AN EXCURSION TO KLAMPENBORG AND ELSINORE.
Peaks sat near the brig and read his book, which he had procured from
the librarian in anticipation of a dull and heavy afternoon. Clyde sat
in his cage, watching the boatswain. The book was evidently a very
interesting one, for the reader hardly raised his eyes from it for a
full hour, and then only to bestow a single glance upon the occupant
of the ship's prison. The volume was Peter Simple, and the boatswain
relished the adventures of the hero. Once in a while his stalwart
frame was shaken by an earthquake of laughter, for he had a certain
sense of dignity which did not permit him to laugh outright all alone
by himself, and so the shock was diffused through all his members, and
his body quaked like that of a man in the incipient throes of a fever
and ague fit. The magnanimous conduct of O'Brien, who flogged Peter
for seasickness, simply because he loved him, proved to be almost too
much for the settled plan of the boatswain, and it was with the utmost
difficulty that he restrained an outbreak of laughter.
For a full quarter of an hour Clyde convinced himself that he was
entirely satisfied with the situation. The brig was not a bad place,
or, at least, it would not be, if the boatswain would only leave the
steerage and allow the prisoner to be by himself. He wished very much
to try the carpenter's saw upon the slats of his prison. At the end of
the second quarter of an hour, the Briton was slightly nervous; the
close of the third found him rather impatient, and at the expiration
of an hour, he was decidedly provoked with Peaks for staying where he
was so long. When the stout sentinel glanced at him, he flattered
himself with a transitory hope; but the boatswain only changed his
position slightly, and still appeared to be as deeply absorbed as ever
in the book.
Clyde was disgusted, and emphatically angry at the end of another half
hour. The brig was a vile place, and putting a free-born Briton into
such a den was the greatest indignity which had yet been offered to
him. It was even worse than ordering him to be silent, or to go
forward. It was an insult which required both redress and vengeance.
He rose from his seat, and walked to the door of his prison, but with
his gaze still fixed upon his jailer. He had come to the conclusion
that, if he moved, Peaks would, at least, look at him; but that worthy
did not raise his eyes from his book. Clyde took hold of the barred
door and began to shake it, making considerable noise by the act.
Peaks took no notice whatever of him, and it seemed just as though the
boatswain intended to insult him by thus disregarding him. He shook
the door again with more violence, but did not succeed in attracting
the attention of his custodian. Then he began to kick the door. Making
a run of the length of the brig, he threw himself against it with all
the force he could, hoping to break it down; but he might as well
have butted against the side of the ship. It yielded a little, and
rattled a great deal; but it was too strong to be knocked down in any
such manner.
The prisoner was boiling over with wrath, as much because Peaks did
not notice him, as on account of the indignity of his confinement.
He kicked, wrenched, and twisted at the door, till he had nearly
exhausted his own strength, apparently without affecting that of
the door. The boatswain still read, and still shook with suppressed
laughter at the funny blunders and situations of Peter Simple. He had
seen just such fellows as Clyde in the brig; had seen them behave just
as the present prisoner did; and he had learned that it was better to
let them have their own way till they were satisfied, for boys are
always better satisfied when they solve such problems for themselves.
"I'm not going to stay in this place!" howled Clyde, when he had
wasted all his powers upon the obstinate door.
"No?"
The boatswain happened to be at the end of a chapter in his book, and
he closed the volume, uttering only the single negative participle,
with the interrogative inflection, as he glanced at his charge in the
brig.
"No, I'm not!" roared Clyde, rousing from his seat, upon which he had
dropped in sheer exhaustion, and throwing himself desperately against
the unyielding door. "I won't stay in here any longer!"
"Well, now, I thought you would," added Peaks, with the most provoking
calmness.
"I won't!"
"But it seems to me that you do stay there."
"I won't any longer."
"Well?"
"I'll send for the British minister."
"Do."
"I won't stand it any longer."
"Sit down, then."
Clyde dashed himself against the door again with all the remaining
force he had; but the boatswain, apparently unmoved, opened his book
again. It was terribly lacerating to the feelings of the Briton to be
so coolly disregarded and ignored. Clyde had the saw, but he had sense
enough left to know that any attempt to use it would attract the
attention of his jailer, and end in the loss of the implement, with
which he could remove a couple of the slats when left alone, or when
all hands were asleep at night. Finding that violence accomplished
nothing, he seated himself on his stool,--which, however, was far from
being the stool of repentance,--and considered the situation more
calmly. He was in a profuse perspiration from the energy of his
useless exertions. Perhaps he was conscious that he had made a fool of
himself, and that his violence was as impolitic as it was useless. In
a few moments he was as quiet as a lamb, and remained so for half an
hour, though his bondage was no less galling than before.
"Mr. Peaks," said he, in the gentlest of tones.
"Well, my lad, what shall I do for you?" replied the boatswain,
closing his book, and going to the door of the brig.
"I'm very thirsty, and want a glass of water. Will you give me one?"
"Certainly, my boy."
The boatswain passed a mug of water through the bars, and Clyde drank
as though he was really thirsty.
"You have worked hard, and it makes you dry," said Peaks. "You can
keep a mug of water in the brig if you like."
"I will," replied Clyde, as he placed the mug on the deck, after the
boatswain had filled it. "Can't you let me out, Mr. Peaks?"
"Certainly I can."
"You will--won't you?"
"With all my heart."
"Do, if you please."
"On certain conditions, you know."
"What conditions?"
"That you won't attempt to run away. But, my lad, it is only a few
hours since you said the brig was a very nice place, and you would
grow gray in it before you would promise not to leave when you got a
good chance."
"I hadn't tried it, then. But I think it is an insult to a fellow to
put him in here. I would rather be flogged outright."
"We don't flog the boys."
"I would rather take a flogging, and have it done with."
"That's one of the reasons why we don't do it. We don't want to have
it done with till the boy means to do about right. You are a smart
boy, my lad; but you have got a heap of bad blood in your veins,
which ought to be worked off. If you would only do your duty like a
man, you would be comfortable and happy."
"I never can stay in this ship."
"Why not?"
"I don't understand the duty."
"You will soon learn all the ropes in the ship, and they will all come
as handy to you as the key of your own watch."
Clyde pulled out his watch, and glanced at the boatswain.
"That's a nice time-keeper you have, my lad; gold, I suppose."
"Yes; it cost thirty pounds. Wouldn't you like it?"
"I?"
"Yes."
"Well, I have a pretty good silver one, which answers my purpose very
well," replied Peaks, smiling.
"I'll give it to you, if you will let me out, and permit me to go on
shore," added Clyde, in an insinuating tone.
"Thank you, my lad, I don't want it bad enough to do that."
"You can sell it, you know. Or I will give you thirty pounds in cash,
if you prefer."
"I can't afford to do it for that," laughed the boatswain.
"I'll give you fifty pounds then," persisted Clyde.
"Can't afford to do it for that, either."
"Say sixty, then."
"Say a hundred, if you like, my lad; and then say a thousand. I can't
afford to do it for all the money your mother is worth. You are on
the wrong tack, my lad. I can't be bought at any price."
"I won't ask you to let me out. If you will only go on deck, and keep
out of the way, I will manage it all myself."
"No, no; sheer off, my hearty. When I have a duty to do, I always mean
to do it; and if it isn't done, it isn't my fault. You can't leave the
ship with my consent."
"I can't stay here, I say. I should die in a month."
"Very well, die like a man, then," said Peaks, good-naturedly; for,
though he could not be bought at any price, he did not indulge in any
righteous indignation against his victim. "Learn your duty, and then
do it. There is plenty of fun going on in the ship, and you will enjoy
yourself as soon as you get on the right tack. That's the up and down
of the whole matter."
"I can't take off my cap to these young squirts of officers, and be
ordered around by them. It isn't in an Englishman to do anything of
the sort."
"Upon my word, I think it is in them. They make first-rate sailors,
and always obey their officers."
"Common sailors do; but I'm a gentleman."
"So am I; but I always obey orders," replied the democratic Peaks,
warmly. "The officers of this ship are required to behave like
gentlemen, and give their orders in a gentlemanly manner. If they
don't do it, they are liable to be reduced. Do your duty, and you may
be an officer yourself."
Peaks continued for some time to give the prisoner good advice,
assuring him that he was no better than the rest of the crew, and
that it would not hurt him any more than others to obey the orders of
the officers. But it was sowing seed in stony ground, and Clyde,
finding he could make nothing out of the honest boatswain, decided to
await his time with what patience he could command, which, however,
was not much. Peaks was permitted to follow Peter Simple in his
stirring career during the rest of the afternoon. The crew returned
from Tivoli at eleven in the evening, and soon the ship was quiet,
with only an anchor watch, consisting of an officer on the
quarter-deck, and two seamen on the forecastle.
Clyde's supper was given to him in his prison, and a bed made up for
his use. He kept awake till all the students came on board, and while
he was waiting for the crew to slumber, he dropped asleep himself, and
did not wake till all hands were called in the morning. He was vexed
with himself for his neglect, and afraid that the carpenter would miss
the saw, and remember where he had left it. He was determined to keep
awake the next night, and make his escape, even if he was obliged to
swim to the land.
After breakfast, all the students went on shore for an excursion to
Klampenborg and Elsinore. In the custom-house enclosure, a procession
of four in a rank was formed, to march to the railroad station, which
was near the Tivoli Garden. The students were generally rather fond of
processions, not at home, but in the streets of foreign cities. The
parade was quite imposing, when every officer and seaman wore his best
uniform. They had been carefully taught to march, and Professor Badois
had organized a band of eight pieces, which performed a few tunes
very well. Unfortunately, on the present occasion, the band was not
available, for Stockwell, the cornet player, and Boyden, the bass
drummer, belonged to the absent crew of the second cutter, and the
procession moved to the sterling notes of the drum and fife.
On parades of this kind, the first and second pursers acted as the
fleet staff of the commodore, who would otherwise have been "alone in
his glory," and these two useful officers seemed like "odds and ends"
in any other position. As this procession was frequently formed, and
marched through the streets of various cities, the order is given to
satisfy the reasonable curiosity of the reader.
Music.
The Commodore,
And Staff of the Fleet.
The Captain of the Young America.
The Four Masters.
The Four Midshipmen.
The First Lieutenant.
The First Part of the Starboard Watch,
Consisting of Eighteen Seamen.
The Second Lieutenant.
The Second Part of the Starboard Watch.
The Third Lieutenant.
The First Part of the Port Watch.
The Fourth Lieutenant.
The Second Part of the Port Watch.
The Captain of the Josephine.
The Four Masters.
The First Lieutenant.
The First Part of the Starboard Watch,
Consisting of Eight Seamen.
The Second Lieutenant.
The Second Part of the Starboard Watch.
The Third Lieutenant.
The First Part of the Port Watch.
The Fourth Lieutenant.
The Second Part of the Port Watch.
The Captain of the Tritonia.
The Four Masters.
The First Lieutenant.
The First Part of the Starboard Watch,
Consisting of Eight Seamen.
The Second Lieutenant.
The Second Part of the Starboard Watch.
The Third Lieutenant.
The First Part of the Port Watch.
The Fourth Lieutenant.
The Second Part of the Port Watch.
Sometimes the order was varied by placing all the officers at the head
of the procession, except the lieutenants in command of sections,
as,--
The Commodore and Staff.
The three Captains.
Three ranks of Masters.
One rank of Midshipmen.
But keeping all the officers and seamen of each vessel together, as in
the first order, was generally preferred. Of course the ranks were not
always full, as on the present occasion; but even when the full band
was at the head of the column, there were enough for four full ranks
in each half-watch of the ship, and two ranks in those of the other
vessels. The students had practised so much that they marched
exceedingly well, and being aligned according to their height, the
effect was very fine. The Copenhageners left their occupations, and
hastened to the doors and windows of their houses and shops to see the
procession; and even the king and royal family were spectators at the
palace windows, as the column moved through Frederiksplads. As it
passed the Royal Hotel, Mr. and Mrs. Kendall, with Dr. Winstock and
Joseph, were entering a carriage, in which they intended to ride to
Klampenborg, in order to see more of the country. At the railroad
station, the officers and seamen took seats in the third-class
carriages, which were two stories high, the upper as well as the lower
one having a roof. The distance to Klampenborg is eight and a half
English miles, and the fare is sixteen skillings, or nine cents, third
class; twenty-four skillings, or thirteen and a half cents, second
class; and thirty-two skillings, or eighteen cents, first class. The
third-class compartments are clean and neat, but there are no cushions
on the seats. An aisle extends through the middle of them, but the
seats are placed in pairs, on each side, so that half the passengers
are compelled to ride backwards. In about half an hour the train
arrived at Klampenborg.
Paul Kendall's party drove first to the summer residence of Mr.
Melchoir, which was in the suburbs of the city, near the sea-shore.
The house was a very pretty one, with a neat garden, not unlike the
little country places one sees in the vicinity of the large cities of
the United States. Joseph rang the bell, and stated the errand of the
party to the servant. They were shown up one flight of stairs, where
the girl knocked at the door, which was immediately opened by
Hans Christian Andersen, and the tourists were ushered into a
plainly-furnished room, with a few engravings on the walls. On a table
were the writing-materials of the great author, and Paul looked with
interest at the little pile of letter sheets, closely written over,
and the unfinished one, on which the ink was not yet dry.
Mr. Andersen's face was covered with a smile as he greeted the party.
Dr. Winstock had met him before, and stated the fact.
"O, I'm very glad to see you again," said the author, grasping the
doctor's hand with both of his own.
"My young friend here, and his lady, have both read all your books,
and desired to see you even more than to look upon the beautiful works
of your great sculptor."
"Ah, you are very kind," added Mr. Andersen, again grasping the
doctor's hand with both of his own.
Then, darting nervously to Paul, he seized his hand in the same
manner.
"This is Captain Paul Kendall, commander of the yacht Grace," added
Dr. Winstock.
"I am so pleased to see you!" said Mr. Andersen.
"I have read all your books with the most intense pleasure."
"O, you are too kind, Captain Kendall," replied the genial author,
smiling all over his face, and once more grasping his hand as before.
"Mrs. Kendall," added Paul, presenting Grace.
"I am so pleased to see you! You are very kind to take so much trouble
to visit me."
"Indeed, sir, you are very kind to permit us to trouble you, when you
are so busy," continued Paul.
"O, I have plenty of time to see my good friends."
"In America we love your books, and they are in all our libraries and
most of our houses."
"You are so kind to speak so pleasantly of my works!" replied Mr.
Andersen, grasping Paul's hand again.
"We value them very highly."
The conversation continued for a few moments, in which Paul and the
doctor expressed the high appreciation of the reading public of the
great writer's works. At least a dozen times more he grasped the hand
of the speaker with both his. Mr. Andersen is a tall gentleman, with
a thin face,--the features of which are far from handsome,--and
iron-gray hair. His countenance is always covered with smiles when he
speaks, and his whole manner is child-like and simple. He is full of
the love of God and of man, which seems to shine out in his face, and
to be the interpretation of his ever-present smile. His dress was
scrupulously neat and nice in every detail.
The doctor told him about the Academy squadron, of which he had read a
brief notice in the newspapers, and invited him to visit the ship,
which he promised to do, on the following day. The party took their
leave of him, and continued on the way to Klampenborg. The road was
on the margin of the sea, and was lined with small country houses,
with pleasant gardens. It was a lovely region, with an occasional
large villa, and even a summer palace or two. All along this road,
called the Strandway, are small and large houses of entertainment, on
the sea-side, each one of which has a bathing establishment on a very
small and simple scale.
"Here is Charlottelund Castle, in this park," said Joseph, as they
passed what seemed to be merely a grove, with a rather dilapidated
fence.
"It was formerly the country-seat of the Landgrave of Hesse, I
believe," added Dr. Winstock.
"Yes, sir; but it is now the summer residence of the crown prince. He
comes out here in June."
"These carriages are called 'privateers,'" continued the guide,
pointing to several vehicles like a small omnibus with no top. "They
formerly went by the name of 'coffee-mills,' because they made a noise
like those machines."
Constantia Tea-Garden, where the Copenhageners go to spend the evening
in hot weather, and several fishing villages, were passed, and then
the carriage reached the Deer Park, where the students had already
arrived, which is a very extensive enclosure, with a few roads
extending through it. A portion of it is covered with groves, and
it contains about a thousand deer, which are quite tame, and may
be seen grazing in herds on the gentle slopes. There is nothing very
attractive in the park, though it is much frequented by the people
from the city. Neither the roads nor the grounds are well kept, and
the government "turns an honest penny" by the letting of it out for
the pasturage of horses. On some rising ground, which Denmarkers
call a hill, is a large, square, barn-like building, known as the
"Hermitage," which was built by Christian VI. for a hunting lodge.
This park and that at Charlottelund contain thousands of acres of
excellent land, which is almost useless, and which the government
cannot afford to keep in condition as pleasure-grounds. They would
make thousands of farms, and thus increase the productive industry and
the revenues of the nation, if they could be cut up and sold. Royalty
is an expensive luxury, which a small kingdom like Denmark cannot
afford to support.
Near the entrance to the park is the garden proper of Klampenborg,
where music is provided on summer evenings, and refreshments sold.
What is called a Norwegian house is erected in the middle of the
grounds, which contains a bar and private rooms, and is surrounded
by tables and chairs, where the pleasure-seekers may sit and enjoy
their beer and the music. A small fee for admission is paid at the
gate, where the ticket-seller is kept honest by the aid of the
"control-mark." Near this garden is a hotel built for a water-cure
establishment, though it is now mainly used as a summer
boarding-house. Close by it is a village of small cottages, devoted to
the same use, with concert-rooms and bathing-houses in abundance. This
place is a favorite resort of the Copenhageners in summer,--in fact,
their Newport or Long Branch. For a couple of hours the students
wandered through the park and gardens. The railroad station is very
near the entrance, where, indeed, the whole beauty of the place is
concentrated.
The railway to Klampenborg is a branch of the one which extends from
Copenhagen to Elsinore, and in another hour the entire party were
transported to the latter place. This town has nine or ten thousand
inhabitants, and is located on a basin of the Sound, nearly
land-locked by natural and artificial dikes. The Danish name of the
place is Helsingoer, and is the scene of Shakespeare's tragedy of
Hamlet. The excursionists visited the cathedral, which is the
principal object of interest in Elsinore, and contains several very
old tombs. Near the town, and on the shore of the Sound, is the Castle
of Kronberg, erected in 1580. It is a large, oblong, Gothic structure,
built of a whitish stone. It contains a chapel and other apartments.
Those occupied by the commandant were the prison of Caroline Matilda,
who was confined here for a high crime, of which she is now
universally believed to be innocent.
Under the castle are casemates for a thousand men, one of which is
said to be the abode of _Holger Danske_, who was the Cid Campeador of
Denmark, and the hero of a thousand legends. When the state is in
peril, he is supposed to march at the head of the armies, but never
shows himself at any other time. A farmer, says the story, happened
into his gloomy retreat by accident, and found him seated at a stone
table, to which his long white beard had grown. The mystic hero
demanded the hand of his visitor, who was afraid to trust flesh and
blood in the grasp of one so mighty, and offered the iron bar used to
fasten the door. Holger Danske seized it, and squeezed it so hard that
he left the print of his fingers on the iron.
"Ha, I see there are still _men_ in Denmark!" said he, with a grim
smile of satisfaction.
Near the castle are a couple of natural ponds, small and round, which
are called "Holger Danske's Spectacles."
"This is where Hamlet lived, I suppose," said Captain Lincoln.
"Where Shakespeare says he lived," replied Dr. Winstock.
"But I was told his grave was here."
"Perhaps Hamlet divided himself up, and occupied a dozen graves, for I
think you may find a dozen of them here," laughed the doctor. "A
resident of this vicinity had what was called the grave of Hamlet in
his grounds, which proved to be a nuisance to him, on account of the
great number of visitors who came to see it. In order to relieve
himself of this injury to his garden, he got up another 'grave of
Hamlet,' in another place, which he proved to be the authentic one."
"It is too bad to trifle with history in that manner," protested the
captain.
"There is no history about it, Lincoln. His residence in this part of
Denmark is all a fiction. Shakespeare makes terrible blunders in his
allusions to this place; for there is no 'eastern hill,' no 'dreadful
summit of the cliff,' or anything of the sort. Hamlet lived in
Jutland, not in Seeland, about four centuries before Christ, and was
the son of a pirate chief, instead of a king, who, with his brother,
was governor of the province. He married the daughter of the king,
who was Hamlet's mother. The chief was murdered by his brother, who
married the widow, and was then the sole governor. Hamlet, in order to
avenge his father's death, feigned madness; but his uncle, suspecting
the trick, sent him to England, with a message carved in wood,
requesting the king to destroy him. During the voyage, he obtained the
wooden letter, and altered it so as to make it ask for the killing of
the two men, creatures of his uncle, who had charge of him, which was
done on their arrival. According to the style of romances, he married
the king's daughter, and afterwards returned to Jutland, where, still
pretending insanity, he contrived to surprise and slay his uncle. He
succeeded his victim as governor, and married a second time, to a
queen of Scotland, and was finally killed in battle. The main features
of the tragedy correspond with the incidents of the story, but the
locality is not correct."
The party walked to Marienlyst, a pleasant watering-place, which
contains a small royal chateau. The view from this place, as from the
tower of Kronberg, is very beautiful. At four o'clock the party took
the steamer, and arrived at Copenhagen before dark.