Dry Fish and Wet Part 41

Those on board found themselves comfortable enough, the skipper being for the most part ash.o.r.e. This, however, was hardly fortunate for the owner, as Nils Petter's sh.o.r.e-going disburs.e.m.e.nts were by no means inconsiderable, including, as they did, little occasional extras, such as 2, 10s. for a plate-gla.s.s 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 the _Eva Maria_ was 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 the _Eva Maria_ then 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 ash.o.r.e, 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 s.h.i.+pping trade just now. The parson, indeed, never heard anything else, as his paris.h.i.+oners 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, "The _Eva Maria's_ never 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 the _Eva Maria_ as 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 port Bernt 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 the _Eva Maria_ was 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----" and made 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 fas.h.i.+on--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 the _Eva 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.

XVIII

THE _HENRIK IBSEN_

"Well, and what are you doing with that brat of yours, _Birkebeineren_," asked Hansen the s.h.i.+pbroker, 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 steamboat yourself, 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 for _Birkebeineren_.

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.