The fjord was in this place about half a mile in width. The sweeping and broken waves came rolling in upon the pointed rocks; the gulf was surrounded by rocky walls--a mighty cliff, three thousand feet in height, remarkable for its brown strata, separated here and there by beds of tufa of a reddish hue. Now, whatever may have been the intelligence of our horses, I had not the slightest reliance upon them, as a means of crossing a stormy arm of the sea. To ride over salt water upon the back of a little horse seemed to me absurd. "If they are really intelligent," I said to myself, "they will certainly not make the attempt. In any case, I shall trust rather to my own intelligence than theirs." But my uncle was in no humor to wait. He dug his heels into the sides of his steed, and made for the shore. His horse went to the very edge of the water, sniffed at the approaching wave and retreated. My uncle, who was, sooth to say, quite as obstinate as the beast he bestrode, insisted on his making the desired advance. This attempt was followed by a new refusal on the part of the horse which quietly shook his head. This demonstration of rebellion was followed by a volley of words and a stout application of whipcord; also followed by kicks on the part of the horse, which threw its head and heels upwards and tried to throw his rider. At length the sturdy little pony, spreading out his legs, in a stiff and ludicrous attitude, got from under the Professor's legs, and left him standing, with both feet on a separate stone, like the Colossus of Rhodes. "Wretched animal!" cried my uncle, suddenly transformed into a foot passenger--and as angry and ashamed as a dismounted cavalry officer on the field of battle. "Farja," said the guide, tapping him familiarly on the shoulder. "What, a ferry boat!" "Der," answered Hans, pointing to where lay the boat in question--"there." "Well," I cried, quite delighted with the information; "so it is." "Why did you not say so before," cried my uncle; "why not start at once?" "Tidvatten," said the guide. "What does he say?" I asked, considerably puzzled by the delay and the dialogue. "He says tide," replied my uncle, translating the Danish word for my information. "Of course I understand--we must wait till the tide serves." "For bida?" asked my uncle. "Ja," replied Hans. My uncle frowned, stamped his feet and then followed the horses to where the boat lay. I thoroughly understood and appreciated the necessity for waiting, before crossing the fjord, for that moment when the sea at its highest point is in a state of slack water. As neither the ebb nor flow can then be felt, the ferry boat was in no danger of being carried out to sea, or dashed upon the rocky coast.