Ole Kamp had been absent a year; and as he said in his letter, his
winter's experience on the fishing banks of Newfoundland had been
a severe one. When one makes money there one richly earns it. The
equinoctial storms that rage there not unfrequently destroy a whole
fishing fleet in a few hours; but fish abound, and vessels which
escape find ample compensation for the toil and dangers of this home
of the tempest.
Besides, Norwegians are excellent seamen, and shrink from no danger.
In the numberless fiords that extend from Christiansand to Cape North,
among the dangerous reefs of Finland, and in the channels of the
Loffoden Islands, opportunities to familiarize themselves with the
perils of ocean are not wanting; and from time immemorial they have
given abundant proofs of their courage. Their ancestors were intrepid
mariners at an epoch when the Hanse monopolized the commerce of
northern Europe. Possibly they were a trifle prone to indulge in
piracy in days gone by, but piracy was then quite common. Doubtless
commerce has reformed since then, though one may perhaps be pardoned
for thinking that there is still room for improvement.
However that may be, the Norwegians were certainly fearless seamen;
they are to-day, and so they will ever be. Ole Kamp was not the man to
belie his origin; besides, he had served his apprenticeship under his
father, who was the master of a Bergen coasting vessel. His childhood
had been spent in that port, which is one of the most frequented in
Scandinavia. Before he ventured out upon the open sea he had been an
untiring fisher in the fiords, and a fearless robber of the sea-birds'
nests, and when he became old enough to serve as cabin-boy he made a
voyage across the North Sea and even to the waters of the Polar Ocean.
Soon afterward his father died, and as he had lost his mother several
years before, his uncle Harald Hansen invited him to become a member
of his family, which he did, though he continued to follow the same
calling.
In the intervals between his voyages he invariably spent his time with
the friends he loved; but he made regular voyages upon large fishing
vessels, and rose to the rank of mate when he was but twenty-one. He
was now twenty-three years of age.
When he visited Dal, Joel found him a most congenial companion. He
accompanied him on his excursions to the mountains, and across the
highest table-lands of the Telemark. The young sailor seemed as much
at home in the fields as in the fiords, and never lagged behind unless
it was to keep his cousin Hulda company.
A close friendship gradually sprung up between Joel and Ole, and quite
naturally the same sentiment assumed a different form in respect to
the young girl. Joel, of course, encouraged it. Where would his sister
ever find a better fellow, a more sympathetic nature, a warmer and
more devoted heart? With Ole for a husband, Hulda's happiness was
assured. So it was with the entire approval of her mother and brother
that the young girl followed the natural promptings of her heart.
Though these people of the North are undemonstrative, they must not
be accused of a want of sensibility. No! It is only their way; and
perhaps their way is as good as any other, after all.
So it came to pass that one day, when all four of them were sitting
quietly together, Ole remarked, without any preamble whatever:
"An idea occurs to me, Hulda."
"What is it?"
"It seems to me that we ought to marry."
"I think so too."
"And so do I," added Dame Hansen as coolly as if the matter had been
under discussion for some time.
"I agree with you," remarked Joel, "and in that case I shall naturally
become your brother-in-law."
"Yes," said Ole; "but it is probable that I shall only love you the
better for it."
"That is very possible."
"We have your consent, then?"
"Upon my word! nothing would please me better," replied Joel.
"So it is decided, Hulda?" inquired Dame Hansen.
"Yes, mother," replied the girl, quietly.
"You are really willing?" asked Ole. "I have loved you a long time,
Hulda, without saying so."
"And I you, Ole."
"How it came about, I really do not know."
"Nor I."
"But it was doubtless seeing you grow more beautiful and good day by
day."
"That is saying a little too much, my dear Ole."
"No; I certainly ought to be able to say that without making you
blush, for it is only the truth. Didn't you see that I was beginning
to love Hulda, Dame Hansen?"
"I suspected as much."
"And you, Joel?"
"I was sure of it."
"Then I certainly think that you ought to have warned me," said Ole,
smiling.
"But how about your voyages, Ole?" inquired Dame Hansen. "Won't they
seem intolerable to you after you are married?"
"So intolerable that I shall not follow the sea any more after my
marriage."
"You will not go to sea any more?"
"No, Hulda. Do you think it would be possible for me to leave you for
months at a time?"
"So this is to be your last voyage?"
"Yes, and if we have tolerable luck, this voyage will yield me quite
a snug little sum of money, for Help Bros. have promised me a share in
the profits."
"They are good men," remarked Joel.
"The best men living," replied Ole, "and well known and highly
respected by all the sailors of Bergen."
"But what do you expect to do after you cease to follow the sea, my
dear Ole?" inquired Hulda.
"I shall go into partnership with Joel in his business, I have pretty
good legs, and if they are not good enough, I will improve them by
going into regular training. Besides, I have thought of a plan which
will not prove a bad one perhaps. Why can't we establish a messenger
service between Drammen, Kongsberg and a few other towns in the
Telemark? Communication now is neither easy nor regular, and there
might be money in the scheme. Besides, I have other plans, to say
nothing of--"
"Of what?"
"Never mind, now. I will tell you on my return. But I warn you that I
am firmly resolved to make my Hulda the happiest woman in the country.
Yes, I am."
"If you but knew how easy that will be!" replied Hulda, offering him
her hand. "Am I not that already, and is there a home in all Dal as
pleasant as ours?"
Dame Hansen hastily averted her head.
"So the matter is settled?" asked Ole, cheerfully.
"Yes," replied Joel.
"And settled beyond recall?"
"Certainly."
"And you feel no regret, Hulda?"
"None whatever, my dear Ole."
"I think, however, that it would be better not to appoint the day for
your marriage until after your return," remarked Joel.
"Very well, but it will go hard with me if I do not return in less
than a year to lead Hulda to the church at Moel, where our friend,
Pastor Andersen, will not refuse to make his best prayer for us!"
And it was in this way that the marriage of Hulda Hansen and Ole Kamp
had been decided upon.
The young sailor was to go aboard his vessel a week later; but before
they parted the lovers were formally betrothed in accordance with the
touching custom of Scandinavian countries.
In simple and honest Norway lovers are almost invariably publicly
betrothed before marriage. Sometimes the marriage is not solemnized
until two or three years afterward, but one must not suppose that the
betrothal is simply an interchange of vows which depend only upon the
honesty of the parties interested. No, the obligation is much more
sacred, and even if this act of betrothal is not binding in the eyes
of the law, it is, at least, so regarded by that universal law called
custom.
So, in this case, it was necessary to make arrangements for a ceremony
over which Pastor Andersen should preside. There was no minister in
Dal, nor in any of the neighboring hamlets. In Norway they have what
they call Sunday towns, in which the minister resides, and where the
leading families of the parish assemble for worship. They even lease
apartments there, in which they take up their abode for twenty-four
hours or more--time to perform their religious duties--and people
return from the town as from a pilgrimage.
Dal, it is true, boasted of a chapel, but the pastor came only when he
was summoned.
After all, Moel was not far off, only about eight miles distant, at
the end of Lake Tinn, and Pastor Andersen was a very obliging man,
and a good walker; so the worthy minister was invited to attend the
betrothal in the twofold capacity of minister and family friend. The
acquaintance was one of long standing. He had seen Joel and Hulda grow
up, and loved them as well as he loved that young sea-dog, Ole Kamp,
so the news of the intended marriage was very pleasing to him.
So Pastor Andersen gathered together his robe, his collar, and his
prayer-book, and started off for Dal one misty, moisty morning. He
arrived there in the company of Joel, who had gone half-way to meet
him, and it is needless to say that his coming was hailed with delight
at Dame Hansen's inn, that he had the very best room in the house, and
that the floor was freshly strewn with twigs of juniper that perfumed
it like a chapel.
At one o'clock on the following day the little church was thrown
open, and there, in the presence of the pastor and a few friends and
neighbors, Ole and Hulda solemnly promised to wed each other when the
young sailor should return from the last voyage he intended to make.
A year is a long time to wait, but it passes all the same, nor is it
intolerable when two persons can trust each other.
And now Ole could not, without good cause, forsake her to whom he had
plighted his troth, nor could Hulda retract the promise she had given
to Ole; and if Ole had not left Norway a few days after the betrothal,
he might have profited by the incontestable right it gave him to visit
the young girl whenever he pleased, to write to her whenever he chose,
walk out with her arm in arm, unaccompanied by any member of the
family, and enjoy a preference over all others in the dances that form
a part of all fêtes and ceremonies.
But Ole Kamp had been obliged to return to Bergen, and one week
afterward the "Viking" set sail for the fishing banks of Newfoundland,
and Hulda could only look forward to the letters which her betrothed
had promised to send her by every mail.
And these impatiently expected letters never failed her, and always
brought a ray of happiness to the house which seemed so gloomy
after the departure of one of its inmates. The voyage was safely
accomplished; the fishing proved excellent, and the profits promised
to be large. Besides, at the end of each letter, Ole always referred
to a certain secret, and of the fortune it was sure to bring him. It
was a secret that Hulda would have been glad to know, and Dame Hansen,
too, for reasons one would not have been likely to suspect.
Dame Hansen seemed to have become even more gloomy and anxious and
reticent than ever, and a circumstance which she did not see fit to
mention to her children increased her anxiety very considerably.
Three days after the arrival of Ole's last letter, as Dame Hansen
was returning alone from the saw-mill, to which place she had gone to
order a bag of shavings from the foreman, Lengling, she was accosted
near her own door by a man who was a stranger in that part of the
country.
"This is Dame Hansen, is it not?" he inquired.
"Yes; but I do not know you," was the reply.
"That doesn't matter," rejoined the man. "I arrived here only this
morning from Drammen, and am now on my way back."
"From Drammen?" repeated Dame Hansen, quickly.
"You are acquainted, I think, with a certain Monsieur Sandgoist, who
lives there?"
"Monsieur Sandgoist!" repeated Dame Hansen, whose face paled at the
name. "Yes, I know him."
"Ah, well! When Monsieur Sandgoist heard that I was coming to Dal, he
asked me to give his respects to you."
"Was that all?"
"And to say to you that it was more than probable that he would pay
you a visit next month. Good health to you, and good-evening, Dame
Hansen."