Kitabı oku: «The Modern Vikings», sayfa 11
THE SKERRY OF SHRIEKS
I
People live even within the Polar Circle, although grown-up folks are apt to think it a poor sort of life. But to boys the “land of the midnight sun” is a veritable paradise. Every season of the year has its own kind of sport; and as schoolmasters are rare birds so far north, the boys are to a great extent left to follow their own devices until they are old enough to be sent away to school in the cities. From morning till night the air is filled with a screaming host of birds, which whirl in through the fiords like an approaching snow-storm. The eider-ducks lie gently bobbing upon the water, the black surf-scoters dive in the surf and make short work of the young whiting, and the puffins sit in long soldier-like rows on the rocks, and plunge headlong into the sea at the first signal of danger. In this glorious region the fish and fowl from all quarters of the globe seem to have appointed an annual meeting about New Year’s; and the Norwegian peasants, who are dependent upon the inhabitants of the sea and the air for their living, are on the lookout for them, and hasten to the coast to give them a fitting reception.
Harry Winchester’s motive, however, for visiting the Arctic wonderland was quite a different one. He had made the acquaintance of the Birk boys during the previous summer, and he had struck up a warm friendship with one of them, named Magnus. His parents, who lived in New York, had permitted him to accept the invitation of Mr. Birk to spend the winter with his sons, and Harry was so completely fascinated with the sports and adventures which every day offered in abundance that he would have liked to prolong his stay indefinitely.
Hasselrud, the estate of the Birks, was a fine, old-fashioned mansion, which peeped out from the dense foliage of chestnut and maple trees. Mr. Birk conducted a large business in fish and lumber, and manned every year several boats and sent them to the Lofoten fisheries. His three sons, Olaf, Magnus, and Edwin, were brisk and courageous lads, who had been accustomed to danger from their earliest years, and could handle a gun and manage a sail as well as any man in that region. Olaf was nineteen years old, and wore the uniform of a midshipman in the navy, and by courtesy was styled lieutenant; Magnus, who was sixteen, was a fair-faced, curly-headed lad, with frank blue eyes, a straight, handsome nose, and a singular talent for getting into mischief. Edwin was but twelve years old; but, as he does not figure conspicuously in this narrative, there is no need of describing him. But altogether the most important person at Hasselrud, next to Mr. Birk, was Grim Hering-Luck, a hoary, bow-legged fisherman, who was Mr. Birk’s right-hand man and captain of his boat-guild. Grim had a stern, deep-wrinkled face, framed in a wreath of grayish whiskers. He had small, piercing eyes, and bushy, gray-sprinkled hair. On his head he wore a sou’wester. The seat and knees of his trousers and the elbows of his coat were adorned with great shiny patches of leather. The leathern girdle about his waist did not quite fulfil its duties as suspenders, but allowed the trousers to slip down on his hips, leaving some four inches of shirt visible under the border of the waistcoat. Grim was a gruff old customer, but it was commonly believed that his bark was worse than his bite. He liked the bright American boy better than he cared to confess, and therefore neglected no opportunity for quarrelling with him. In fact, everybody admired Harry’s enterprising spirit and was entertained by his lively talk. Olaf was fairly dazzled by his knowledge and experience of the world, and little Edwin copied his walk and his picturesque recklessness to the extent of his small ability; but among all the family there was no one who was more ardently attached to Harry than Magnus. The two were inseparable; from morning till night they roamed about together, setting traps for hares and ptarmigan, spearing trout in the shallows of the river, trawling for mackerel in the salt water, and sometimes tacking in and out of the fiord in a furious gale. At such times, however, they were sure to have Grim in the boat, and Grim was a capital man to have in a boat in case of an emergency. Thus they spent the beautiful autumn months until the November storms began to blow, the snow began to fall, and the air, when they looked out the fiord, was thick and the sky threatening. The great trees bent in agony and howled in the blast with voices of despair. Then Grim would begin to investigate and to mend the nets which hung in long festoons along the walls of the boat-houses, and, with his friendly grunt, he would say in reply to Magnus’ queries:
“Wal, Mester Yallertop, the Lord he looks out fer them as they look out fer themselves. He puts the cod in the sea, but I never heared of his puttin’ it in yer mouth fer ye. He made the land poor up here, but he made the sea rich, jest fer to make the average right in the end. He lets ye starve like a toothless rat if ye have a taste fer starvin’. But thar ain’t no call for anybody to starve here north, ef he can bait a hook and ain’t afeared of bein’ late to his funeral.”
“Being late to your own funeral, Grim!” Magnus would exclaim, in amazement; “how can a man be late to his funeral?”
“Wal, now, Mester Yallertop, that I’ll tell ye. Fur that ain’t no uncommon case here north. Suppose ye go out in the mornin’ with the fishin’ fleet, and it blows up right lively, and ye don’t never come back again. Then after a week or so the parson reads the sarvice over yer name and prays fer ye, and the next mornin’, likely as not, yer legs drift ashore, quite independent-like, jest because the cod found yer tarred top-boots indergestible.”
“And do such things ever happen, Grim?” the boy would ask, shuddering at the ghastly picture which his friend’s words suggested.
“Do they ever happen? Wal, I reckon they do. I might jest mention to ye that I ain’t in the habit of tellin’ no lies. My father – God ha’e mercy on his soul – he sent only his legs fur to represent him at his funeral; and my grandfather – wal, the cod turned the tables on him; he had meant to eat them, but – it ain’t no use bein’ squeamish about it – they ate him. It war in the great storm of the 11th of February, 1848, when five hundred fisherman cheated the parson out of his funeral fees.”
“How terrible, Grim! How can you go to the fisheries every winter, when both your father and your grandfather lost their lives there?”
“Wal, now ye are puzzlin’ me, Mester Magnus,” Grim replied, taking his clay pipe from the corner of his mouth, and looking up seriously from his labor; “but I’ll tell ye a yarn I heared when I was young. I reckon it is true, because I have never heared nobody say it warn’t. Some city chap axed a fisherman purty much what ye have axed me, and the fisherman says, says he: ‘Whar did yer father die?’ ‘Why, he expired peacefully in his bed,’ said the city chap. ‘And yer grandfather?’ axed the fisherman. ‘Wal, he had jest the same luck,’ says the city chap. ‘And yer great-grandfather?’ ‘He, too, turned up his toes in the same style.’ ‘Wal, now,’ says the fisherman, ‘if I were you I wouldn’t never go to bed again, sence all yer forbears come to their death in it.’ Now, I reckon that is the way with all of us. Ef the Lord wants us he will know whar to find us, wharsoever we be.”
When the Christmas holidays, with all their old-fashioned hospitality and sports, were over the question was seriously debated whether the boys should be permitted to accompany Grim and the housemen (tenants) to the Lofoten fisheries. It was decided that three boats should be manned, and Grim was as usual elected captain of the whole guild. The “tokens” had been uncommonly good this year, and a profitable fishery was expected. Mr. Birk, who well knew the dangers connected with this enterprise, was very unwilling to let the boys start out in the open boats, and suffer the discomforts which were inseparable from the life on these barren islands, where thousands of people were huddled together in booths and shanties, and quarrels and fights were the order of the day. Harry, however, argued that such an experience would scarcely offer itself to him a second time in his life, and that it was easy to avoid danger while still observing all that was interesting and instructive in the lives of the people. Olaf and Magnus, too, added their powers of persuasion to those of Harry, and in the end Mr. Birk (after enjoining a hundred precautions) had to yield, stipulating only that Edwin should remain at home. Grim promised to keep a careful look-out over the movements of the boys, but he refused to be responsible for their safety, because, as he remarked, “they were too lively a lot to be controlled by a stiff-legged old crab like himself.”
It was a gray morning in January that the long eight oared boats were made ready, the chests containing provisions and clothes were placed in the stern, and the sails with a rattling noise flew up and bulged before the wind. The sky had a peculiar whitish-gray color, which has always an ominous look and promises squalls. Yet it was a glorious sensation to feel the boats shooting away over the crests of the waves, dashing the spray like smoke about them and yielding like living things to the slightest prompting of the rudder. Grim himself sat in the stern of the first boat, which the boys had named “The Cormorant,” holding the tiller in his left hand and the sheet in his right. Magnus had found a rather elevated seat in the prow, from whence he could observe the captain’s manœuvres and take lessons in seamanship. Harry and Olaf sat on the middle bench, watching the horizon and seeing the squalls dash down from the mountains and sweep their trails of smoke across the fiord.
“It must be dangerous sailing here, Grim,” Harry observed, uneasily.
“It ain’t no joke – fer goslings,” answered Grim.
“I should think, on the whole, it would be more comfortable for goslings than for men,” retorted Harry, carelessly. “They wouldn’t mind a ducking half as much as I should.”
“If ye are afeard just say so, and I’ll put ye ashore,” said Grim, sternly.
“Afraid!” said Harry, indignantly; “not much, old man; guess I can give you odds any day if you want to try my courage.”
“I want to try ef ye can hold your tongue,” was the captain’s ungracious reply. “I ain’t much for gassin’ on the water.”
Harry, thinking that perhaps the situation was graver than he supposed, failed to resent the snub, and fell again to watching the horizon. They shot away at a tearing speed over the waves, and sometimes “The Cormorant” careened heavily to leeward and shipped a sea, but Grim still made no motion to reef the sail. The other Hasselrud boats, which had kept bravely in the wake of their leader, were now falling behind, and the blinding spray often hid them completely from sight. The fiord was growing wider, and the long “ground swell” showed that they were nearing the ocean. The stormy petrel was seen skimming lightly, half flying, half running, over the tops of the billows, and her shrill scream pierced like a sharp instrument through the deep bass of the wind. The boats round about them multiplied, and a whole fleet of reddish-brown sails was seen steering toward the Lofoten Islands. The day passed without any incident, and when about three o’clock in the afternoon the darkness came rolling in like a gray curtain from the west, Grim put into port and the boys devoured between them a five-pound cod, whereupon they all crawled into the same bunk in a fisherman’s lodging-house and slept the sleep of the just.
The next morning they were aroused before daybreak, and after a frugal repast of coffee and sandwiches were hurried into the boat. The wide ocean now stretched out before them, rolling with a mighty thundering rhythm against the rock-bound coast. A light mist was hovering over the water, but the wind was fair, and hundreds of boats were already scudding northward toward the rich fishing-banks. As soon as the fog rose and was scattered, the invisible sun sent a faint semblance of light up among the low clouds, and immediately thousands of gulls and auks and cormorants were on the wing, and whirled with a wild confusion of screams in the wake of the fishing-fleet. When toward noon the wind slackened a little, Magnus swung out a trawling-line and had almost in the same moment a bite which sent the line whizzing over the gunwale.
“Gracious! I am afraid I have caught a whale,” he shouted, standing up in the boat, and holding on to the line with all his might; but being unable to keep his footing, he flung himself prone across the row-bench and would inevitably have been pulled overboard if Harry and Olaf had not caught hold of him by the legs and told him to let the line go.
“You remind me of the Englishman at the siege of Quebec who had caught three Frenchmen,” said Harry. “I should say it was the whale who had caught you, in the present case, if a whale it is. Now I am going to try my luck,” he added, seizing the wooden frame to which the line was attached just as it was about to fly overboard. He braced himself against the mast and flung his body backward, but the line cut into his hands so terribly that he had to cry for help. Then Olaf was promptly at his side, and by their united efforts they succeeded in hauling in a couple of fathoms; but it was not until one of the boatmen added his strength to theirs that they made any sensible headway. Great was their delight when, at the end of five minutes, they caught sight of an enormous halibut, weighing some forty or fifty pounds, but, as well might be imagined, it was no easy job to get such a monster into the boat without upsetting it. The only way was evidently to tire him out until he lost all power of resistance, and as he had swallowed the metal bait with tremendous vim there was no danger of his escaping.
It was well on toward evening when they put into harbor on the northern coast of Lofoten, where they were to remain while the fisheries lasted. An endless double row of boats stretched along the shore, and behind these the so-called “Hjælder,” or drying-houses, rose in gaunt perspective against the dark sky. Thousands of boats were drawn up along the whole beach, and the smell of fish pervaded the air and seemed even to be borne in on the ocean breeze. Grim, followed by all the men from the three boats, marched up to the Hasselrud booth, which he unlocked, and ordered the temporary cook to make a fire on the hearth and to prepare supper. It was a large empty room, one wall of which was occupied by the hearth and two by rows of bunks, one above the other, resembling the berths in the steerage of an immigrant steamer. It looked cheerless, and the boys, whose expectations had pictured to them something quite different, shivered at the sight of the bare and sooty walls. Nevertheless when the fire had been lighted, and a couple of burning pine knots stuck into the wall, they took heart again and determined to make the best of the situation.
The next morning at daybreak they jumped into their clothes, pulling complete oil-cloth suits on the outside of their ordinary garments. Then fastening their yellow sou’westers under their chins, they surveyed each other with undisguised looks of admiration and began to feel like real fishermen. The breakfast was swallowed in haste, and they scarcely noticed how the hot coffee scalded their mouths, so eager were they to be off. Nevertheless, as they had no nets to draw as yet, they delayed their departure for several hours. It was a raw, cold morning, but the signals at the government station indicated fair but blustery weather. The whole fleet had already started, and the Hasselrud boats were among the last to set sail for the fishing-banks. It was glorious to see the wide ocean studded, as far as the eye could reach, with swelling sails, and the air filled for miles with a screaming host of great, white-winged sea-birds. Round about the whales were spouting, shooting columns of water into the gray light of the morning: and the auks were rocking upon the waves, and vanishing, quick as a flash, as soon as a boat approached them. The fresh sea-breeze blew into the faces of the three boys, and they felt like Norse Vikings of the olden time starting out in search of fame and adventures. It was about twelve o’clock when they arrived at the fishing-banks; the sails were lowered and the nets sunk by means of lead sinkers and stones attached to their lower edge. Wooden floats, similarly attached to their upper edge, held them in position in the water. Grim sat, grave and imperturbable, in the stern, issuing his commands in a voice which rose high above the rushing of the water and the whizzing of the wind, and every man obeyed with a promptness as if his life depended upon it. The sea was so packed with cod that the nets often stopped, gliding slowly over the backs of the fishes, and being again arrested by the myriads of finny creatures below. Often the same net had to be taken up and disentangled several times before it made its way to the bottom. The water was thick with spawn, which clung in long gelatinous ropes to the blades of the oars, and doubled their weight to the rowers. The boys, leaning out over the gunwale, could see the huge male cods winding themselves onward through the dense throngs of females which stood still with their noses against the current, moving their fins, and shedding their spawn. It seemed a positive mercy to haul up a million or so of them, just to make room for the rest.
“I understand now,” exclaimed Harry, “how the Canadians managed to cheat us out of so much money – six millions, more or less, I think – because we had encroached upon their fishing-grounds. I would myself pay a good round sum for sport like this; and the joke of it is that you are making money at it and have all the fun in the bargain.”
“And have ye fisheries in America too, lad?” Grim asked, with visible interest, as he let the last float slip from his hand.
“Have we got fisheries in America? Well, I should say we had, old man,” said Harry, fired with patriotic ardor. “You just tell me what we haven’t got in America. If you’ll come over and see I shall be happy to entertain you.”
“Ye are safe in invitin’ me, lad,” Grim retorted, biting a quid from his roll of tobacco. “A purty figger an old sea-dog like me would make in your ma’s carpeted parlor.”
Harry in his heart admitted the force of this remark, and he laughed to himself at the thought of Grim’s ungainly form seated in one of his mother’s spindle-legged blue satin chairs; but, for all that, he liked Grim too much to wish to offend him, and therefore stuck bravely to his invitation, insisting that it was sincerely meant. As they were amicably squabbling, the sun suddenly burst forth, and flung its dazzling radiance upon the ocean. The noise of the sea-birds grew louder, making the vast vault of the sky alive with countless varieties of screams. The fishes leaped, the whales spouted lustily, the stormy petrel danced over the crests of the billows; thousands of boats lay bobbing up and down on the waves, while the lines were being baited; a thousand voices shouted to each other from boat to boat; oars and rudders rattled, and the wind sang in the mast-tops. It was a scene which once seen could never be forgotten.
II
Long before the Hasselrud men had their lines set the whole fleet had rowed back toward land. But Grim’s boat-guild, which had just arrived, and had as yet no nets to draw, lingered for a while eating their dinner, which they had brought with them in the boats. They chatted and told stories about Draugen, the sea-bogey, who rows in a half boat, and whose scream sounds terribly through the tempest. Any man who sees him knows that he will never see land again. Draugen is only out in the worst weather; he has a sou’wester on his head, his face is white and ghastly as death itself, and his empty eye-sockets have no eyes in them. The boys shuddered at the horrible picture which was conjured up before them, and it was a relief to them when the time came for pulling up the lines, and the great codfishes were hauled sprawling into the boat; each one had plenty to do now in cutting out the hooks and in winding the lines upon their frames. A smart gale had sprung up while they were thus engaged, and Grim began to look wistfully at the lurid sunset.
“The sun draws water,” he said; “that means lively weather. Hoist the sails, lads, and let us turn our noses shoreward.”
He had hardly uttered his command when a thick curtain seemed to be drawn across the face of the sun, and the sea became black as ink.
“Clew up the sail!” he shouted, in a voice of thunder; “we are in for it.”
With a roar as of a chorus of cataracts the storm advanced, lashing the water into smoke which whirled heavenward, making the sky dense as night. The masts creaked, the boats tore away with a frantic speed, and the waves rose mountain-high, with steep, black gulfs between them.
“Cap’n,” one of the men ventured to remonstrate, “are we not carryin’ too much sail?”
Grim deigned him no reply, but, with a sharp turn of the tiller, ran The Cormorant closer to the wind. Forward bounded the boat, cleaving the coming wave with a blow of her bows which made her timbers groan. The spray was dashed fathoms high, and would have drenched every man on board if his oil-skins had not been water-tight. Of the other boats only two were visible, and it was splendid to see how they rose out of one sea, until half the length of their keels were visible, then buried their noses in the next, while great sheets of foam splashed on either side, and were torn into shreds by the gale.
“This is rather lively work, I should say,” remarked the midshipman. “I think I should prefer a man-of-war to The Cormorant in this sort of weather.”
“I confess to a weakness for Cunarders,” said Harry; “yet I dare say I shall enjoy this affair well enough when we get safely ashore.”
“You mean if we get safely ashore,” said Magnus, quietly. “This has rather an ugly look to me. Though I dare say Grim knows what he is about.”
He had scarcely spoken when a harsh voice bellowed, “Lay hold of the mast, lads!” and in the same moment they seemed to be flung to a dizzying height; a huge wave towered in front, showing a white whirling top which seemed on the point of breaking right over them. They had just time to clasp the mast when the boat, lying flat on her side, pressed down by her weight of canvas, plunged her nose into this mountain of water, but by some astonishing manœuvre righted herself, slid down within another black hollow, and again rose high on the crest of another wave.
“All hands bail!” roared the captain.
The command came not a moment too soon; the water was rushing in from the leeward, and the flying wreaths of foam struck the boy’s faces with a terrible force and made them smart furiously.
“Grim! Grim!” shouted Olaf, making himself heard with a difficulty above the storm, “you are carrying too much sail.”
“Hold your tongue, gosling,” Grim thundered back; “we have got nothin’ but the sail fer to save us.”
“What point are you making for?”
“The Bird Islands.”
“I thought there was no harbor there.”
“Reckon ye be right.”
“Gracious heavens!” cried Olaf, turning a terrified countenance toward his comrades; “he means to wreck the boat; but he knows what he is about. There is no other chance.”
He sat for a moment silent, gazing up into the cloud rack which scudded along at a furious rate before the wind. Strips of storm-riven sky, with momentary vistas of blue, were now and then visible, but vanished again, making the dusk more dismal by their memory.
“Breakers ahead!” shouted Olaf, “look out!”
“I see a black ridge against the sky,” cried Harry; “now it is gone again!”
He was going to say more, but the wind came with a howling screech and forced his breath down his throat. He gasped, and as the boat gave a tremendous lurch, diving down into a black hollow, he could only cling to the base of the mast, lest the next tumble might toss him overboard. The sound of a steady rhythmic roar rose and fell upon the air, and made them strain their eyes in the direction from which it was coming.
“Why, Grim, you are steering away from the island,” Magnus screamed, pointing to the black ridge which was, once more, for a moment revealed.
“He means to land us on the leeward side,” Olaf bawled in his brother’s ear; “the chances are that the water is there a bit smoother.”
To reach the leeward side was, however, a task which required no mean order of seamanship. The distance was too short for tacking, and moreover the water was filled with blind rocks and skerries which made the approach tenfold dangerous. It seemed to the unskilled eyes of the boys that for nearly half an hour The Cormorant was tumbling aimlessly upon the waves, shipping seas which it was a wonder did not swamp her, and righting herself, as by a miracle, when again and again she seemed on the point of capsizing. And yet all these wonderful feats were only the result of the coolest calculation and the most consummate skill.
Just as they were clearing the hidden skerries at the western point of the island the wind veered a point to the north, but did not fall off perceptibly. The spray rose from the shore like a dense and blinding smoke, and in the depths of every black abyss which opened before them death’s jaws seemed to be yawning. Harry closed his eyes; and though he was no coward, his heart failed him.
“What is the use of fighting any longer?” he said to Magnus, who was lying at his side, clinging like him to the mast; “we are going to the bottom, any way. The archangel Gabriel himself couldn’t land us on this shore, with all the heavenly hosts to assist him.”
“But Grim is a better sailor than Gabriel,” Magnus replied, quite unconscious of his joke. “He knows every inch of the bottom here from the time he was a boy and used to row out here and gather eider-down. He has told me about it often. If I were you I wouldn’t give up yet.”
“All right, old fellow,” Harry answered, taking heart once more. “I am ready for anything. But I am an unlucky chap – a sort of a Jonah, who has a talent for getting into scrapes. I shouldn’t wonder if, in case you threw me overboard, the storm would fall off and you might sail home in comfortable fashion.”
“We mean to go overboard, all of us, in a few minutes,” Magnus retorted, hugging Harry tightly with his left arm, which he had freed for that purpose. “Now I am going to propose something to you. Let us tie ourselves together with a rope so that each may help the other; and we may either live or perish together.”
“I am afraid you would be the loser by that arrangement,” his friend exclaimed. “You are a good deal stronger than I am, and you will need every bit of your strength if you are to plow your way through those awful breakers.”
Magnus, instead of answering, slipped the end of a rope about Harry’s waist and secured it tightly; the other end he tied about his own waist, although he came near losing his balance, and going headlong over the gunwale. The Cormorant had now slipped around to the leeward side of the island, where, under the shelter of the steep rock, the water was a trifle less tumultuous. And yet a gigantic surf was running and the undertow on the steeply sloping bottom seemed strong enough to take an elephant off his feet. The wind yelled and screeched from the top of the towering rock, and rushed down in thundering eddies on the leeward side. If it had not been for a momentary clearing of the sky, which showed the position of the breakers and the outline of the shore, it would have been madness to risk landing; and even as it was, the chance of being dashed to pieces against the rocks seemed altogether to preponderate. But Grim apparently took a different view of the situation; as long as the sail was whole and the boat true to her rudder he saw no cause for despair.
“Now, lads,” he roared, hoarsely, “steady on yer shanks. No chicken-hearted chap among ye! Uncoil the rope! Thar’s a bit of sandy beach thar – sixty or a hundred feet wide. If we be in luck we’ll be thar in a minute.”
The ridge of the island was now half visible against the dark horizon, but the beach below was wrapped in a dense smoke, through which came glimpses of the black jagged rock.
“Almighty Lord! thar’s a skerry ahead,” screamed one of the boatmen, as the retreating surf broke with a wild uproar over the hidden rock and rose like a mighty water-spout against the sky. There was a moment of breathless suspense. Each man seemed to hear the beating of the other’s heart. As the boat was flung upward again on the next wave, the wind gave a frantic shriek; the mast bent forward under the terrible strain. The incoming surf buried the skerry under a mountain of towering water, and high upon its crest The Cormorant rode triumphant, only to be hurled from its crest, fairly shooting through the air, upon the beach.
“Jump overboard!” bellowed Grim, and seizing Magnus in his arms he leaped from the stern just as the boat struck the sand and broke into fragments. Every man followed his example; but the undertow swept them off their feet. Still Grim stood like a rock, holding with his gigantic strength the rope to the other end of which Harry was attached. Once he tottered, and if he had had sand under his feet he would have been dragged down by his double burden. But by a lucky chance he had planted his heels upon a bowlder which rose slightly out of the surf. When the wildest force of the wave had been exhausted he sprang up on the beach, depositing Magnus and the half-unconscious Harry beyond the reach of the waves. Back he rushed again to his former station, just as one of the boatmen, who had momentarily regained his footing, was scrambling up toward him.
