remorsefully. “I shall not do it again.”
It then pleased his majesty, Bernt Holter, to relent, although his
sister had by her awkwardness alarmed the dolphins, sending the
boat right in their wake, when it had been his purpose to head them
off. He knew well enough that it takes several minutes for a whole
school of so large a fish as the dolphin to change its course, and
the hunter would thus have a good chance of “pricking” a laggard
before he could catch up with his companions. Bernt strained every
muscle, while coolly keeping his eye on the water to note the
course of his game. His only chance was in cutting across the bay
and lying in wait for them at the next headland. For he knew very
well that if they were seriously frightened and suspected that
they were being pursued, they could easily beat him by the speed
and dexterity of their movements. But he saw to his delight that
his calculations were correct. Instead of taking the straight
course seaward, the dolphins, being probably in pursuit of fresh
herring, young cod, and other marine delicacies which they needed
for their late dinner, steered close to land where the young fish
are found in greater abundance, and their following the coastline
of the bay gave Bernt a chance of cutting them off and making their
acquaintance at closer quarters. Having crossed the little bay, he
commanded his sister to lie down flat in the bottom of the boat--a
command which she willingly, though with a quaking heart, obeyed.
He backed cautiously into a little nook among the rocks from which
he had a clear passage out, and having one hand on his harpoon,
which was secured by a rope to the prow of the boat, and the other
on the boat-hook (with which he meant to push himself rapidly out
into the midst of the school), he peered joyously over the gunwale
and heard the loud snorts, followed by the hissing descent of the
spray, approaching nearer and nearer. Now, steady my boy! Don’t
lose your presence of mind! One, two, three--there goes! Jumping
up, fixing the boat-hook against the rock, and with a tremendous
push shooting out into the midst of the school was but a moment’s
work. Whew! The water spouts and whirls about his ears as in a
shower-bath. Off goes his cap. Let it go! But stop! What was that?
A terrific slap against the side of the boat as from the tail of
a huge fish. Hilda jumps up with a piercing shriek and the boat
careens heavily to the port side, the gunwale dipping for a moment
under the water. A loud snort, followed again by a shower of spray,
is heard right ahead, and, at the same moment, the harpoon flies
through the air with a fierce whiz and lodges firmly in a broad,
black back. The huge fish in its first spasm of pain gives a fling
with its tail and for an instant the little boat is lifted out of
the water on the back of the wounded dolphin.
“Keep steady, don’t let go the rope!” shouts Bernt at the top of
his voice, “he won’t hurt--”
But before he had finished, the light skiff, with a tremendous
splash, struck the water again, and the little coil of rope to
which the harpoon was attached flew humming over the gunwale and
disappeared with astonishing speed into the deep.
Bernt seized the cord, and when there was little left to spare,
tied it firmly to the prow of the boat, which then, of course,
leaped forward with every effort of the dolphin to rid itself of
the harpoon. The rest of the school, having taken alarm, had sought
deep water, and were seen, after a few minutes, far out beyond the
headland.
“I want to go home, Bernt,” Hilda exclaimed, vehemently. “I want to
go home; I don’t want to get killed, Bernt.”
“You silly thing! You can’t go home now. You must just do as I
tell you; but, of course--if you only are sensible--you won’t get
killed, or hurt at all.”
While he was yet speaking, the boat began all of a sudden to move
rapidly over the water.
The dolphin had bethought him of flight, not knowing that, however
swiftly he swam, he pulled his enemy after him. As he rose to the
surface, about fifty or sixty yards ahead, a small column of water
shot feebly upward, and spread in a fan-like, irregular shape
before it fell. The poor beast floundered along for a few seconds,
its long, black body in full view, and then again dived down,
dragging the boat onward with a series of quick convulsive pulls.
Bernt held on tightly to the cord, while the water foamed and
bubbled about the prow and surged in swirling eddies in the wake of
the skiff.
“If I can only manage to get that dolphin,” said Bernt, “I know
father will give me at least a dollar for him. There’s lots of
blubber on him, and that is used for oil to burn in lamps.”
The little girl did not answer, but grasped the gunwale hard
on each side, and gazed anxiously at the foaming and bubbling
water. Bernt, too, sat silent in the prow, but with a fisherman’s
excitement in his face. The sun hung, huge and fiery, over the
western mountains, and sent up a great, dusky glare among the
clouds, which burned in intense but lurid hues of red and gold.
Gradually, and before they were fully aware of it, the boat began
to rise and descend again, and Bernt discovered by the heavy, even
roll of the water that they must be near the ocean.
“Now you may stop, my dear dolphin,” he said, coolly. “We don’t
want you to take us across to America. Who would have thought that
you were such a tough customer anyway?”
He let go the rope, and, seating himself again, put the oars into
the rowlocks. He tried to arrest the speed of the boat by vigorous
backing; but, to his surprise, found that his efforts were of no
avail.
“Hilda,” he cried, not betraying, however, the anxiety he was
beginning to feel, “take the other pair of oars and let us see what
you are good for.”
Hilda, not realizing the danger, obeyed, a little tremblingly,
perhaps, and put the other pair of oars into their places.
“Now let us turn the boat around,” sternly commanded the
boy. “It’s getting late, and we must be home before bedtime.
One--two--three--pull!”
The oars struck the water simultaneously and the boat veered half
way around; but the instant the oars were lifted again, it started
back into its former course.
“Why don’t you cut the rope and let the dolphin go?” asked Hilda,
striving hard to master the tears, which again were pressing to her
eyelids.
“Not I,” answered her brother; “why, all the fellows would laugh
at me if they heard how I first caught the dolphin and then the
dolphin caught me. No, indeed. He hasn’t much strength left by this
time, and we shall soon see him float up.”
He had hardly uttered these words, when they shot past a rocky
promontory, and the vast ocean spread out before them. Both sister
and brother gave an involuntary cry of terror. There they were,
in their frail little skiff, far away from home, and with no boat
visible for miles around. “Cut the rope, cut the rope! Dear Bernt,
cut the rope!” screamed Hilda, wringing her hands in despair.
“I am afraid it is too late,” answered her brother, doggedly. “The
tide is going out, and that is what has carried us so swiftly to
sea. I was a fool that I didn’t think of it.”
“But what shall we do--what shall we do!” moaned the girl, hiding
her face in her apron.
“Stop that crying,” demanded her brother, imperiously. “I’ll tell
you what we shall have to do. We couldn’t manage to pull back
against the tide, especially here at the mouth of the fiord, where
the current is so strong. We had better keep on seaward, and then,
if we are in luck, we shall meet the fishing-boats when they
return, which will be before morning. Anyway, there is little or
no wind, and the night is light enough, so that they cannot miss
seeing us.”
“Oh, I shall surely die, I shall surely die!” sobbed Hilda,
flinging herself down in the bottom of the boat.
Bernt deigned her no answer, but sat gazing sullenly out over the
ocean toward the western horizon, over which the low sun shed its
lurid mist of fire. The ocean broke with a mighty roar against the
rocks, hushed itself for a few seconds, and then hurled itself
against the rocks anew. To be frank, he was not quite so fearless
as he looked; but he thought it cowardly to give expression to
his fear, and especially in the presence of his sister, in whose
estimation he had always been a hero. The sun sank lower until it
almost touched the water. The rope hung perfectly slack from the
prow, and only now and then grew tense as if something was feebly
tugging at the other end. He concluded that the dolphin had bled
to death or was exhausted. In the meanwhile, they were drifting
rapidly westward, and the hollow noise of the breakers was growing
more and more distant. From a merely idle impulse of curiosity
Bernt began to haul in his rope, and presently saw a black body,
some ten or twelve feet long, floating up only a few rods from the
boat. He gave four or five pulls at the rope and was soon alongside
of it. Bernt felt very sad as he looked at it, and was sorry he had
killed the harmless animal. The thought came into his mind that his
present desperate situation was God’s punishment on him for his
cruel delight in killing.
“But God would not punish my sister for my wickedness,” he
reflected, gazing tenderly at Hilda, who lay in the boat with her
hands folded under her cheek, having sobbed herself to sleep. He
felt consoled, and, murmuring a prayer he had once heard in church
for “sailors in distress at sea,” lay down at his sister’s side and
stared up into the vast, red dome of the sky above him. The water
plashed gently against the sides of the skiff as it rose and rocked
upon the great smooth “ground swell,” and again sank down, as it
seemed into infinite depths, only to climb again the next billow.
Bernt felt sleepy and hungry, and the more he stared into the sky
the more indistinct became his vision. He sprang up, determined to
make one last, desperate effort, and strove to row in toward land,
but he could make no headway against the strong tide, and with
aching limbs and a heavy heart he again stretched himself out in
the bottom of the boat. Before he knew it he was fast asleep.
He did not know how long he had slept, but the dim, fiery look of
the sun had changed into an airy rose color, when he felt someone
seizing him by the arm and crying out: “In the name of wonders,
boy, how did you come here?”
He rubbed his eyes and saw his father’s shaggy face close to his.
“And my dear little girl too,” cried the father, in a voice of
terror. “Heaven be praised for having preserved her!”
And he lifted Hilda in his arms and pressed her close to his
breast. Bernt thought he saw tears glistening in his eyes. That
made him suddenly very solemn. For he had never seen his father cry
before. Around about him was a fleet of some thirty or forty boats
laden to the gunwale with herring. He now understood his rescue.
“Now tell me, Bernt, truthfully,” said his father, gravely, still
holding the sobbing Hilda tightly in his embrace, “how did this
happen?”
“I went a-whaling,” stammered Bernt, feeling not at all so brave as
he had felt when he started on his voyage. But he still had courage
enough to point feebly to the dead dolphin which lay secured a
short distance from the skiff.
“Wait till we get home,” said his father, “then _I’ll_ go
a-whaling.”
He stood, for a while, gazing in amazement at the huge fish, then
again at his son, as if comparing their bulk. He felt that he
ought to scold the youthful sportsman, but he knew it was in the
blood, and was therefore more inclined to praise his daring spirit.
Accordingly, when he got home, he did not go a-whaling.
“Bernt,” he said, patting the boy’s curly head, “you may be a brave
lad; but next time your bravery gets the better of you--leave the
little lass at home.”
THE COOPER AND THE WOLVES.
Tollef Kolstad was a cooper, and a very skilful cooper he was said
to be. He had a little son named Thor, who was as fond of his
father as his father was of him. Whatever Tollef did or said, Thor
was sure to imitate; if Tollef was angry and flung a piece of wood
at the dog who used to come into the shop and bother him, Thor,
thinking it was a manly thing to do, flung another piece at poor
Hector, who ran out whimpering through the door.
Thor, of course, was not very old before he had a corner in his
father’s shop, where, with a small set of tools which had been
especially bought for him, he used to make little pails and buckets
and barrels, which he sold for five or ten cents apiece to the boys
of the neighborhood. All the money earned in this way he put into
a bank of tin, made like a drum, of which his mother kept the key.
When he grew up, he thought, he would be a rich man.
The last weeks before Christmas are, in Norway, always the
briskest season in all trades; then the farmer wants his horses
shod, so that he may take his wife and children to church in his
fine, swan-shaped sleigh; he wants bread and cakes made to last
through the holidays, so that his servants may be able to amuse
themselves, and his guests may be well entertained when they call;
and, above all, he wants large tubs and barrels, stoutly made of
beech staves, for his beer and mead, with which he pledges every
stranger who, during the festival, happens to pass his door. You
may imagine, then, that at Christmas time coopers are much in
demand, and that it is not to be wondered at if sometimes they are
behind-hand with their orders. This was unfortunately the case with
Tollef Kolstad at the time when the strange thing happened which
I am about to tell you. He had been at work since the early dawn,
upon a huge tub or barrel, which had been ordered by Grim Berglund,
the richest peasant in the parish. Grim was to give a large party
on the following day (which was Christmas-Eve), and he had made
Tollef promise to bring the barrel that same night, so that he
might pour the beer into it, and have all in readiness for the
holidays, when it would be wrong to do any work. It was about ten
o’clock at night when Tollef made the last stroke with his hatchet
on the large hollow thing, upon which every blow resounded as on a
drum. He went to a neighbor and hired from him his horse and flat
sleigh, and was about to start on his errand, when he heard a tiny
voice calling behind him:
“Father, do take me along, too!”
“I can’t, my boy. There may be wolves on the lake, to-night, and
they might like to eat up little boys who stay out of bed so late.”
“But I am not afraid of them, father. I have my whip and my
hatchet, and I’ll whip them and cut them.”
Thor here made some threatening flourishes with his weapons in the
air, indicating how he would give it to the wolves in case they
should venture to molest him.
“Well, come along, you little rascal,” said his father, laughing,
and feeling rather proud of his boy’s dauntless spirit. “You and I
are not to be trifled with when we get mad, are we, Thor?”
“No, indeed, father,” said Thor, and clenched his little mittened
fist.
Tollef then lifted him up, wrapped him warmly in his sheepskin
jacket, and put him between his knees, while he himself seized the
reins and urged the horse on.
It was a glorious winter night. The snow sparkled and shone as if
sprinkled with starry diamonds, the aurora borealis flashed in
pale, shifting colors along the horizon, and the moon sailed calmly
through a vast, dark-blue sea of air. Little Thor shouted with
delight as he saw the broad expanse of glittering ice, which they
were about to cross, stretching out before them like a polished
shield of steel.
“Oh, father, I wish we had taken our skates along, and pulled your
barrel across on a sled,” cried the boy, ecstatically.
“That I might have done, if I had had a sled large enough for the
barrel,” replied the father. “But then we should have been obliged
to pull it up the hills on the other side.”
The sleigh now struck the ice and shot forward, swinging from
side to side, as the horse pulled a little unevenly. Whew! how
the cold air cut in their faces. How it whizzed and howled in
the tree-tops! Hark! What was that? Tollef instinctively pressed
his boy more closely to him. Hush!--his heart stood still, while
that of the boy, who merely felt the reflex shock of his father’s
agitation, hammered away the more rapidly. A terrible, long-drawn
howl, as from a chorus of wild, far-away voices, came floating away
over the crowns of the pine-trees.
“What was that, father,” asked Thor, a little tremulously.
“It was wolves, my child,” said Tollef, calmly.
“Are you afraid, father?” asked the boy again.
“No, child, I am not afraid of one wolf, nor of ten wolves; but if
they are in a flock of twenty or thirty, they are dangerous. And if
they scent our track, as probably they will, they will be on us in
five minutes.”
“How will they scent our track, father?”
“They smell us in the wind; and the wind is from us and to them,
and then they howl to notify their comrades, so that they may
attack us in sufficient force.”
“Why don’t we return home, then?” inquired the boy, still with a
tolerably steady voice, but with sinking courage.
“They are behind us. Our only chance is to reach the shore before
they overtake us.”
The horse, sniffing the presence of wild beasts, snorted wildly
as it ran, but, electrified as it were, with the sense of danger,
strained every nerve in its efforts to reach the farther shore. The
howls now came nearer and nearer, and they rose with a frightful
distinctness in the clear, wintry air, and resounded again from
the border of the forest.
“Why don’t you throw away the barrel, father?” said Thor, who, for
his father’s sake, strove hard to keep brave. “Then the sleigh will
run so much the faster.”
“If we are overtaken, our safety is in the barrel. Fortunately, it
is large enough for two, and it has no ears and will fit close to
the ice.”
Tollef was still calm; but, with his one disengaged arm, hugged his
little son convulsively.
“Now, keep brave, my boy,” he whispered in his ear. “They will soon
be upon us. Give me your whip.”
It just occurred to Tollef that he had heard that wolves were very
suspicious, and that men had often escaped them by dragging some
small object on the ground behind them. He, therefore, broke a
chip from one of the hoops of the barrel, and tied it to the lash
of the whip; just then he heard a short, hungry bark behind him,
and, turning his head, saw a pack of wolves, numbering more than a
dozen, the foremost of which was within a few yards of the sleigh.
He saw the red, frothy tongue hanging out of its mouth, and he
smelt that penetrating, wild smell with which everyone is familiar
who has met a wild beast in its native haunts. While encouraging
the reeking, foam-flecked horse, Tollef, who had only half faith
in the experiment with the whip, watched anxiously the leader of
the wolves, and observed to his astonishment that it seemed to be
getting no nearer. One moment it seemed to be gaining upon them,
but invariably, as soon as it reached the little chip which was
dragging along the ice, this suddenly arrested its attention and
immediately its speed slackened. The cooper’s hope began to revive,
and he thought that perhaps there was yet a possibility that they
might see the morrow’s sun. But his courage again began to ebb when
he discovered in the distance a second pack of wolves, larger than
the first, and which, with terrific speed, came running, leaping,
and whirling toward them from another direction. And while this
terrible discovery was breaking through his almost callous sense,
he forgot, for an instant, the whip, the lash of which swung under
the runners of the sleigh and snapped. The horse, too, was showing
signs of exhaustion, and Tollef, seeing that only one chance was
left, rose up with his boy in his arms, and upsetting the barrel
on the ice, concealed himself and the child under it. Hardly had
he had time to brace himself against its sides, pressing his feet
against one side and his back against the other, when he heard the
horse giving a wild scream, while the short, whining bark of the
wolves told him that the poor beast was selling its life dearly.
Then there was a desperate scratching and scraping of horseshoes,
and all of a sudden the sound of galloping hoof-beats on the ice,
growing fainter and fainter. The horse had evidently succeeded in
breaking away from the sleigh, and was testing his speed in a race
for life. Some of the wolves were apparently pursuing him, while
the greater number remained to investigate the contents of the
barrel. The howling and barking of these furious creatures without
was now incessant. Within the barrel it was dark as pitch.
“Now, keep steady!” said Tollef, feeling a sudden shock, as if
a wolf had leaped against their improvised house with a view to
upsetting it. He felt himself and the boy gliding a foot or two
over the smooth ice, but there was no further result from the
attack. A minute passed: again there came a shock, and a stronger
one than the first. A long, terrible howl followed this second
failure. The little boy, clutching his small cooper’s hatchet in
one hand, sat pale but determined in the dark, while with the other
he clung to his father’s arm.
“Oh, father!” he cried, in terror, “I feel something on my back.”
The father quickly struck a light, for he fortunately had a supply
of matches in his pocket, and saw a wolf’s paw wedged in between
the ice and the rim of the barrel; and in the same instant he tore
the hatchet from his son’s hand and buried its edge in the ice.
Then he handed the amputated paw to Thor, and said:
“Put that into your wallet, and the sheriff will pay you a reward
for it.[7] For a wolf without paws couldn’t do much harm.”
While he was yet speaking, a third assault upon the barrel lifted
one side of it from the ice, and almost overturned it. Instead of
pushing against the part nearest the ice, a wolf, more cunning than
the rest, had leaped against the upturned bottom.
You can imagine what a terrible night father and son spent
together in this constant struggle with the voracious beasts, that
never grew weary of attacking their hiding-place. The father was
less warmly clad than the son, and, moreover, was obliged to sit
on the ice, while Thor could stand erect without knocking against
the bottom of the barrel; and if it had not been for the excitement
of the situation, which made Tollef’s blood course with unwonted
rapidity, it is more than probable that the intense cold would have
made him drowsy, and thus lessened his power of resistance. The
warmth of his body had made a slight cavity where he was sitting,
and whenever he remained a moment still, his trousers froze fast to
the ice. It was only the presence of his boy that inspired him with
fresh courage, whenever hope seemed about to desert him.
About an hour after the flight of the horse, when five or six
wolves’ paws had been cut off in the same manner as the first,
there was a lull in the attack, but a sudden increase of the
howling, whining, yelping, and barking noise without. Tollef
concluded that the wolves, maddened by the smell of blood, were
attacking their wounded fellows; and as their howls seemed to come
from a short distance, he cautiously lifted one side of the barrel
and peered forth; but in the same instant a snarling bark rang
right in his ear, and two paws were thrust into the opening. Then
came a howl of pain, and another paw was put into Thor’s wallet.
But hark! What is that? It sounds like a song, or rather like a
hymn. The strain comes nearer and nearer, resounding from mountain
to mountain, floating peacefully through the pure and still air:
“Who knows how near I am mine ending;
So quickly time doth pass away.”