will drink a little more if you are willing to give it to me."
"There is no more here, but we can get some at our depot of provisions.
We have two large cases of brandy there," answered Erik, handing the
bottle to Mr. Hersebom.
The latter immediately walked away, followed by Kaas.
"They will not be gone long," said the young man, turning toward his
companion. "Now, my brave fellow, do not make merchandise of your
confidence. Put yourself in my place. Suppose that during all your life
you had been ignorant of the name of your country, and that of your
mother, and that at last you found yourself in the presence of a man who
knew all about it, and who refused the information which was of such
inestimable value to you, and that at the very time when you had saved
him, restored him to consciousness and life. I do not ask you to do
anything impossible. I do not ask you to criminate yourself if you have
anything to reproach yourself with. Give me only an indication, the very
slightest. Put me on the track, so that I can find my family; and that
is all that I shall ask of you."
"By my faith, I will do you this favor!" said Patrick, evidently moved.
"You know that I was a cabin-boy on board the 'Cynthia'?"
He stopped short.
Erik hung upon his words. Was he at last going to find out the truth?
Was he going to solve this enigma and discover the name of his family,
the land of his birth? Truly the scene appeared to him almost
chimerical. He fastened his eyes upon the wounded man, ready to drink in
his words with avidity. For nothing in the world would he have
interfered with his recital, neither by interruption nor gesture. He did
not even observe that a shadow had appeared behind him. It was the sight
of this shadow which had stopped the story of Patrick O'Donoghan.
"Mr. Jones!" he said, in the tone of a school-boy detected in some
flagrant mischief.
Erik turned and saw Tudor Brown coming around a neighboring hummock,
where until this moment he had been hidden from their sight.
The exclamation of the Irishman confirmed the suspicion which during the
last hour had presented itself to his mind.
Mr. Jones and Tudor Brown were one and the same person.
He had hardly time to make this reflection before two shots were heard.
Tudor Brown raised his gun and shot Patrick O'Donoghan through the
heart, who fell backward.
Then before he had time to lower his rifle, Tudor Brown received a
bullet in his forehead, and fell forward on his face.
"I did well to come back when I saw suspicious footprints in the snow,"
said Mr. Hersebom, coming forward, his gun still smoking in his hands.
CHAPTER XX.
THE END OF THE VOYAGE.
Erik gave a cry and threw himself on his knees beside Patrick
O'Donoghan, seeking for some sign of life, a ray of hope. But the
Irishman was certainly dead this time, and that without revealing his
secret.
As for Tudor Brown, one convulsion shook his body, his gun fell from his
hands, in which he had tightly held it at the moment of his fall, and he
expired without a word.
"Father, what have you done?" cried Erik, bitterly. "Why have you
deprived me of the last chance that was left to me of discovering the
secret of my birth? Would it not have been better for us to throw
ourselves upon this man and take him prisoner?"
"And do you believe that he would have allowed us to do so?" answered
Mr. Hersebom. "His second shot was intended for you, you may be sure. I
have avenged the murder of this unfortunate man, punished the criminal
who attempted to shipwreck us, and who is guilty perhaps of other
crimes. Whatever may be the result, I do not regret having done so.
Besides of what consequence is the mystery surrounding your birth, my
child, to men in our situation? The secret of your birth before long,
without doubt, will be revealed to us by God."
He had hardly finished speaking, when the firing of a cannon was heard,
and it was re-echoed by the icebergs. It seemed like a reply to the
discouraging words of the old fisherman. It was doubtless a response to
the two gunshots which had been fired on their island of ice.
"The cannon of the 'Alaska!' We are saved!" cried Erik, jumping up and
climbing a hummock to get a better view of the sea that surrounded them.
He saw nothing at first but the icebergs, driven by the wind and
sparkling in the sunshine. But Mr. Hersebom, who had immediately
reloaded his gun, fired into the air, and a second discharge from the
cannon answered him almost immediately.
Then Erik discovered a thin streak of black smoke toward the west,
clearly defined against the blue sky. Gunshots, answered by the cannon,
were repeated at intervals of a few minutes, and soon the "Alaska"
steamed around an iceberg and made all speed toward the north of the
island.
Erik and Mr. Hersebom, weeping for joy, threw themselves into each
other's arms. They waved their handkerchiefs and threw their caps into
the air, seeking by all means to attract the attention of their friends.
At length the "Alaska" stopped, a boat was lowered, and in twenty
minutes it reached their island.
Who can describe the unbounded joy of Dr. Schwaryencrona, Mr. Bredejord,
Mr. Malarius, and Otto when they found them well and safe; for through
the long hours of that sad night they had mourned them as lost.
They related all that had befallen them--their fears and despair during
the night, their vain appeals, their useless anger. The "Alaska" had
been found in the morning to be almost entirely clear of the ice, and
they had dislodged what remained with the assistance of their gunpowder.
Mr. Bosewitz had taken command, being the second-officer, and had
immediately started in search of the floating island, taking the
direction in which the wind would carry it. This navigation amidst
floating icebergs was the most perilous which the "Alaska" had as yet
attempted; but thanks to the excellent training to which the young
captain had accustomed his crew, and to the experience which they had
acquired in maneuvering the vessel, they passed safely among these
moving masses of ice without being crushed by them. The "Alaska" had had
the advantage of being able to travel more swiftly than the icebergs,
and she had been able to benefit by this circumstance. Kind Providence
had willed that her search should not prove fruitless. At nine o'clock
in the morning the island had been sighted. They recognized it by its
shape, and then the two shots from the guns made them hopeful of finding
their two shipwrecked friends.
All their other troubles now appeared to them as insignificant. They had
a long and dangerous voyage before them, which they must accomplish
under sail, for their coal was exhausted.
"No," said Erik, "we will not make it under sail. I have another plan.
We will permit the ice island to tow us along, as long as she goes
toward the south or west. That will spare us incessantly fighting with
the icebergs, for our island will chase them ahead of her. Then we can
collect here all the combustibles that we will require in order to
finish the voyage, when we are ready to resume it."
"What are you talking about?" asked the doctor, laughing. "Is there an
oil-well on this island?"
"Not exactly an oil-well," answered Erik, "but what will answer our
purpose nearly as well, multitudes of fat walruses. I wish to try an
experiment, since we have one furnace especially adapted for burning
oil."
They began their labors by performing the last rites of the two dead
men. They tied weights to their feet and lowered them into the sea. Then
the "Alaska" made fast to the ice bank in such a manner as to follow its
movements without sustaining any injury to herself. They were able, with
care, to carry on board again the provisions which they had landed, and
which it was important for them not to lose. That operation
accomplished, they devoted all their energies to the pursuit of the
walrus.
Two or three times a day, parties armed with guns and harpoons and
accompanied by all their Greenland dogs landed on the ice bank, and
surrounded the sleeping monsters at the mouth of their holes. They
killed them by firing a ball into their ears, then they cut them up, and
placed the lard with which they were filled in their sleighs, and the
dogs drew it to the "Alaska." Their hunting was so easy and so
productive, that in eight days they had all the lard that they could
carry. The "Alaska," still towed by the floating island, was now in the
seventy-fourth degree; that is to say, she had passed Nova Zembla.
The ice island was now reduced at least one-half, and cracked by the sun
was full of fissures, more or less extensive, evidently ready to go to
pieces. Erik resolved not to wait until this happened, and ordering
their anchor to be lifted, he sailed away westward.
The lard was immediately utilized in the fire of the "Alaska," and
proved an excellent combustible. The only fault was that it choked up
the chimney, which necessitated a daily cleaning. As for its odor, that
would doubtless have been very disagreeable to southern passengers, but
to a crew composed of Swedes and Norwegians, it was only a secondary
inconvenience.
Thanks to this supply, the "Alaska" was able to keep up steam during the
whole of the remainder of her voyage. She proceeded rapidly, in spite of
contrary winds, and arrived on the 5th of September in sight of Cape
North or Norway. They pursued their route with all possible speed,
turned the Scandinavian Peninsula, repassed Skager-Rack, and reached the
spot from which they had taken their departure.
On the 14th of September they cast anchor before Stockholm, which they
had left on the tenth of the preceding February.
Thus, in seven months and four days, the first circumpolar periplus had
been accomplished by a navigator of only twenty-two years of age.
This geographical feat, which so promptly completed the great expedition
of Nordenskiold, would soon make a prodigious commotion in the world.
But the journals and reviews had not as yet had time to expatiate upon
it. The uninitiated were hardly prepared to understand it, and one
person, at least, reviewed it with suspicion--this was Kajsa. The
supercilious smile with which she listened to the story of their
adventures was indescribable.
"Was it sensible to expose yourself to such dangers?" was her only
comment.
But the first opportunity that presented itself she did not fail to say
to Erik:
"I suppose that now you will do nothing more about this tiresome matter,
since the Irishman is dead."
What a difference there was between these cold criticisms and the
letters full of sympathy and tenderness that Erik soon received from
Noroe.
Vanda told him in what a state of anxiety she and her mother had passed
these long months, how the travelers had been ever present in their
thoughts, and how happy they were when they heard of their safe return.
If the expedition had not accomplished all that Erik hoped, they begged
him not to worry himself too much about it. He must know that if he
never succeeded in finding his own family he had one in the poor
Norwegian village, where he would be tenderly cared for like one of
themselves. Would he not soon come and see them, could he not stay with
them one little month. It was the sincere desire of his adopted mother
and of his little sister Vanda, etc., etc.
The envelope also contained three pretty flowers, gathered on the
borders of the fiord, and their perfume seemed to bring back vividly to
Erik his gay and careless childhood. Ah, how sweet these loving words
were to his poor disappointed heart, and they enabled him to fulfill
more easily the concluding duties appertaining to the expedition. He
hoped soon to be able to go and tell them all he felt. The voyage of the
"Alaska" had equaled in grandeur that of the "Vega." The name of Erik
was everywhere associated with the glorious name of Nordenskiold. The
journals had a great deal to say about the new periplus. The ships of
all nations anchored at Stockholm united in doing honor to this national
victor. The learned societies came in a body to congratulate the
commander and crew of the "Alaska." The public authorities proposed a
national recompense for them.
All these praises were painful to Erik. His conscience told him that the
principal motive of this expedition on his part had been purely a
personal one, and he felt scrupulous about accepting honors which
appeared to him greatly exaggerated. He therefore availed himself of the
first opportunity to state frankly that he had gone to the polar seas to
discover if possible the secret of his birth, and of the shipwreck of
the "Cynthia," that he had been unsuccessful in doing so.
The occasion was offered by a reporter of one of the principal
newspapers of Stockholm, who presented himself on board of the "Alaska"
and solicited the favor of a private interview with the young captain.
The object of this intelligent gazeteer, let us state briefly, was to
extract from his victim the outlines of a biography which would cover
one hundred lines. He could not have fallen on a subject more willing to
submit to vivisection. Erik had been eager to tell the truth, and to
proclaim to the world that he did not deserve to be regarded as a second
Christopher Columbus. He therefore related unreservedly his story,
explaining how he had been picked up at sea by a poor fisherman of
Noroe, educated by Mr. Malarius, taken to Stockholm by Dr.
Schwaryencrona; how they had found out that Patrick O'Donoghan probably
held the key to the mystery that surrounded him. They discovered that he
was on board of the "Vega;" they had gone in search of him. He related
the accident which had induced them to change their route. Erik told all
this to convince the world that he was no hero. He told it because he
felt ashamed of being so overwhelmed with praises for a performance that
only seemed to him natural and right.
During this time the pen of the delighted reporter, Mr. Squirrelius,
flew over the paper with stenographic rapidity. The dates, the names,
the least details were noted with avidity. Mr. Squirrelius told himself
with a beating heart that he had obtained matter not only for one
hundred lines, but that he could make five or six hundred out of it. And
what a story it would be--more interesting than a novel!
The next day Erik's revelations filled the columns of the most largely
circulated newspaper in Stockholm, and indeed in all Sweden. As is
usually the case, Erik's sincerity, instead of diminishing his
popularity, only increased it, on account of his modesty, and the
romantic interest attached to his history. The press and the public
seized upon it with avidity. These biographical details were soon
translated into all languages, and made the tour of Europe. In this way
they reached Paris, and penetrated in the form of a French newspaper
into a modest drawing-room on Varennes Street.
There were two persons in this room. One was a lady dressed in black,
with white hair, although she still appeared to be young, but her whole
appearance betrayed profound sorrow. Seated under a lighted lamp she
worked mechanically at some embroidery, which at times fell from her
thin fingers, while her eyes, fixed on vacancy, seemed to be thinking of
some overwhelming calamity.
On the other side of the table sat a fine-looking old gentleman, who
took the newspaper abstractedly which his servant brought in.
It was Mr. Durrien, the honorary consul-general of the geographical
society, the same person who had been at Brest when the "Alaska" reached
that place.
This was doubtless the reason why Erik's name attracted his notice, but
while reading the article carefully which contained the biography for the
young Swedish navigator, he was startled. Then he read it again
carefully, and little by little an intense pallor spread over his face,
which was always pale. His hands trembled nervously, and his uneasiness
became so evident that his companion noticed it.
"Father, are you suffering?" she asked with solicitude.
"I believe it is too warm here--I will go to the library and get some
fresh air. It is nothing; it will pass off," answered Mr. Durrien,
rising and walking into the adjoining room.
As if by accident, he carried the paper with him.
If his daughter could have read his thoughts, she would have known that
amidst the tumults of hopes and fears that so agitated him was also a
determination not to let her eyes rest upon that paper.
A moment later she thought of following him into the library, but she
imagined that he wished to be alone, and discreetly yielded to his
desire. Besides she was soon reassured by hearing him moving about and
opening and closing the window.
At the end of an hour, she decided to look in, and see what Mr. Durrien
was doing. She found that he was seated before his desk writing a
letter. But she did not see that us he wrote his eyes filled with tears.
CHAPTER XXI.
A LETTER FROM PARIS.
Since his return to Stockholm, Erik had received every day from all
parts of Europe a voluminous correspondence. Some learned society wished
for information on some point, or wrote to congratulate him; foreign
governments wished to bestow upon him some honor or recompense;
ship-owners, or traders, solicited some favor which would serve their
interests.
Therefore he was not surprised when he received one morning two letters
bearing the Paris postmark.
The first that he opened was an invitation from the Geographical Society
of France, asking him and his companions to come and receive a handsome
medal, which had been voted in a solemn conclave "to the navigators of
the first circumpolar periplus of the arctic seas."
The second envelope made Erik start, he looked at it. On the box which
closed it was a medallion upon which the letters "E.D." were engraved,
surrounded by the motto "Semper idem."
These initials and devices were also stamped in the corner of the letter
enclosed in the envelope, which was that from Mr. Durrien.
The letter read as follows:
"My dear child,--Let me call you this in any case. I have just read
in a French newspaper a biography translated from the Swedish
language, which has overcome me more than I can tell you. It was
your account of yourself. You state that you were picked up at sea
about twenty-two years ago by a Norwegian fisherman in the
neighborhood of Bergen; that you were tied to a buoy, bearing the
name of 'Cynthia;' that the especial motive of your arctic voyage
was to find a survivor of the vessel of that name--ship wrecked in
October, 1858; and then you state that you have returned from the
voyage without having been able to gain any information about the
matter.
"If all this is true (oh, what would I not give if it is true!), I
ask you not to lose a moment in running to the telegraph office and
letting me know it. In that case, my child, you can understand my
impatience, my anxiety, and my joy. In that case you are my
grandson, for whom I have mourned so many years, whom I believed
lost to me forever, as did also my daughter, my poor daughter, who,
broken-hearted at the tragedy of the 'Cynthia,' still mourns every
day for her only child--the joy and consolation at first of her
widowhood, but afterward the cause of her despair.
"But we shall see you again alive, covered with glory. Such
happiness is too great, too wonderful. I dare not believe it until
a word from you authorizes me to do so. But now it seems so
probable, the details and dates agree so perfectly, your
countenance and manners recall so vividly those of my unfortunate
son-in-law. Upon the only occasion when chance led me into your
society, I felt myself mysteriously drawn toward you by a deep and
sudden sympathy. It seems impossible that there should be no reason
for this.
"One word, telegraph me one word. I do not know how to exist until
I hear from you. Will it be the response that I wait for so
impatiently? Can you bring such happiness to my poor daughter and
myself as will cause us to forget our past years of tears and
mourning?
"E. DURRIEN, Honorary Consul-general,
"104 Rue de Varennes, Paris."
To this letter was added one of explanation, that Erik devoured eagerly.
It was also in Mr. Durrien's handwriting, and read as follows:
"I was the French consul at New Orleans when my only daughter,
Catherine, married a young Frenchman, Mr. George Durrien, a distant
connection, and, like ourselves, of Breton origin. Mr. George
Durrien was a mining engineer. He had come to the United States to
explore the recently discovered mines of petroleum and intended to
remain several years. I received him into my family--he being the
son of a dear friend--and when he asked for my daughter's hand, I
gave her to him with joy. Shortly after their marriage I was
appointed consul to Riga; and my son-in-law being detained by
business interests in the United States, I was obliged to leave my
daughter. She became a mother, and to her son was given my
Christian name, united to that of his father--Emile Henry Georges.
"Six months afterward my son-in-law was killed by an accident in
the mines. As soon as she could settle up his affairs, my poor
daughter, only twenty years of age, embarked at New York on the
'Cynthia' for Hamburg, to join me by the most direct route.
"On the 7th of October, 1858, the 'Cynthia' was shipwrecked off the
Faroe Islands. The circumstances of the shipwreck were suspicious,
and have never been explained.
"At the moment of the disaster, when the passengers were taking
their places one by one in the boat, my little grandson, seven
months old--whom his mother had tied to a buoy for safety--slipped
or was pushed into the sea, and was carried away by the storm and
disappeared. His mother, crazed by this frightful spectacle, tried
to throw herself into the sea. She was prevented by main force and
placed in a fainting condition in one of the boats, in which were
three other persons, and who had alone escaped from the shipwrecked
vessel. In forty-nine hours this boat reached one of the Faroe
Islands. From there my daughter returned to me after a dangerous
illness which lasted seven weeks, thanks to the devoted attentions
of the sailor who saved her and who brought her to me. This brave
man, John Denman, died in my service in Asia Minor.
"We had but little hope that the baby had survived the shipwreck. I,
however, sought for him among the Faroe and Shetland Islands, and
upon the Norwegian coast north of Bergen. The idea of his cradle
floating any further seemed impossible, but I did not give up my
search for three years; and Noroe must be a very retired spot, or
surely some inquiries would have been made there. When I had given
up all hope I devoted myself exclusively to my daughter, whose
physical and moral health required great attention. I succeeded in
being sent to the Orient, and I sought, by traveling and scientific
enterprises, to draw off her thoughts from her affliction. She has
been my inseparable companion sharing all my labors, but I have
never been able to lighten her incurable grief. We returned to
France, and we now live in Paris in an old house which I own.
"Will it be my happiness to receive there my grandson, for whom we
have mourned so many years? This hope fills me with too much joy,
and I dare not speak of it to my daughter, until I am assured of
its truth; for, if it should prove false, the disappointment would
be too cruel.
"To-day is Monday: they tell me at the post-office that by next
Saturday I can receive your answer."
Erik had hardly been able to read this, for the tears would obscure his
sight. He also felt afraid to yield too quickly to the hope which had
been so suddenly restored to him. He told himself that every detail
coincided--the dates agreed; all the events down to the most minute
particulars. He hardly dared to believe, however, that it could be true.
It was too much happiness to recover in a moment his family, his own
mother, his country. And such a country--the one that he could have
chosen above all because she possessed the grandeur, the graces, the
supreme gifts of humanity--because she had fostered genius, and the
civilization of antiquity, and the discoveries and inventions of modern
times.
He was afraid that he was only dreaming. His hopes had been so often
disappointed. Perhaps the doctor would say something to dispel his
illusions. Before he did anything he would submit these facts to his
cooler judgment.
The doctor read the documents attentively which he carried to him, but
not without exclamations of joy and surprise.
"You need not feel the slightest doubt!" he said, when he had finished.
"All the details agree perfectly, even those that your correspondent
omits to mention, the initials on the linen, the device engraved on the
locket, which are the same as those on the letter. My dear child, you
have found your family this time. You must telegraph immediately to your
grandfather!"
"But what shall I tell him?" asked Erik, pale with joy.
"Tell him that to-morrow you will set out by express, to go and embrace
him and your mother!"
The young captain only took time to press the hands of this excellent
man, and he ran and jumped into a cab to hasten to the telegraph office.
He left Stockholm that same day, took the railroad to Malmo on the
north-west coast of Sweden, crossed the strait in twenty minutes,
reached Copenhagen, took the express train through to Holland and
Belgium, and at Brussels the train for Paris.
On Saturday, at seven o'clock in the evening, exactly six days after Mr.
Durrien had posted his letter, he had the joy of waiting for his
grandson at the depot.
As soon as the train stopped they fell into each other's arms. They had
thought so much about each other during these last few days that they
both felt already well acquainted.
"My mother?" asked Erik.
"I have not dared to tell her, much as I was tempted to do so!" answered
Mr. Durrien.
"And she knows nothing yet?"
"She suspects something, she fears, she hopes. Since your dispatch I
have done my best to prepare her for the unheard-of joy that awaits her.
I told her of a track upon which I had been placed by a young Swedish
officer, the one whom I had met at Brest, and of whom I had often spoken
to her. She does not know, she hesitates to hope for any good news, but
this morning at breakfast I could see her watching me, and two or three
times I felt afraid that she was going to question me. One can not tell,
something might have happened to you, some other misfortune, some sudden
mischance. So I did not dine with her to-night, I made an excuse to
escape from a situation intolerable to me."
Without waiting for his baggage, they departed in the -coup- that Mr.
Durrien had brought.
Mme. Durrien, alone in the parlor in Varennes Street, awaited
impatiently the return of her father. She had had her suspicions
aroused, and was only waiting until the dinner hour arrived to ask for
an explanation.
For several days she had been disturbed by his strange behavior, by the
dispatches which were continually arriving, and by the double meaning
which she thought she detected beneath all he said. Accustomed to talk
with him about his lightest thoughts and impressions, she could not
understand why he should seek to conceal anything from her. Several
times she had been on the point of demanding a solution of the enigma,
but she had kept silence, out of respect for the evident wishes of her
father.
"He is trying to prepare me for some surprise, doubtless," she said to
herself. "He is sure to tell me if anything pleasant has occurred."
But for the last two or three days, especially that morning, she had
been impressed with a sort of eagerness which Mr. Durrien displayed in
all his manner, as well as the happy air with which he regarded her,
insisting in hearing over and over again from her lips, all the details
of the disaster of the "Cynthia," which he had avoided speaking of for a
long time. As she mused over his strange behavior a sort of revelation
came to her. She felt sure that her father must have received some
favorable intelligence which had revived the hope of finding her child.
But without the least idea that he had already done so, she determined
not to retire that night until she had questioned him closely.
Mme. Durrien had never definitely renounced the idea that her son was
living. She had never seen him dead before her eyes, and she clung
mother-like to the hope that he was not altogether lost to her. She said
that the proofs were insufficient, and she nourished the possibility of
his sudden return. She might be said to pass her days waiting for him.
Thousands of women, mothers of soldiers and sailors, pass their lives
under this touching delusion. Mrs. Durrien had a greater right than they
had to preserve her faith in his existence. In truth the tragical scene
enacted twenty-two years ago was always before her eyes. She beheld the
"Cynthia" filling with water and ready to sink. She saw herself tying
her infant to a large buoy while the passengers and sailors were rushing
for the boats. They left her behind, she saw herself imploring,
beseeching that they would at least take her baby. A man took her
precious burden, and threw it into one of the boats, a heavy sea dashed
over it, and to her horror she saw the buoy floating away on the crest
of the waves. She gave a dispairing cry and tried to jump after him,
then came unconsciousness. When she awoke she was a prey to despair, to
fever, to delirium. To this succeeded increasing grief. Yes, the poor
woman recalled all this. Her whole being had in fact received a shock
from which she had never recovered. It was now nearly a quarter of a
century since this had happened, and Mrs. Durrien still wept for her son
as on the first day. Her maternal heart so full of grief was slowly
consuming her life. She sometimes pictured to herself her son passing
through the successive phases of infancy, youth, and manhood. From year
to year she represented to herself how he would have looked, how he was
looking, for she obstinately clung to her belief of the possibility of
his return.
This vain hope nothing had as yet had the power to shake--neither
travels, nor useless researches, nor the passage of time.
This is why this evening she awaited her father with the firm resolution
of knowing all that he had to tell.
Mr. Darrien entered. He was followed by a young gentleman, whom he
presented to her in the following words:
"My daughter, this is Mr. Erik Hersebom, of whom I have often spoken to
you, and who has just arrived at Paris. The Geographical Society wish to
bestow upon him a grand medal, and he has done me the honor to accept
our hospitality."
She had arisen from her arm-chair, and was looking kindly at him.
Suddenly her eyes dilated, her lips trembled, and she stretched out her
hands toward him.
"My son! you are my son!" she cried.
Then she advanced a step toward Erik.
"Yes, you are my child," she said. "Your father lives over again in
you!"
When Erik, bursting into tears, fell on his knees before her, the poor
woman took his head in her hands, and fainted from joy and happiness as
she tried to press a kiss on his forehead.
CHAPTER XXII.
AT VAL-FERAY.
A month later at Val-Féray, an old homestead of the family, situated
half a league from Brest, Erik's adopted family were assembled, together
with his mother and grandfather. Mrs. Durrien had, with the delicacy of
feeling habitual to her, desired that the good, simple-hearted beings
who had saved her son's life should share her profound and inexpressible
joy. She had insisted that Dame Katrina, and Vanda, Mr. Hersebom, and
Otto should accompany Doctor Schwaryencrona, Kajsa, Mr. Bredejord, and
Mr. Malarius, and they held a great festival together.
Amidst the rugged natural scenery of Breton and near the sea, her
Norwegian guests felt more at their ease than they could have done in
Varennes Street. They took long walks in the woods together, and told
each other all they knew about Erik's still somewhat obscure history,
and little by little many hitherto inexplicable points became clear.
Their long talks and discussions cast light upon many obscure
circumstances.
The first question they asked each other was, Who was Tudor Brown? What
great interest did he have in preventing Patrick O'Donoghan from telling
who Erik's relations were? The words of that unfortunate man had
established one fact, viz., that Tudor Brown's real name was Jones, as
it was the only one that the Irishman had known him by. Now, a Mr. Noah
Jones had been associated with Erik's father in working a petroleum
mine, that the young engineer had discovered in Pennsylvania. The simple
announcement of this fact gave a sinister aspect to many events which
had so long appeared mysterious: the suspicious wreck of the "Cynthia,"
the fall of the infant into the sea, perhaps the death of Erik's father.
A document that Mr. Durrien found among his papers elucidated many of
these perplexing questions.
"Several months before his marriage," he said to Erik's friends, "my
son-in-law had discovered, near Harrisburg, a petroleum well. He lacked
the capital necessary to purchase it, and he saw that he was in danger
of losing all the advantages which the possession of it would secure to
him. Chance made him acquainted with Mr. Noah Jones, who represented
himself as a cattle dealer from the far West. But in reality, as he
found out afterward, he was a slave-trader.
"This individual agreed to advance the sum necessary to purchase and work
the petroleum mine, which was called the Vandalia. He made my son-in-law
sign, in exchange for this assistance, an agreement which was very
profitable to himself. I was ignorant of the terms of this contract at
the time of his marriage to my daughter, and according to all
appearances he thought but little of it. Unusually gifted, and
understanding chemistry and mechanics, yet he was entirely ignorant of
business matters, and already had to pay dearly for his inexperience. No
doubt he had trusted all the arrangements to Noah Jones, according to
his usual habit. Probably he signed with closed eyes the contract which
was laid before him. These are the principle articles agreed upon:
"Art. III. The Vandalia shall remain the sole property of Mr.
George Durrien, the discoverer, and Mr. Noah Jones, his silent
partner.
"Art. IV. Mr. Noah Jones will take charge of moneys, and pay out
what is necessary for the exploration of the mine, he will also
sell the product, take charge of the receipts, and have a
settlement with his partner every year, when they will divide the
net profits.
"Art. V. If either of the partners should wish to sell his share,
the other would have the first right to purchase it, and he
should have three months in which to make arrangements to do so. He
might then become sole proprietor by paying the capital and three
per cent. on the net revenue, according to what it had been proved
to be at the last inventory.
"Art. VI. Only the children of the two partners could become
inheritors of these rights. In case one of the partners should die
childless, or his children should not live until they were
twenty-one years of age, the entire property to revert to the
survivor, to the exclusion of all other heirs of the dead partner.
"N.B. The last article is on account of the different nationalities
of the two partners, and because of the complications that could
not fail to arise in case of the death of either of them without
issue."
"Such," continued Mr. Durrien, "was the contract which my future
son-in-law had signed at the time, when he had no thought of marrying,
and when everybody, except, perhaps, Mr. Noah Jones, was ignorant of
what immense value the Vandalia mine would become in the course of time.
They had then hardly commenced operations, and they met with the usual
discouragements incident to all new undertakings. Perhaps Noah Jones
hoped that his associate would become disgusted with the whole business
and retire, leaving him sole proprietor. The marriage of George with my
daughter, the birth of his son, and the well becoming suddenly
prodigiously fruitful, must have modified his plans by degrees. He could
no longer hope to purchase for a trifling sum this splendid property;
but before it came into the possession of Noah Jones, first George
himself, and then his only child, must disappear from the world. Two
years after his marriage and six months after the birth of my grandson,
George was found dead near one of the wells--asphyxiated, the doctors
said, by gas. I had left the United States upon my nomination as consul
to Riga. The business relating to the partnership was left to an
attorney to settle. Noah Jones behaved very well, and agreed to
all the arrangements that were made for the benefit of my daughter. He
agreed to continue the work, and pay every six months into the Central
Bank of New York that part of the net profits which belonged to the infant.
Alas! he never made the first payment. My daughter took passage in the
'Cynthia' in order to join me. The 'Cynthia' was lost with her crew and
freight under such suspicious circumstances that the insurance company
refused to pay; and in this shipwreck the sole heir of my son-in-law
disappeared.
"Noah Jones remained the sole proprietor of the Vandalia, which has
yielded him at the least since that event an annual income of one
hundred and eighty thousand dollars a year."
"Did you never suspect that he had had some hand in these successive
catastrophies?" asked Mr. Bredejord.
"I have certainly suspected him; it was only too natural. Such an
accumulation of misfortunes, and all tending to his private enrichment,
seemed to point him out as the author only too clearly. But how could I
prove my suspicions, particularly in a court of justice? They were only
vague, and I knew too well that they would have but little weight in an
international contest. And then, besides I had my daughter to console,
or at least to try and draw away her thoughts from this tragedy, and a
lawsuit would only have revived her grief. Briefly I resigned myself to
silence. Did I do wrong? Is it to be regretted?"
"I think not, for I feel convinced that it would have produced no
results. You see how difficult it is even today, after we have related
all the facts in our possession, to arrive at any definite conclusion!"
"But how can you explain the part which Patrick O'Donoghan has taken in
this matter?" asked Dr. Schwaryencrona.
"On this point, as on many others, we are reduced to conjectures, but it
seems to me that there is one which is plausible enough. This O'Donoghan
was cabin-boy on board of the 'Cynthia,' in the personal service of the
captain, and consequently in constant communication with the first-class
passengers, who always eat at the captain's table. He therefore
certainly knew the name of my daughter, and her French origin, and he
could easily have found her again.
"Had he been commissioned by Noah Jones to perform some dark mission?
Had he a hand in causing the shipwreck of the 'Cynthia,' or simply in
pushing the infant into the sea? this they could never know for a
certainty since he was dead. One thing was evident, he was aware how
important the knowledge of this fact was for Noah Jones. But did this
lazy drunken man know that the infant was living? Had he any hand in
saving it? Had he rescued it from the sea to leave it floating near
Noroe?
"This was a doubtful point. In any case he must have assured Noah Jones
that the infant had survived. He was doubtless proud of knowing the
country which had received him, and he had probably taken precautions to
know all about the child, so that if any misfortune happened to
him--O'Donoghan--Noah Jones would be obliged to pay him well for his
silence. He was doubtless the person from whom he received money every
time he landed in New York."
"All this appears to me to be very probable," said Mr. Bredejord, "and I
think that subsequent events confirm it. The first advertisements of
Doctor Schwaryencrona disturbed Noah Jones, and he believed it to be an
imperative necessity to get rid of Patrick O'Donoghan, but he was
obliged to act prudently. He therefore contented himself with
frightening the Irishman, by making him believe that he would be brought
before a criminal court. The result of this we know from Mr. and Mrs.
Bowles, of the Red Anchor, who told us of the haste with which Patrick
O'Donoghan had taken flight. He evidently believed that he was in danger
of being arrested, or he would not have gone so far, to live among the
Samoyedes, and under an assumed name, which Noah Jones had doubtless
advised him to do.
"But the announcement in the newspapers about Patrick O'Donoghan must
have been a severe blow to him. He had made a journey to Stockholm
expressly to assure us that the Irishman was dead, and doubtless to
discover if possible how far we had pushed our inquiries. The
publication of the correspondence of the 'Vega, and the departure of the
'Alaska,' must have made Noah Jones, or Tudor Brown, as he called
himself, feel that he was in imminent peril, for his confidence in
Patrick O'Donoghan could be only very limited, and he would have
revealed his secret to any one who would have assured him that he would
not be punished. Happily as affairs have turned out, we may congratulate
ourselves upon having escaped pretty well."
"Who knows?" said the doctor, "perhaps all the danger we have
encountered has only helped to bring us to the knowledge of the truth.
But for running on the rocks of the Basse-Froide, we would probably have
pursued the route through the Suez Canal, and then we should have
reached Behring's Strait too late to meet the 'Vega.' It is at least
doubtful whether we would have undertaken the voyage to the Island of
Ljakow, and more doubtful still whether we would have been able to
extract any information from Patrick O'Donoghan if we had met him in
company with Tudor Brown.
"So, although our entire voyage has been marked by tragical events, it
is due to the fact of our having accomplished the periplus in the
'Alaska, and the consequent celebrity which has been the result for
Erik, that he has at last found his family."
"Yes," said Mrs. Durrien, laying her hand proudly on the head of her
son, "it is his glory which has restored him to me."
And immediately she added:
"It was a crime that deprived me of you, but your own goodness which has
restored you to me!"
"And the rascality of Noah Jones has resulted in making our Erik one of
the richest men in America," cried Mr. Bredejord.
Every one looked at him with surprise.
"Doubtless," answered the eminent lawyer. "Erik is his father's heir,
and has a share in the income, derived from the Vandalia mine. Has he
not been unjustly deprived of this for the last twenty-two years?
"We have only to give proofs of his identity, and we have plenty of
witnesses, Mr. Hersebom, Dame Katrina and Mr. Malarius, besides
ourselves. If Noah Jones has left any children, they are responsible for
the enormous arrears which will probably consume all their share of the
capital stock.
"If the rascal has left no children, by the terms of the contract which
Mr. Durrien has just read, Erik is the sole inheritor of the entire
property; and according to all accounts he ought to have in Pennsylvania
an income of one hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand dollars a
year!"
"Ah, ah," said the doctor, laughing. "Behold the little fisherman of
Noroe become an eligible -parti!- Laureate of the Geographical Society,
author of the first circumpolar periplus, and afflicted with the modest
income of two hundred thousand dollars. There are not many such husbands
to be met with in Stockholm. What do you say Kajsa?"
The young girl blushed painfully at being thus addressed, but her uncle
had no suspicion that he had made a cruel speech.
Kajsa had felt that she had not acted wisely in treating Erik as she had
done, and she resolved for the future to show him more attention.
But it was a singular fact that Erik no longer cared for her, since he
felt himself elevated above her unjust disdain. Perhaps it was absence,
or the lonely hours which he had spent walking the deck at night, which
had revealed to him the poverty of Kajsa's heart; or it might be the
satisfaction he felt that she could no longer regard him as "a waif"; he
only treated her now with the most perfect courtesy, to which she was
entitled as a young lady and Dr. Schwaryencrona's niece.
All his preference now was for Vanda, who indeed grew every day more and
more charming, and was losing all her little village awkwardness under
the roof of an amiable and cultivated lady. Her exquisite goodness, her
native grace, and perfect simplicity, made her beloved by all who
approached her. She had not been eight days at Val-Fray, when Mrs.
Durrien declared positively that it would be impossible for her ever to
part with her.
Erik undertook to arrange with Mr. Hersebom and Dame Katrina that they
should leave Vanda behind them, with the express condition that he would
bring her himself every year to see them. He had tried to keep all his
adopted family with him, even offering to transport from Noroe the house
with all its furniture where he had passed his infancy. But this project
of emigration was generally regarded as impracticable. Mr. Hersebom and
Katrina were too old to change their habits. They would not have been
perfectly happy in a country of whose language and habits they were
ignorant. He was obliged, therefore, to permit them to depart, but not
before making such provision for them as would enable them to spend the
remainder of their days in ease and comfort, which, notwithstanding
their honest, laborious lives, they had been unable to accomplish.
Erik would have liked to have kept Otto at least, but he preferred his
fiord, and thought that there was no life preferable to that of a
fisherman. It must also be confessed that the golden-haired and
blue-eyed daughter of the overseer of the oil-works had something to do
with the attractions which Noroe had for him. At least we must conclude
so, since it was soon made known that he expected to marry her at the
next "Yule," or Christmas.
Mr. Malarius counted upon educating their children as he had educated
Erik and Vanda. He modestly resumed his position in the village school,
after sharing in the honor of the decorations bestowed by the
Geographical Society of France upon the captain of the "Alaska." He was
also busily occupied in correcting the proofs of his magnificent work on
the "Flora of the Arctic Regions." As for Dr. Schwaryencrona, he has not
quite finished his "Treatise on Iconography," which will transmit his
name to posterity.
The latest legal business of Mr. Bredejord has been to establish Erik's
claim as sole proprietor of the Vandalia mine. He gained his case in the
first instance, and also on appeal, which was no small success.
Erik took advantage of this, and of the enormous fortune thus accruing
to him, to purchase the "Alaska," which he converted into a pleasure
yacht. He uses it every year to go to Noroe in company with Mme. Durrien
and Vanda, to visit his adopted family. Although his civil rights have
been accorded to him, and his legal name is Emile Durrien, he has added
that of Hersebom, and among his relatives he is still called only Erik.
The secret desire of his mother is to see him some day married to Vanda,
whom she already loves as a daughter, and, as Erik evidently shares this
desire, we may suppose that it will be realized one of these days.
Kajsa still remains single, with the knowledge that she has lost her
opportunity.
Dr. Schwaryencrona, Mr. Bredejord, and Professor Hochstedt still play
innumerable games of whist.
One evening the doctor, having played worse than usual, Mr. Bredejord,
as he tapped his snuff-box, had the pleasure of recalling to his mind a
circumstance which had too long been forgotten.
"When do you intend to send me your Pliny?" he asked, with a wicked
gleam in his eye. "Certainly you can no longer think that Erik is of
Irish origin?"
The doctor was thunder-struck for a moment by this speech, but he soon
recovered himself.
"Bah! an ex-president of the French Republic was a direct descendant of
one of the Irish kings," he said, seriously. "I should not be at all
surprised if Mr. Durrien belongs to the same family!"
"Evidently," replied Mr. Bredejord. "In fact it is so extremely probable
that out of sport I will send you my Quintilian!"
THE END.
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