"'When blushing blood,In humble moodTurns to the man whose mind is proved,When timid, shyShe seeks....'"
"'When blushing blood,In humble moodTurns to the man whose mind is proved,When timid, shyShe seeks....'"
"Lord bless me, old boy, spouting poetry so early in the morning! Did you think it was Constitution Day—or the day after?"
Old Nick looked round anything but amiably at Nachmann's unbeautiful face smiling in the doorway; Mrs. Rantzau left the room without a word.
A long and earnest conference ensued between the two men, after which they went out for a long walk together.
Emilie Rantzau felt now that her position was secure; it was only a question of time before she could appear as Mrs. Nickelsen. And inwardly she vowed vengeance on the women who had systematically excluded her from the Peace Festival; she pondered how best to get even with Mrs. Heidt and the rest.
It took a deal of thinking out, but at last she hit upon a way. Quickly she put on her things, and hurried round to her faithful supporter, Consul Jansen.
On Saturday evening, theStrandvik Newsappeared, and created an indescribable sensation throughout the town by printing immediately under the big announcement of the festival in the park, the following lines:
"N.B. N.B."After the conclusion of the festival, an impromptudance for young people will take place in the Town Hall. Tickets, three shillings each. The surplus will be devoted to the Society for Tending Sick and Wounded in the Field. Mrs. Emma Jansen and Mrs. Emilie Rantzau have kindly consented to act as hostesses."
"N.B. N.B.
"After the conclusion of the festival, an impromptudance for young people will take place in the Town Hall. Tickets, three shillings each. The surplus will be devoted to the Society for Tending Sick and Wounded in the Field. Mrs. Emma Jansen and Mrs. Emilie Rantzau have kindly consented to act as hostesses."
Mrs. Heidt started up in a fury, and declared it was a disgraceful piece of trickery on the part of that Emilie Rantzau. She could forgive Mrs. Jansen, perhaps, as being too much of a simpleton herself to see through the artful meanness of the whole thing.
On Sunday evening, after the festival, all the young people and a number of the older ones flocked to the Town Hall, where Mrs. Rantzau received them with her most winning smile.
Mrs. Heidt, Mrs. Knap and Mrs. Abrahamsen went each to their several homes, boiling with indignation; they had not even been invited to look on.
Some few there were, perhaps, who failed to see any immediate connection between a Peace Festival and the Society for Tending Sick and Wounded in the Field, but all enjoyed themselves thoroughly, and that, after all, was the main thing.
Emilie Rantzau was the queen of the ball, and well aware of it. She felt she had vanquished her rivals now, and was left in victorious possession of the field. One thing, however, caused her some slight anxiety, and that was that Nickelsen did not put in an appearance, though he had promised to come on later—what could it mean?
Old Nick was sitting at home, deep in thought, and with him were Thor Smith, Nachmann and Warden Prois.
"You must see and get clear of this, Nickelsen," said Prois warmly, laying one hand on his shoulder.
"Yes, I suppose I must. But the worst of it is, I've got fond of her, you see, and I've been hoping she'd brighten up the few years I've got left."
"I know, I know," said Prois. "I've been through exactly the same thing myself, a few years back, but, thanks to Providence, I got out of it all right."
"Don't blame it on Providence, Warden," put in Nachmann. "It was that telegraph fellow you had to thank for cutting you out."
"It's not a matter for joking," said Prois sharply; and Nachmann withdrew to a corner of the sofa, quite depressed by the seriousness of the situation.
Thor Smith could stand it no longer; this unwonted solemnity was too much for him. He slipped out into the hall, and, sitting down on an old leather trunk, laughed till he cried.
There was a long conference at Old Nick's that evening, and it was one o'clock before he faithfully promised to follow his friends' advice, and thrust out Emilie Rantzau from his house and heart.
How this was to be accomplished must be decided later; meantime the conspirators would take it in turn to dine with Old Nick and spend the rest of the day with him, to guard against any backsliding.
Old Nick agreed to it all, helplessly as a child.
How could they get her to go? The question was argued and discussed, but no one could hit upon any reasonable plan. At last they decided to call in Peter Oiland, who had lately been on terms of intimacy with Old Nick, and see what he could do.
Peter Oiland put on a serious face, and looked doubtfully over at Prois, whose mind was becomingalmost unhinged by these everlasting conferences and endless discussions, while the seriousness of the situation forbade any over-hasty steps.
"Well, we can't very well turn her out by force," said Peter Oiland. "The only thing to do is to try and get at the soft side of her: an appeal to the heart, you understand."
"H'm; her heart's like the drawers in my store," said Nachmann. "In and out according to what's wanted."
Peter Oiland determined nevertheless to make an attempt. He would say nothing for the present as to the details of his plan; he had an idea, and hoped it might succeed.
Meantime, Emilie Rantzau continued her triumphant progress; she was leading society in Strandvik. Her dresses, her manner, were a standing topic among the ladies of the town, who hated and admired her at once. She on her part was happy enough, but at a loss to understand why Nickelsen was so unpardonably tardy in making his declaration; still, it could only be a question of time; she felt safe enough.
One day there came a letter from Christiania, which in a flash threw Strandvik and its entire society into the background. It ran as follows:
"My dear Emilie Rantzau,—Years, many years, have passed since we last met. Do you remember a fair young man whom you often saw at Mrs. Moller's, when you were a boarder there as a girl? But there were so many of us young students who were all more or less in love with you at that time, and I hardly dare suppose you would have any special recollection of my humble self. It would be only natural thatyou should have forgotten. But I have never, never forgotten Emilie Storm, as you were then."I was poor and unknown at the time, and poor, alas, I remained for many years, until at last I had no longer any hope of meeting you again, as I had dreamed—yet I have followed your career, and kept myself informed as to your circumstances. I learned of your husband's death, and that you are now obliged to earn your livelihood as housekeeper to an old bachelor in a little out-of-the-way place."To think that you—you, Emilie, who have never for a single day been absent from my thoughts, should be wasting away your life among the yokels of an insignificant seaport town."And I—I am alone and lonely now, back at home after many long years of toil in the great cities of Europe, and the fortune I have made is useless to me. For money cannot purchase happiness, or bring back the dreams of youth."Emilie, shall we try to come together? Shall we renew our old acquaintance, and see if we can find that mutual sympathy which binds one life to another?"If you are willing, then let us meet. My name you need not know. I should prefer you to find me as I am now, not as the ardent youth I was when first we met, but as a man, sobered by trials and experience, who has nevertheless maintained the ideals of early days unscathed throughout the battle of life. You may reply to"Abraham Hertz."Poste restante, Christiania."
"My dear Emilie Rantzau,—Years, many years, have passed since we last met. Do you remember a fair young man whom you often saw at Mrs. Moller's, when you were a boarder there as a girl? But there were so many of us young students who were all more or less in love with you at that time, and I hardly dare suppose you would have any special recollection of my humble self. It would be only natural thatyou should have forgotten. But I have never, never forgotten Emilie Storm, as you were then.
"I was poor and unknown at the time, and poor, alas, I remained for many years, until at last I had no longer any hope of meeting you again, as I had dreamed—yet I have followed your career, and kept myself informed as to your circumstances. I learned of your husband's death, and that you are now obliged to earn your livelihood as housekeeper to an old bachelor in a little out-of-the-way place.
"To think that you—you, Emilie, who have never for a single day been absent from my thoughts, should be wasting away your life among the yokels of an insignificant seaport town.
"And I—I am alone and lonely now, back at home after many long years of toil in the great cities of Europe, and the fortune I have made is useless to me. For money cannot purchase happiness, or bring back the dreams of youth.
"Emilie, shall we try to come together? Shall we renew our old acquaintance, and see if we can find that mutual sympathy which binds one life to another?
"If you are willing, then let us meet. My name you need not know. I should prefer you to find me as I am now, not as the ardent youth I was when first we met, but as a man, sobered by trials and experience, who has nevertheless maintained the ideals of early days unscathed throughout the battle of life. You may reply to
"Abraham Hertz.
"Poste restante, Christiania."
She read the letter through a dozen times at least, and sat puzzling her brains to try and recollect a"fair young man," who had been one of her admirers at Mrs. Moller's. She could make nothing of it. She had been only seventeen at the time, and had had such a host of admirers before and since; it was too much to expect that she should recollect them all.
But was it meant in earnest now, or was the whole thing a vulgar hoax?
This lawyer of hers was but a poor creature after all; red-nosed, almost a dotard—ugh! To think of getting away from it all and go to Christiania, perhaps Paris, Vienna, Rome—away! And then to be rich—rich! Poverty was a dreadful thing to face, dreadful even to think of. Was she to grow old, and ugly, and poor?
"Mr. Abraham Hertz,—Your kind letter received. I set great store by old friends, and should therefore be glad to renew the acquaintance, but must confess that I am unwilling to enter upon a correspondence with one who remains anonymous. How can I be sure that I am not exposing myself to a mischievous practical joke?"I should be glad of a photo, in order if possible to identify the 'fair young man.'"E. R."
"Mr. Abraham Hertz,—Your kind letter received. I set great store by old friends, and should therefore be glad to renew the acquaintance, but must confess that I am unwilling to enter upon a correspondence with one who remains anonymous. How can I be sure that I am not exposing myself to a mischievous practical joke?
"I should be glad of a photo, in order if possible to identify the 'fair young man.'
"E. R."
Two days later came a registered letter.
"Mrs. Emilie Rantzau,—How could you ever think I was joking? However, that you may no longer doubt for a moment the seriousness of my intentions, I enclose £50, with the request that you will come to Christiania as soon as possible. If you will put up at Mrs. Irving'spension, I will meet you there."Enclosed is a photo of the fair young man, butfor Heaven's sake do not imagine that it resembles your admirer now, with his eight-and-forty years.—Au revoir."A. H."
"Mrs. Emilie Rantzau,—How could you ever think I was joking? However, that you may no longer doubt for a moment the seriousness of my intentions, I enclose £50, with the request that you will come to Christiania as soon as possible. If you will put up at Mrs. Irving'spension, I will meet you there.
"Enclosed is a photo of the fair young man, butfor Heaven's sake do not imagine that it resembles your admirer now, with his eight-and-forty years.—Au revoir.
"A. H."
Emilie had never handled a £50 note before in her life. She spread it out on the table, smoothing it with her fingers so tenderly that Old Nick, had he seen her, would have been frantic with jealousy. She even kissed the portrait of His Majesty in the corners before hiding the note away in her breast.
Old Nick was utterly astonished when Mrs. Rantzau informed him that she found herself compelled to leave Strandvik, the air, unfortunately, did not agree with her. She seemed, too, remarkably cool in her manner towards him; her customary smile had faded somewhat, and her ardent eyes, that had been wont to focus themselves upon his own, seemed now to flicker vaguely in no particular direction.
Mrs. Rantzau's sudden departure occasioned much comment. Her most faithful admirer, Consul Jansen, turned up with a big bunch of flowers, and hoisted the flag in his garden at half-mast.
Old Nick, of course, went down to the quay to see her off. As a matter of fact, however, he was now beginning to find the situation rather humorous—a symptom which Thor Smith diagnosed as indicating that his old friend was well on the way at least to convalescence, if not to complete recovery.
Mrs. Rantzau stood on the upper deck in her dark blue dress, with the little toque coquettishly aslant on her head. She waved her handkerchief, and Consul Jansen cried: "Adieu, au revoir!"
"Merci, Monsieur le Consul; je regrette que vous soyez obligé de rester ici parmi ces dromadaires-ci."That was Emilie Rantzau's farewell to Strandvik. As for Old Nick, she did not even grant him so much as a nod.
On the way home he encountered a procession of urchins, ragged, bare-legged and boisterous, waving Japanese fans and Chinese parasols—properties which he seemed to recognise.
"Here, you boys, where did you get those things from?"
"Mr. Nachmann gave us them. He threw them out of Nickelsen's window," cried the youngsters in chorus.
"H'm," grunted Old Nick. "Very funny...." and he stalked on his way.
Nachmann and Prois were busy moving the sofas back against the wall, and restoring the card-table to its former place.
"Here, what do you think you're doing?" shouted Nickelsen from the doorway.
"Salvage Corps, getting ready for a little party," said the Warden dryly.
That evening Old Nick's little circle of friends assembled at his house. Cards and the tray of glasses were laid out as in the old days. The host, in his old brown dressing-gown, sat with his slippered feet up on the table, and puffed at his long-stemmed pipe.
"Well, you may think yourself lucky to have got out of that as you did," said Nachmann, touching Old Nick's glass with his own.
"I can't think what made her go off like that, all of a sudden," said Old Nick, almost wistfully.
"You can thank Peter Oiland for that," said Thor Smith.
"Peter Oiland?"
"Yes, it was he that got her away. What about those letters you sent her, Oiland? What did you say in them?"
"H'm," said Oiland, with a serious air. "My dear friends, it is ill jesting with affairs of the heart. Emilie Rantzau's secret is locked for ever in my breast." And he gazed reflectively into his glass as he stirred his grog.
"How did you manage to get them sent from Christiania?"
"Posted them myself when I was in with Sukkestad, my respected father-in-law to be, buying furniture."
"But the photo, and Mrs. Moller's, and all that?"
"Well, the photo was one Maria Sukkestad gave me last year of her beloved spouse—taken years ago, when they were engaged."
"Oh, Peter, you're a marvel! But suppose she'd recognised him?"
"I hardly think she could," said Oiland dryly.
"But how did you know about Mrs. Moller's?"
"She told Mrs. Jansen she'd stayed there, and I heard about it after. But all that was easy enough. The worst thing was, it came so expensive—£50 is a lot of money," and he sighed.
"£50?" said Nickelsen, looking up sharply. "What do you mean?"
Thor Smith rapped his glass, and said with mock solemnity:
"Our efforts in the cause of freedom having met with the success they deserve, we naturally look to you, as the intended victim, for reimbursement of all costs incurred in effecting your deliverance. And we hope after this you'll have the sense to know when you're well off, and not go running your head into anoose again, old man. Three cheers for Old Nick—hurrah!"
It was a festive evening, culminating in a song written specially for the occasion:
"Our dear Old Nick is a queer old stick,And a bachelor gay was he,Till the widow's charms occasioned alarms,In the rest of the Company.This will never do, said we,We must settle affairs with she,So we played for Old Nick, and we won the trick,And a bachelor still is he—Give it with three times three—A bachelor gay, and we hope he mayContinue so to be!"
"Our dear Old Nick is a queer old stick,And a bachelor gay was he,Till the widow's charms occasioned alarms,In the rest of the Company.This will never do, said we,We must settle affairs with she,So we played for Old Nick, and we won the trick,And a bachelor still is he—Give it with three times three—A bachelor gay, and we hope he mayContinue so to be!"
"Close on seven-and-thirty years now since I came aboard as skipper of theEva Maria, and you can understand, Nils Petter, it's a bit queer like for me to be handing her over now to anyone else," said old Bernt Jorgensen solemnly. His brother, Nils Petter, listened respectfully.
"Never a thing gone wrong. I've always been able to reckon out exactly what the four trips to Scotland and Holland each summer brought in; but then, as you know, Nils Petter, I didn't go dangling about on shore with the other skippers, throwing money away on whisky and such-like trash."
"No, you've always been a steady one," said Nils Petter quietly.
"Ay, steady it is, and steady it's got to be, and keep a proper account of everything. In winter, when I was at home with the mother, I'd always go through all expenses I'd had the summer past; that way I could keep an eye on every little thing."
"Ay, you've been careful enough about little things, that's true. I remember that tar bucket we threw overboard once. We never heard the last of it all that winter."
"It's just that very thing, Nils Petter, that I've gotto thank for having a bit laid by, or anyhow, theEva Maria'sfree of debt, and that's all I ask." Old Bernt was not anxious to go into details as to the nice little sum he had laid up with Van Hegel in Amsterdam, not to speak of the little private banking account that had been growing so steadily for years.
"Not but that I've need enough to earn a little more," he went on; "but I've made up my mind now to give up the sea, though it's hard to leave the oldEva Mariathat's served me so well."
Bernt Jorgensen had been very doubtful about handing over the vessel to Nils Petter's command. Nils was a good seaman enough, but with one serious failing: he invariably ran riot when he got ashore, and there was no holding him.
Still, Nils Petter was his only brother, and perhaps when he found himself skipper he would come to feel the responsibility of his position, and improve accordingly. Anyhow, one could but try it.
Nils Petter stood watching his brother attentively, as the latter solemnly concluded: "Well, you're skipper of theEva Mariafrom now on, Nils Petter, and I hope and trust you'll bear in mind the duty you owe to God and your owners."
Nils Petter grasped his brother's hand and shook it so heartily that Bernt could feel it for days—it was at any rate a reminder that Nils Petter had serious intentions of reforming.
But Nils Petter was the happy man! First of all, he had to go ashore and tell the good news to his old friend, Trina Thoresen, who, it may be noted, had been one of his former sweethearts. She had married Thoresen as the only means of avoiding a scandal, and murmured resignedly as she did so: "Ah, well,it can't be helped. Nils Petter can't marry us all, poor fellow!"
Nils Petter's large, round face was one comprehensive smile, and his huge fists all but crushed the life out of Schoolmaster Pedersen, who was impudent enough to offer his hand in congratulation. "Skipper!" said Nils Petter. "Captain, you mean—he—he!" and he laughed till the houses echoed half-way up the street, and Mrs. Pedersen looked out of the window to see what all the noise was about.
Nils Petter was undoubtedly the most popular character in the town; he was intimate with every one, regardless of sex or social standing.
"A cheery, good-natured soul," was the general estimate of Nils Petter—somewhat too cheery, perhaps, at times; but never so much so that he abused his gigantic strength, of which wonderful stories were told. At any rate it took a great deal to move him to anger.
He was in constant difficulties about money, for as often as he had any to spare, he would give it away or lend it. Now and again, when especially hard up, he would apply to his "rich brother" as he called him, and never failed to receive assistance, together with a long sermon on the evils of extravagance, which he listened to most penitently, but the meaning of which he had never to this day been able to realise himself.
Well, now we shall see how he got on as officer in command of theEva Maria,vicethat careful old model of a skipper, Bernt Jorgensen. The vessel was fixed for Dundee, with a cargo of battens from Drammen, and Bernt had himself seen to everything in the matter of stores and provisions, etc., accordingto the old régime. Nils Petter certainly found the supplies of meat and drink on board a trifle scanty—drink, especially so. Six bottles of fruit syrup—h'm. Nils Petter thought he might at least make a cautious suggestion. "Say, Brother Bernt, you're sure you haven't forgotten anything. Fresh meat, for instance, and a bottle or so of spirits?"
"Never has been spirits on board theEva Maria," answered Bernt shortly. And Nils Petter was obliged to sail with fruit syrup instead.
Just outside Horten, however, they were becalmed, and theEva Mariaanchored up accordingly.
"D'you know this place at all, Ola?" said Nils Petter to his old friend Ola Simonsen, the boatswain, as they got the anchor down.
"Surely, Captain—know it? Why, I was here with the oldDesideriaserving my time."
"Right you are, then. We'll get out the boat and go on shore first for a look round."
It was late that night when they returned, Nils Petter at the oars, and Ola sleeping the sleep of the just in the bottom of the boat. Nils Petter was singing and laughing so he could be heard half a mile off. After considerable effort he managed to hoist the boatswain over the vessel's side, the whole crew laughing uproariously, including Nils Petter himself, who was quite pleased with the whole adventure, and cared not a jot for discipline and his dignity as skipper.
Ola Simonsen having been safely deposited on board, Nils Petter handed up a number of items in addition. One large joint of beef, six pork sausages, one ham, one case of tinned provisions, and one marked significantly, "Glass: with care."
Towards morning a light, northerly breeze sprangup, and they weighed anchor again. Nils Petter, instead of pacing the after-part with his hands behind his back, as became the dignity of a captain, came forward and took up his post beside the windlass, sent the rest of the crew briskly about their business, and fell to singing with the full force of his lungs, till the agent on the quay went in for his glasses to see what was happening.
Nils Petter was the very opposite of his brother, who would make a whole voyage without saying a word to his crew except to give the necessary orders. Nils Petter, on the other hand, chatted with the men and lent a hand with the work like any ordinary seaman. Altogether, the relations between captain and crew were such as would have been thoroughly pleasant and cordial ashore.
There were beefsteaks for dinner as long as the beef lasted out, and Nils Petter shared in brotherly fashion with the rest—there was no distinction of rank on board in that respect; it was an ideal socialistic Utopia!
The case marked "Glass: with care" was opened, and each helped himself at will, till only the straw packing remained. It was a cheery, comfortable life on board, as all agreed, not least Nils Petter, who laughed and sang the whole day long. No one had ever dreamed of such a state of things on board theEva Maria, least of all Bernt Jorgensen, who was fortunately in ignorance of the idyllic conditions now prevailing in his beloved ship.
The only occasion throughout the voyage when any real dissension arose between Nils Petter and his crew was when opening one of the tins brought on board at Horten. The contents defied identification despitethe most careful scrutiny. The label certainly said "Russian Caviare," but Nils Petter and the rest were none the wiser for that. A general council was accordingly held, with as much solemnity as if the lives of all were in peril on the sea.
"I've a sort of idea the man in the shop said eat it raw," ventured Nils Petter.
Ola Simonsen was reckless enough to try.
"Ugh—pugh—urrrgh!" he spluttered. "Of all the...."
"Itsch—hitch—huh!" said Thoresen, the mate. "Better trying cooking it, I think." (This Thoresen, by the way, was the husband of Trina Thoresen, before mentioned, and a good friend of Nils Petter, who, in moments of exaltation would call him brother-in-law, which Thoresen never seemed to mind in the least.)
While the tin of caviare was under discussion, all on board, from the ship's boy to the captain, were assembled in the forecastle, intent on the matter in hand. So much so, indeed, that theEva Maria, then left to her own devices, sailed slap into a schooner laden with coal, that was rude enough to get in her way.
Fortunately, no great damage was done beyond carrying away the schooner's jib-boom, and matters were settled amicably with the schooner's captain, whom Nils Petter presented with an odd spar he happened to have on deck and the six bottles of fruit syrup, which he was only too pleased to get rid of. And theEva Mariacontinued her course in the same cheerful spirit as heretofore.
Nils Petter's first exploit on arriving at Dundee was to send the harbour-master headlong into the dock, whence he was with difficulty dragged out. He gotoff with a fine of £20, which was entered in the ship's accounts as "unforeseen expenses."
Those on board found themselves comfortable enough, the skipper being for the most part ashore. This, however, was hardly fortunate for the owner, as Nils Petter's shore-going disbursements were by no means inconsiderable, including, as they did, little occasional extras, such as £2, 10s. for a plate-glass window in the bar of the "Duck and Acid-drop," through which aforesaid window Nils had propelled a young gentleman whom he accused of throwing orange-peel.
At last theEva Mariawas clear of Dundee, and after Nils Petter had provisioned her according to his lights—which ranged from fresh meat to ginger-beer and double stout—there remained of the freight money just on £7. This he considered was not worth sending home, and invested it therefore in a cask of good Scotch whisky, thinking to gladden his brother therewith on his return.
Nils Petter and theEva Mariathen proceeded without further adventure on their homeward way, arriving in the best of trim eight days after.
The first thing to do was to go up to the owners and report. Nils Petter was already in the boat, with the whisky, and Ola Simonsen at the oars.
"What the devil am I to say about the money?" muttered Nils Petter to himself, as he sat in the stern. For the first time since the voyage began he felt troubled and out of spirits.
"Fair good voyage it's been, Captain," said Ola, resting on his oars.
"Ay, fair good voyage is all very well, but the money, Ola, what about that?"
Ola lifted his cap and scratched his head. "Why, you haven't left it behind, then, Captain, or what?"
"Why, it's like this, Ola; there's expenses, you know, on a voyage—oh, but it's no good trying that on; he knows all about it himself. H'm ... I wish to goodness I could think of something."
Nils Petter frowned, and looked across at the cask of whisky. Ola, noticing the direction of his glance, observed consolingly that it ought to be a welcome present. "Ay, if that was all," said Nils Petter, "but the beggar's a teetotaller."
They landed at the quay. Nils Petter and Ola got the cask ashore, and rolled it together over to Bernt Jorgensen's house. The owner was out in the garden, eating cherries with the parson, who had come to call.
At sight of the latter, Nils Petter gave Ola a nudge, and ordered him to take the cask round the back way, while he himself walked solemnly up to his brother and saluted.
"You've made a quick voyage," said Bernt Jorgensen, his voice trembling a little. "I'd been expecting to hear from you by letter before now, though." And he looked up sternly.
"Yes—yes, I suppose ... you're thinking of the freight," said Nils Petter, inwardly deciding that it might be just as well to get it over at once, especially now the parson was here.
"It was always my way to send home the freight money as soon as I'd drawn it," said Bernt Jorgensen quietly.
"Expenses come terribly heavy in Dundee just now," said Nils Petter. "And—and—well, it's hard to make ends meet anyhow these times."
Here an unexpected reinforcement came to his aid.The parson nodded, and observed that he heard the same thing on all sides; hard times for shipping trade just now. The parson, indeed, never heard anything else, as his parishioners invariably told him the same story, as a sort of delicate excuse for the smallness of their contribution.
When the brothers were alone, Nils Petter had to come out with the truth, that all he had to show for the trip was one cask of whisky. "That I brought home, meaning all for the best, Bernt, and thinking £7 wasn't worth sending."
Bernt, however, was of a different opinion, and delivered a lengthy reprimand, ending up with the words, "TheEva Maria'snever made a voyage like that before. Ah, Nils Petter, I'm afraid you're the prodigal son."
Nils Petter bowed his head humbly, but reflected inwardly that if all the prodigal sons had been as comfortably off on their travels as he had on that voyage, they wouldn't have been so badly off after all.
As for the cask of whisky, Nils Petter was ordered to drive in with it to Drammen and sell it there, which he did, after first privately drawing off six bottles and supplying the deficiency with water.
If Bernt Jorgensen had had his doubts the first time Nils Petter went on board theEva Mariaas skipper, his misgivings now were naturally increased a thousand-fold. Nils Petter, however, promised faithfully to reform, and send home a thumping remittance, if only he might be allowed to make one more voyage. And in the end, Bernt, with brotherly affection, let him have his way.
This time the charter was for Niewendiep, or "Nyndyp," as it was generally called, which portBernt knew inside and out, as he said, so that Nils Petter could not palm off any fairy-tales about it.
The voyage was as quick as the preceding one, and, less than four weeks from sailing, Nils Petter appeared once more rowing in to the quay. This time, however, he brought with him, not a cask of whisky, but "something altogether different"—in honour of which theEva Mariawas decked out with all the bunting on board.
Bernt Jorgensen had come down himself to the waterside on seeing the vessel so beflagged, as it had not been since the day of his own wedding, thirty years before. He stood shading his eyes with one hand, as he watched Nils Petter in the boat coming in. "What on earth was that he had got in the stern? Something all tied about with fluttering red ribbons."
"Hey, brother!" hailed Nils Petter joyfully, standing up in the boat. "Here's a remittance, if you like!" And he pointed to a buxom young woman who sat nodding and smiling at his side. Without undue ceremony he hoisted the lady by one arm up on to the quay, and the pair stood facing Bernt, who stared speechlessly from one to the other.
"Here's your brother-in-law, my dear," said Nils Petter in a dialect presumably meant for Dutch, nudging the fair one with his knee in a part where Hollanders are generally supposed to be well upholstered. The impetus sent her flying into the arms of Bernt, who extricated himself humidly.
"Her name's Jantjedina van Groot, my good and faithful wife," Nils Petter explained. Bernt Jorgensen, who had not yet recovered from his astonishment, only grunted again and again: "H'm—h'm——" andmade haste towards home, followed by Nils Petter and his bride.
This time nothing was said about the freight money, which was just as well for all concerned, seeing it had all been spent in the purchase of various household goods and extra provisions with which to celebrate the occasion. Nils Petter's new relations in Holland, too, had had to be treated in hospitable fashion—which was just as well for them, since he never called there again!
Bernt Jorgensen decided that it would be more economical to pension off Nils Petter, and get a skipper of the old school to take over theEva Maria; after which there was rarely any trouble about the freight money.
"Ah, but expenses now aren't what they were in my time," Nils Petter would say.
Which, in one sense, was perfectly true.
"Well, and what are you doing with that brat of yours,Birkebeineren," asked Hansen the shipbroker, one day, meeting Soren Braaten in the street. "Got any freight yet?"
"No, worse luck. These wretched steamers take all there is. I can't see what's the good of steam anyway.We got along all right without it before, but it's all different now. Doesn't give a poor man time to breathe."
"Yes, the old windjammers are rather out of it now," Hansen agreed.
"Going to rack and ruin, as far as I can see. And what's the sense of all this hurry and skurry, when all's said and done. It's against nature, that's what I say. When I think how we used to get along in the old days. Why, I never heard but that the merchants over in England and Holland were pleased enough with the cargoes when they got there, whether we'd been a fortnight or a month on the way, and we made a decent living out of it and so did they. But now? As soon as a steamer comes along, it's all fuss and excitement and bother and complaint all round."
"You ought to see and get hold of a steamboatyourself, Soren; we mustn't be behindhand with everything, you know. Why, up in Drammen now, they've seven or eight of them already."
"Thank you for nothing. Let them buy steamers that cares to; it won't be Soren Braaten, though."
And Soren walked homeward, inwardly anathematising the inventor of steam, who might have found a better use for his time than causing all that trouble to his fellow-men.
Cilia was in the kitchen when he came in; the first thing she asked was whether he had got a charter forBirkebeineren.
The vessel had been lying in Christiania now for nearly a month; such a thing had never happened before.
Remittances? Alas, these had so dwindled of late as to be almost microscopic. Things were looking gloomy all round.
Cilia sat by the fire looking thoughtfully into the blaze. She dropped her knitting, and stuck the odd needle into her hair, that was fastened in a coil at the back of her head. The wool rolled to the floor, but when Soren stooped to pick it up, she ordered him sharply to leave it alone. There was something in her voice that startled Soren. Ever since the battle royal of a few years back, she had been quiet and sensible, and things had gone on between them as smoothly as could be wished.
Suddenly she rose to her feet, and stood with one hand on her hip, the other holding the bench.
"Soren, it's no good; we can't go on like this any longer."
Soren gave a start; he could feel there was thunder in the air.
"We'll have to buy a steamer. Sailing-ships are out of date."
"What's that you say, mother? We two old folks to go fussing about with steam? Nay, I'd rather stick to the old planks till they rot!"
But Cilia went on firmly, altogether unmoved. "We've a decent bit of money in the bank, and shares in other things besides, but the interest's not what it might be, and I don't see the sense of letting other people take all the profits that's to be made out of shipping, while we that's nearest at hand are left behind."
"I don't suppose they're overdone with profits, these here steamboats, when it comes to the point," grumbled Soren. And no more was said about the matter for that day.
But Cilia pondered and speculated still; she read the shipping papers and the shipbrokers' circulars as earnestly as she studied lesson and collect on Sundays.
She found a valuable ally, too, in her son-in-law, Skipper Abrahamsen, who was tired of the "old hulk," as he calledBirkebeineren, and longed to be captain of a steamer himself. Fortunately, Soren never heard a word of this, or it would have been ill both for Cilia and Abrahamsen, for he could not bear to hear a word in dispraise of his beloved ship.
Malvina, of course, sided with her husband and her mother, and their united efforts were daily brought to bear upon Soren, till at last he grew so tired of hearing about "that steamboat of ours," that he fled out of the house, and went round to call on Warden Prois whenever the talk turned that way.
There was a little attic in the Braaten's housethat had never been used for anything but a box-room; this was now cleared in secret by Cilia and Malvina, and then the three conspirators held meetings and discussions. Abrahamsen and Cilia had quietly made inquiries of various shipbuilding concerns, and received a mass of estimates and plans.
Cilia studied the question of engines till her brain was going twelve knots easy. Compound and triple expansion, boiler plate, and cylinder stroke—her mind was busy with every detail; for Cilia was not one to do things by halves when once she started.
Abrahamsen was examined and cross-examined till the sweat poured off him; he, of course, had to appear more or less familiar with all these things, since he aspired to command a steamer.
Malvina sat silent, looking on with wide eyes and taking it all in; she was looking forward to a free passage on a real steamboat for herself.
Soren wondered a little what they could be up to in the attic, but, being comfortable enough below with a glass of grog and theShipping Gazette, he let them stay there as long as they pleased. One evening, however, it struck him they were at it a good long time; it was past eleven, and no sign of their coming down yet. Accordingly, he stole up quietly in his stocking feet, and looked through the keyhole. What he saw did not improve his temper. On a table in the middle of the room was the smartest little steamer one could imagine. Red bottom, sides black above, with a gold streak, the rudder and two masts sloping a little aft, flag at fore and maintop—a sight to see. Cilia, Malvina and Abrahamsen stood round examining the model with glee.
Soren was about to retire, but stumbled over an oldtrunk left outside, and fell head over heels into the room among the others. There was an awkward pause, until Cilia broke the silence by asking Soren: "What do you think of that—isn't she a beauty?" pointing to the model as she spoke.
"Why, yes, she's a handsome boat enough," said Soren, rubbing his shins.
"Oh, father, wemusthave a steamer of our own," said Malvina, coming up and clinging to his shoulder.
"Why, child, what are you doing here? I thought you'd have had enough to do at home with the boy," he said softly.
"It's the steamer we wanted to see. Mother thinks we could manage all right with compound, but Abrahamsen says it'll have to be triplets."
"Triplets, forbid!" muttered Abrahamsen.
"Have it whatever way you please, for all I care," said Soren. And he stumped off downstairs.
But the pressure from all sides was too much. Soren had to give way at last, and sign a formal document inviting subscriptions for shares in "a modern, up-to-date steamship."
S. Braaten having entered his name for fifty shares at £50, it was hoped that the remainder would be subscribed by tradesfolk in the town. Cilia had laid stress on the importance of appealing to local patriotism, and the circular accordingly pointed out that "in neighbouring towns it has already been wisely recognised that the shipping of the future will be steam, and that the day of the sailing vessel is past; our town alone, though it has always occupied a leading position in the shipping world, is sadly behindhand in this respect, counting asyetnot a single steamer. It is in order to meet this long-felt want"—etc.
The appeal to the citizens of Strandvik was not in vain. A few days later the necessary share capital was subscribed.
Soren Braaten, however, was ill at ease; it had gone against the grain to sign a document declaring that the day of the sailing vessel was past, and he would have liked to add an explanatory note to the effect that he had signed under protest. There was no help for it, however; for peace and quietness' sake he had to give way.
At the preliminary general meeting, Soren was elected Managing Director of the Company, despite his most energetic protests.
It was a fine sunny day when theHenrik Ibsenwas due to appear. The name had been chosen at the suggestion of Lawyer Nickelsen, who explained it as fitting for a trading vessel, from the fact that the poet in question was expert at moving in dark waters and foggy regions, and made a very good living out of it; he hoped that the steamer would do likewise.
Flags were in evidence all over the town, and the quay was crowded. Never had there been such excitement in Strandvik since the day of the Royal visit.
Almost every other man was a shareholder; even Klementsen the parish clerk and Pedersen the schoolmaster had, despite their widely differing political views, gone halves together in a share.
"From what I see in the papers about oil freights from New York and corn freights from the Black Sea, the vessel ought to pay at least twenty per cent," said Pedersen, with an air of superior wisdom. And he brought out a big sheet of paper covered with calculationsin English pounds, shillings and pence, which had taken him all the afternoon to work out.
Klementsen had to put on his spectacles and study the figures earnestly; which done, the two newly pledged shipowners solemnly declared "it looks like very good business."
Nachmann was also a shareholder, but had only taken up his holding on condition that he should be purveyor of wines to the ship, "a smart, round vessel like that must get things from a decent firm." He had been busy to-day with a whole cart-load of various wines for the dinner, which the shareholders were to have on board during the trial trip.
Away in the harbour lay theApollo,Eva Maria, andBirkebeineren; they had had no charters this year. The old craft looked heavy and stout as they lay in the sweltering sun, with pitch oozing from their seams like black tears. It almost looked as if they were weeping at having to lie idle, instead of ploughing through the good salt waters off Lindemor or the Dogger.
Soren Braaten, rowing out over the fjord to meet the steamer, passed close by his old shipBirkebeineren. He cast a loving glance at the dear old piece of timber, and wished he had accepted any freight, however poor, so he had kept out of all this new-fangled business with engine-power and steam. He felt like a traitor to his class, and to all the old things he loved.
He passed theEva Maria, and there was Bernt Jorgensen standing aft. Bernt had declined to take up shares in the steamer; on the contrary, he had argued earnestly against the project, declaring that Strandvik owed too much to the old sailing ships not to hold by them to the last.
"Aren't you coming on board the steamer?" cried Soren as he came within hail.
"No, thankye, I've no mind for it. I'm better where I am," answered Bernt, and, crossing over, sat down on the half-deck.
He hoisted his flag with the rest, though he felt little inclined to; but it would look strange if theEva Mariawere the only one to refrain. But the bunting was only half-way up when the halliards broke, and the flag remained at half-mast.
Bernt felt it was something of an ill-omen. He went into his cabin, but through the porthole he could see theHenrik Ibsencome gliding into the harbour amid general salutation.
The steamer was bright with brass work and new paint; the great gilt letters of her name at the stern shone over the water. On the bridge stood Skipper Abrahamsen, with three gold bands on his cap, and all the crew were in uniform—blue jerseys, with the name worked in red.
Bernt Jorgensen looked round his own cabin; the worn, yellow-painted walls, the square of ragged canvas that did duty as a tablecloth, the sofa with its old cracked covering of American cloth—it was all poor enough, but would he change with the dandified newcomer over yonder?
He struck his fist on the table. "Let's see if he's as smart at earning money as you've been,Eva Maria. It'll take him all his time, I fancy."
The cheering sounded across the water, as he sat bowed over the table with his head in his arms, thinking of old times, from the day he first went to sea with Uncle Gjermundsen, on board theStjerna. Three shirts, a pair of canvas breeches, a straw-stuffed mattressand a rug were all his kit. But what a clipper she was in those days, with her twelve knots close hauled. And Uncle Gjermundsen was the man to get the best out of her too. No gold-braided cap for him, and not much of a man to look at, little, dry and crooked-backed as he was; but when he went overboard with a line that black November night to save the crew of an English brig on the reef and sinking, there was many an upstanding man might have been proud to know him. But he and his ship were gone now, and both the same way. He stood by his ship too long, last man on his own deck he would be, and so the rest were saved and he went down. But it was all in the papers about it, the speech that was made in his honour at the Seamen's Union, and the verse: