained some explanation of the various signs upon the staff. Fancy
one of your “alternate ploughboys”—as the Dean of Hereford and other
would-be improvers of the clod-hopping mind, if I remember rightly, call
them—fancy one of these fellows studying with interest an ancient
Anglo-Saxon wooden calendar; and yet this man Berge, besides this,
talked of the older and younger Edda, the poem of Gudrun, and, if my
memory serves me, of the Nibelungenlied. He had also read the
Heimskringla Saga. The promoters of book-hawking and village lending
libraries will be interested to hear that this superior enlightenment was
due to a small lending library, which had been established by a former
clergyman of the district. There was a pithiness and simplicity about this
man’s talk which surprised me.
“The wild geese,” says he, “come over here in the spring, and after
tarrying a few days make over to the north, in the shape of a snow-
plough.” Milton would have said, “Ranged in figure, wedge their way.”
Several old swords and other weapons have been dug up in the
vicinity, indicative of rugged manners and deeds quite in keeping with
the rugged features of the surrounding nature. On an old beam in the
hay-loft is carved, in antique Norsk—“Knut So-and-so was murdered
here in 1685”—the simple memorial of a very common incident in those
days.
For the moderate sum of four orts (three and fourpence) I hire a
horse and a man to the shores of the Miösvand. To the left of our route
—path there is none—is a place called Falke Riese (Falcon’s Nest), where
Richard tells me that his grandfather told him he remembered a party of
Dutchmen being located in a log-hut, for the purpose of catching
falcons, and that they used duen (tame doves) to attract them. This is
interesting, as showing the method pursued by the grandees of Europe,
in the days of hawking, to procure the best, or Norwegian breed. At one
time, this sport was also practised by the great people of this country.
Thus, from Snorro, it appears that Eywind used to keep falcons.
My guide, Ole, has been a soldier, but much prefers the mountain air
to that of the town.
“In the town,” says he, “it is so traengt,” (in Lincolnshire, throng,) i.e.,
no room to stir or breathe.
In the course of conversation he tells me he verily believes I have
travelled over the whole earth.
While the horse is stopping to rest and browse on a spot which
afforded a scanty pasturage, a likely-looking lake attracted my
observation, and I was speedily on its rocky banks, throwing for a trout
—but the trout were too wary and the water too still. While thus
engaged, a distant horn sounds from a mountain on the right,
sufficiently startling in such a desolate region. Was game afoot this
morning, and was I presently to hear—
The deep-mouthed blood-hound’s heavy bay,
Resounding up the hollow way.
Game was afoot, but not of the kind usually the object of the chase.
The Alpine horn was blown by a sæter-lad to keep off the wolves, as I
was informed. As nothing was to be done with the rod, I tried the gun,
and as we slope down through the stunted willows and birch copses
that patch the banks of the Miösvand, I fall in with plenty of golden
plover and brown ptarmigan, and manage to kill two birds with one
stone. In other words, the shots that serve to replenish the provision-
bag arouse a peasant on the further side, who puts over to us in his
boat, and thus saves us a detour of some miles round the southern arm
of the lake. As we cross over, I perceive far to the westward the snow-
covered mountains of the Hardanger Fjeld, which I hope to cross. The
westernmost end of the lake is, I understand, twenty-four English miles
from this. To the eastward, towering above its brother mountains, is the
cockscombed Gausta, which lies close by the Riukan Foss, while all
around the scenery is as gaunt and savage as possible. At Schinderland,
where we land, after some palaver I procure a horse to Erlands-gaard, a
cabin which lies on the hither side of the northern fork of the Miösen,
said to be seven miles distant. But the many detours we had to make to
avoid the dangerous bogs, made the transit a long affair. In one place,
when the poor nag, encumbered with my effects, sank up to his belly, I
expected every moment to see the hungry bog swallow him up entirely.
With admirable presence of mind he kept quite still, instead of
exhausting himself in struggling, and then by an agile fling and peculiar
sleight of foot, got well out of the mess.
The delay caused by these difficulties enabled me to bring down some
more ptarmigan, and have a bang at an eagle, who swept off with a
sound which to my ears seemed very like “don’t you wish you may get
it.” But perhaps it was only the wind driving down the rocks and over
the savage moorland.
The modest charge of one ort (tenpence), made by my guide for
horse and man, not a little surprised me. I did not permit him to lose by
his honesty.
Unfortunately, the boat at Erlands-gaard is away; so meanwhile I cook
some plover and chat with the occupants of the cabin. Sigur Ketilson,
one of the sons, is a Konge-man, (one of “the king’s men,” or soldiers,
mentioned in the ballad of “Humpty-dumpty.”) He has been out
exercising this year at Tönsberg, one hundred and forty English miles
off. The mere getting thither to join his corps is quite a campaign in
itself. On his road to headquarters he receives fourteen skillings per
diem as viaticum, and one skilling and a half for “logiment.” A bed for
three farthings! He is not forced to march more than two Norsk
(fourteen English) miles a day. The time of serving is now cut down one-
half, being five instead of ten years, and by the same law every able-
bodied person must present himself for service, though instead of the
final selection being made by lot, it is left to the discretion of one officer
—a regulation liable to abuse.
At last the boat returns, and embarking in it by ten o’clock p.m., when
it is quite dark, I arrive at the lone farm-house at Holvig. Mrs. Anna
Holvig is reposing with her three children, her husband being from
home. There being only one bed on the premises, I find that the hay
this night must be my couch. The neighbouring loft where I slept was a
building with its four ends resting, as usual, on huge stones. At intervals
during the night I am awoke by noises close to my ear, which I thought
must be from infantine rats, whose organs of speech were not fully
developed. In the morning I discover that my nocturnal disturbers were
not rats, but swallows, who had constructed their mud habitations just
under the flooring where I slept. “The swallow twittering from its straw-
built nest” may gratify persons of an elegiac turn; but under the
circumstances the noise was anything but agreeable.
“The breezy call of incense breathing morn,” in which the same poet
revels, was much more to my liking; indeed, one sniff of it made me as
fresh as a lark, and I picked my way to the house by the lake side, and
enjoyed my coffee. The little boy, Oiesteen Torkilson, though only eight
years of age, has not been idle, and has procured a man and horse from
a distant sæter. The price asked is out of all reason, as I don’t hesitate
to tell the owner. Before the bargain is struck, I jot down a few remarks
in my journal. With the inquisitiveness of her nation, the woman asks
what I am writing. “Notices of what I see and think of the people; who
is good, and who not.” Out bolts the lady, to apprise the man of her
discovery that “there’s a chield amang ye taking notes, and faith he’ll
print it.” My device succeeded. Presently she finished her confab with
the peasant, and returned to say that he would take a more moderate
payment.
I observed here, for the first time, the difference between the two
words “ja” and “jo.”
Have you seen a bear?—“Ja.” Haven’t you seen a bear?—“Jo.” I have
met educated Norwegians who had failed to observe the distinction. A
perfectly similar distinction was formerly made in England between “yes”
and “yea.”[7]
CHAPTER VI.
No cream—The valley of the Maan—The Riukan foss—German students—A
bridge of dread—The course of true love never did run smooth—Fine
misty weather for trout—Salted provisions—Midsummer night revels—
The Tindsö—The priest’s hole—Treacherous ice—A case for Professor
Holloway—The realms of cloud-land—Superannuated—An ornithological
guess—Field-fares out of reach of “Tom Brown”—The best kind of physic
—Undemonstrative affection—Everywhere the same—Clever little horses.
along which foolhardy people have occasionally risked their necks, either
out of mere bravado or in order to make a short cut to the Miösvand,
which I left this morning. This is the famous Mari-stien—everybody
knows the legend about it—sadly exemplifying the fact that the course
of true love never did run smooth: how young Oiesteen fell from it on
his way to a stolen interview with Mary of Vestfjordalen, and she lost her
senses in consequence, and daily haunted the spot for years afterwards,
pale and wan, and silent as a ghost, and is even now seen when the
shades of evening fall, hovering over the giddy verge of “The
remorseless deep which closed o’er the head of her loved Lycidas.”
But as neither I nor the Teutons could see any possible good in risking
our necks for nought, and valued a whole skin and unbroken bones,
after assaying to take in and digest the wonderful sight, we presently
retraced our steps without setting foot on ledge.
Five miles below this is Dœl, where some accommodation, at a dear
rate, is to be obtained of Ole Tarjeison.
Next morning, the summit of Gausta, which rises just over the Maan
to the height of 5688 feet, and commands a magnificent view of the
district of Ringerike, is covered with cloud. But what is bad weather to
others, is good in the eyes of the fisherman. So, instead of lamenting
“the wretched weather,” I get out my trout-rod and secure some capital
trouts (at times they are taken here seven pounds in weight), part of
which I have sprinkled with salt, and put into the provision-bag, with a
view to the journey I purpose taking from hence across the Fjeld to
Norway’s greatest waterfall, the Vöringfoss, in the Hardanger.
While sauntering about, a printed notice, suspended in the passage of
the house, attracts my attention, which afforded a considerable insight
into the morals of the Norwegian peasant. It was dated April 18, 1853,
and was to this effect: The king has heard with much displeasure that
the old custom of young unmarried men running about at night,
sometimes in flocks (flokkeviis), especially on Sundays and saints’-days,
after the girls, while asleep in the cow-houses, has been renewed. His
Majesty, therefore, summons all Christian and sober-minded parents,
and house-fathers, to protect their children and servants from this
nocturnal rioting. He also calls upon them to keep the two sexes apart,
for the sake of order and good morals; and if the same shall be detected
conniving at these irregularities, they shall, for the first offence, be
mulcted one dollar seventy-two skillings; for the second offence, double
that amount, &c. The young men shall have the same punishment; and,
for the third offence, be confined from three to six months with hard
labour in a fortress. Girls who receive such clandestine visits, shall be
punished in like manner. Informers shall be entitled to receive the fine.
All Government officers are required to make known these presents.
This notice must be read at churches, posted in conspicuous places, and
sent about by messengers.
Here, then, I obtained the certain knowledge of a custom—similar to
one which still lingers in Wales—which I had suspected to be prevalent,
but the existence of which the inhabitants of the country, for some
reason or other, I found slow to admit. The above ordinance is a renewal
of a similar one made 4th March, 1778, from which it appears that the
immorality of “Nattefrieri” (night-courting) has long prevailed in Norway.
Eight English miles below this the Maan finds ample room and verge
enough to expatiate in the deep Tindsö, which is, perhaps, one of the
most dangerous lakes in Norway, being subject to frightfully sudden
storms; while the precipitous cliffs that bound it, for the most part only
afford foothold to a fly, or such like climbers. There is an old tale about
this lake, illustrative of the dangers to which a clergyman is subject in
the discharge of his duties. Many years ago, the parson of the parish
had to cross over the lake to do duty in the “annex church” at Hovind.
The weather was threatening; but his flock awaited him, and so he
started, commending himself to God and his good angels. Long before
he approached his destination, the wind had so increased in violence
that the boatmen were overpowered, and the boat was dashed to pieces
against the adamantine walls of the Haukanes Fjeld. All on board were
lost but the priest, who was carried by the billows into a small cleft in
the rock, far above the usual high-water mark. For three days he sat
wedged in this hole, from whence there was no exit. On the fourth day,
the winds and waves abated; and some boatmen, who were rowing by,
as good fortune would have it, heard the faint cry for assistance which
the captive gave, as he saw them from his “coin of vantage.” And so he
was rescued from his terrible predicament; and the notch in the wall still
goes by the name of the Prestehul, “Priest’s-hole.”
Bishop Selwyn, with his well-found yacht, sailing among the deep
bays of New Zealand, confirming and stablishing the Maoris in the
Christian faith, will have to wait a long time before he can meet with
such an adventure as the Tindsö priest. But then you’ll say, in winter
time it is all right, and the parson can dash along over the ice, defying
the dangers of the deep and the bristling rocks. Not so, however; there
are not unfrequently weak places in the ice, which look as strong as the
rest, but which let in the unfortunate traveller. Not long ago, five men
and a horse were thus engulphed. So in the Heimskringla Saga, King
Harold and his retinue perish by falling through the ice on the
Randsfjord, at a place where cattle-dung had caused it to thaw.
Giving up all thoughts of ascending the Gausta,—as I understand the
chance of a view from it in this misty weather is very precarious,—I hire
a horse from one Hans Ostensen Ingulfsland, to convey my luggage to
Waage, on the Miösvand. Hans was ill, apparently of a deranged
stomach and liver, and, with rueful aspect, consulted me on his case. All
the medicine he had was what he called a probatum, in a small bottle.
The probatum turned out to be a specific for the gravel, as I saw from a
label on the flask; so I gave him what was more likely to suit his case,
some blue pill and rhubarb.
Hans’ father used to entertain travellers, but his charges became so
high that all his customers forsook him; and M. Doel, who appears to be
in a fair way to imitate his predecessor, set up in “the public line.”
Hitherto the valley has been clear of cloud; and on arriving at Vaa, I
stop to rest, and sketch the distant smoke of the Riukan ascending from
its rocky cauldron towards heaven. Presently the mist, which had all the
morning hidden the “comb” of Gausta, threw off a few flakes; these
gradually extend and unite, and pour along the mountain-tops to my
left, and in a few minutes reach to and absorb the smoke of Riukan, and
hide it from view. Up boil the fogs, as if by magic, from all sides; and,
like the image of Fame, in Virgil, the vapour rises from the depths of the
valley, and reaches up to the sky. Doubtless it was the spirit of the
place, wroth at my profane endeavour to represent her shrine on paper;
and the sullen “moan” of the stream might, by an imaginative person,
have been supposed to be the utterance of her complaint.
In the foreground, intently watching my operations as he sits upon a
rock, is old Peer Peerson Vaa, who being over eighty, is past work, and
having no children, has sold his Gaard to one Ole Knutzen, on the
condition of having his liv-brod (life-bread)—i.e., being supported till his
death. This is not an uncommon custom in Norway. He is “farbro”
(uncle) to the man at Dœl.
Observe the simplicity of the language. So the Norsk for “aunt” is
“moerbro,”—mother’s brother.
I here obtain a dollar or two of small change, with which I am ill
provided. It is curious, by-the-bye, to see how one of these bonders
looks at half-a-dozen small coins before he is able to reckon the amount.
This is in consequence of the infrequency of money up the country.
As we ascend the Pass, I observe some dusky-looking birds, which
turn out to be ringouzels. According to a Norwegian whom I consulted
on the subject, they are the substitute, in a great measure, if not
altogether, in this part of the country, for the
Ouzel cock, so black of hue,
With orange-tawny bill,
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