"Remember that in all things lamenting becomes fools, and action wise
folk."--SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.
On the evening of this same day the sea lay solemn and calm before
the young traveler. Dark clouds hovered over its unstirred depths,
which trembled only on the surface, like the first awakening of a
slumbering child. Wulf stood with folded arms gazing out upon the
vast expanse. The water seemed to loom before him like a brazen
wall, which threatened to inclose him irrevocably--the grand, free
element suggesting only to his perturbed mind the image of eternal
imprisonment.
He was not far distant from his home, and yet he hesitated to take
the final footsteps thither. How different his previous returns had
been! Then his happy heart had flown in advance of his feet, and he
was either at the well-known threshold at a bound, or gliding lightly
there to surprise suddenly the inmates, in his boyish merriment.
To day he stood still for a long while. At length, when night began
to approach, he summoned all his courage, drew a deep sigh, took a
step forward, and was once more in the old home, to begin a new life.
The door stood open. Wulf entered the familiar room. An elderly,
bustling, healthy woman, in the quaint costume of the country,
suddenly arose to meet him. It was Frau Ericksen, Wulf's mother; but
she did not recognize her son in the darkening twilight.
"Good evening, mother," said Wulf, extending his hand.
She knew the voice at once. "My son! we were not expecting you
to-day."
"But I am here," was the response.
Surprised by his tone, Frau Ericksen lighted a lamp and held it
before his face. But it reflected no happy expression. Somewhat
alarmed, she stepped backward and asked:
"Wulf, are you ill?"
"No, mother, I am not ill. I have come home because you wished it,
but it was a reluctant acquiescence on my part."
The mother was silent. Wulf continued:
"I shall work here and learn the business. Uncle sends you greeting."
"You speak and act like a dead man," said his mother; "but this will
pass off, and you will soon be happy."
"Happy!" cried Wulf; "no, mother I shall not be happy. I shall do
all that you desire, but happiness can never be enforced."
Frau Ericksen left the room. "He will get over it; he will get
accustomed to it in time," she repeated to herself.
Meanwhile Wulf greeted his only sister Karen, a stout, active girl of
eighteen summers, whose brother was somewhat of a stranger to her on
account of his prolonged absences from home.
Soon after, mother, sister, and brother sat down to supper--three
estimable, well-disposed persons, but fundamentally different both in
character and temperament--and now united in their labor, thoughts,
and life!
The next morning Wulf donned a sailor's suit and began his work.
There was very little conversation in the home-circle. The mother
and Karen were naturally quiet, and Wulf was not disposed to talk.
Concerning that which occupied his mind and heart he neither dared
nor desired to speak, since he had decided to learn what duty
demanded.
Wulf was a robust fellow, with plenty of bone and muscle, but the
work he had now undertaken was so different from his former mode of
life, and demanded so much physical exertion, that it made him very
tired. Nevertheless he could overcome that sensation; and now, if it
were only possible to conquer his desires, and overcome his thoughts!
So long as he was obliged to work vigorously in the open air, it was
all very well. But now Winter approached, and brought with it many
idle, gloomy hours. How could he pass away the time? "Tinkering"
around did not satisfy Wulf. He felt that he must do something else
if he would master his tormenting aspirations and discontented heart.
If he must be a seaman he would, at least, not confine his knowledge
to the narrow limits of a common ship. He would learn. But where?
How? From books? He had none. From people? No one lived here who
could instruct him. Yes; there was one man in the neighborhood who
possessed a large fund of information, and who had often invited him
to his home.
This was Captain Nielsen, who, after long service, had settled down
here for rest in that beautiful residence yonder, with its pretty
green blinds. He lived quietly, but was seen every Sunday at church
with his only daughter, a girl of fourteen.
Marvelous tales were related of Captain Nielsen by the villagers; how
he had married a Spanish countess or Grecian princess, and lived with
her in the distant South; how wife and children had died, and only
this little daughter had been spared to him; how he had brought her
to his northern home, that the fragile plant might gain strength; and
it did seem as though the fresh sea-air had improved the child, for
instead of being, now, slender and delicate, Ingeborg was a picture
of perfect health.
This little strange maiden lived a solitary life. Her father had
been her only teacher in worldly matters, and had filled her head
with stories of his travels and the wonderful experiences through
which he had passed.
Ingeborg's religious instructor was the old pastor of the adjacent
village church. She accepted all his teachings, but was often unable
to digest it or put it in practice in her secluded life. Besides, as
she did not enjoy the companionship of other children, she grew up to
be somewhat visionary in character. One could not help observing
that Ingeborg was like a flower which had sprung up in a barren soil.
These were the inmates of the dwelling where Wulf began to visit
frequently.
Captain Nielsen was very kind to the ambitious youth, and assisted
him to the extent of his ability. The aspirations of his deepest
soul Wulf did not reveal, for the reason that the old captain firmly
believed boys were born in order to become worthy seamen. But Wulf
gladly accepted the books Nielsen offered him, assured that he should
thereby improve himself in nautical, mathematical, and astronomical
science.
Yes, books, books! They look so harmless in themselves; and yet how
much trouble some of them have brought into the world! Wulf soon
learned other things from them than mere ship knowledge. They
aroused in him a thirst to learn more and to search farther; and when
for hours he lived in them selfishly, as in another world, and then
returned to every-day work-life, as though he were a stranger to it
and books alone his existence, he would shut them resolutely, and
hasten to the beach to work, leaving their enjoyment to the hours
when he was shut indoors on account of storm and rain.
During such times, when the sea raged heaven-high--heaving hills
becoming valleys, valleys themselves swelling up to towering
mountains again--Wulf felt that in the tumult of the elements
without, the battle raged less fiercely in his own breast.
It is true his mother discerned that something was wrong; but in her
long life she had learned to labor and to wait, and she hoped that in
time her son would become accustomed to the new, or really the old,
situation.
Frau Ericksen was a woman of few words. It would have been far
better in this case if the mother had talked freely with her son. As
it was, silence estranged two hearts which were bound together by the
strongest interests.
Since Wulf did not complain outwardly, his mother apparently went on
her way as though every thing was right. Wulf, therefore, believed
that she understood none of the impulses which stirred him, and thus
it happened that time only estranged the more a mother and son who
were living together, and yet were far apart.
Perhaps the sister might have been a reconciling medium if she had
not had so many other things to think about and to do. A son of the
most prominent seaman in the village distinguished her above all the
other young women, and this was very gratifying to Karen. Naturally,
therefore, she did not trouble herself much about her brother.
But there was one child who perceived most clearly Wulf's discontent
and unhappiness. Ingeborg Nielsen had often observed Wulf's eyes
sparkle in conversation with her father, especially when the subject
was one of higher intellectual culture. Long ago she had discovered
that Wulf's employment was beneath him, and she could not divine why
he continued it. But Wulf rarely spoke to her or noticed her.
Thus a year passed away, and Winter again fell on the lonely beach.
It could be no superficial effort which animated Wulf now, for he had
grown much stronger. The poor boy had a trying youth--a joyless,
ineffectual struggle with the present. His mother, deceived by his
apparent resignation, believed him to be growing more and more
reconciled to his enforced calling.
But how was it with Wulf? He toiled faithfully all day, and read his
books at night; for he was able to put to a practical use the
information gained in this way, and surely no well-wisher could
grudge the boy this.
Indeed, it had become pretty well known among the villagers that he
was able to relieve sick people as well as animals. It had happened
in this wise: Captain Nielsen's dog had broken a leg, and was whining
pitifully one day as Wulf entered. Forgetting every thing but the
creature's suffering, and having had a similar experience at his
uncle's, it was not long before the dog was properly cared for and
the leg bandaged--an act for which the animal evinced his gratitude
by licking his deliverer's hand, as he was soon able to spring up and
frisk around. This was not the end of the affair. Other unfortunate
animals in the neighborhood were brought to Wulf for treatment, and
the success which followed in their relief and cure gladdened his
heart. Then poor people began to seek his advice, and although at
first he was inclined to turn them away, he could not withhold a kind
word and simple directions here and there. What did a youth like
Wulf understand about medical science? Very little, it is true; and
yet common sense taught him that a fever patient ought not to be
housed in a bake-oven; that broken limbs were not mended by dark
incantations, and that rheumatism was not the result of sprains. He
therefore gained the confidence of the poor and sick by successful
treatment of simple ailments, and much of his time became occupied in
this way.
How interesting to him was this broken bone or that premonitory
symptom of disease! If all these experiences had been allowed to
continue much longer, he might have been created a miracle-doctor.
But just at this juncture his mother never failed to upbraid him, and
to ask with significant gesture: "Wulf, have you done this? Have you
taken care of that?" referring to neglected home duties, and this
always restored him to a sense of prosaic reality.
Once more on the dangerous way! O, had he at last, after the lapse
of a year, with all his struggles made no progress, but found himself
still on the old ground! And not even there; for to-day he did not
have the resolution to burn his implements in order to begin a new
life; to-day he was not able to sacrifice so much for his mother as
when he had parted from his uncle. This question continually
presented itself: "What hinders me from being happy?"
And the answer was no longer, "A struggle against the will," but,
"The willfulness of my mother."
He gnashed his teeth, and mechanically resumed his work. It was,
however, impossible to throw off his dejection; but he did not serve
in the capacity of a doctor any longer. Was it on account of an
inward storm or an outward prevention?
Wulf was ill, very ill. He did not recognize the faithful motherly
and sisterly devotion and love at his bedside. He did not hear the
solicitous conferences between physicians who had been summoned from
a distance. He was unconscious of his delirious ravings, and little
guessed that his mother, for the first time, had become convinced
that her son's heart was bent upon a medical profession, not as a
mere passing whim, but in the intensity of his whole being. Wulf lay
in a fever. There were anxious days when it seemed that the merest
grain of sand might turn the balance for life or death. In those
days the mother's heart was torn for her beloved, her only son, and
she resolved that he should meet with no hindrances in the carrying
out of his desires, if only his life should be spared to her.
Old Uncle Ericksen had also sat by his darling's bedside, although
unrecognized by him. Perhaps his earnest appeals aided to confirm
the mother's conclusion.
One morning Wulf awoke, and looked around him. He lay in bed, but
knew not why. Accidentally his glance fell upon his hand. Was that
small, white, emaciated hand his own? No, surely not, for his was
hard and strong. While these reflections were passing through his
mind, the bed-curtain was drawn aside and his mother was before him.
Only a few words were exchanged between them, but if Wulf could have
heard the prayer she uttered, when she knew her son had been
delivered from death, he would have realized how much she loved him,
and there would have been no barrier again between them forever.
Wulf recovered, but gained strength slowly. It had been Winter when
his illness began, but it was Spring when he became able to walk out
with feeble steps. All around new life was springing from every
germ. At length, he had gained sufficient strength to resume his
work.
His mother was silent.
Had she forgotten her vow?