there is no hope of discovering Erik's family.
"The question that arises for us to decide, my dear Hersebom, and
particularly for you, is what we ought to say to the boy, and what
we ought to do for him.
"If I were in your place, I should now tell him all the facts about
himself which affect him so nearly, and leave him free to choose
his own path in life. You know we agreed to adopt this course if my
efforts should prove unsuccessful. The time has come for you to
keep your word. I have wished to leave it to you to relate all this
to Erik. He is returning to Noroe still ignorant that he is not
your son, and he does not know whether he is to return to Stockholm
or remain with you. It is for you to tell him.
"Remember, if you refuse to fulfill this duty, Erik would have the
right some day, perhaps, to be astonished at you. Recall to mind
also that he is a boy of too remarkable abilities to be condemned
to an obscure and illiterate life. Such a sentence would have been
unmerited two years ago, and now, after his brilliant career at
Stockholm, it would be positively unjustifiable.
"I therefore renew my offer: let him return to me and finish his
studies, and take at Upsal the degree of Doctor of Medicine. I will
continue to provide for him as if he were my own son, and he has
only to go on and win honors and a fortune.
"I know that, in addressing you and the excellent adopted mother of
Erik, I leave his future in good hands. No personal consideration,
I am sure, will prevent you from accepting my offer. Take Mr.
Malarius' advice in this matter.
"While awaiting your reply, Mr. Hersebom, I greet you
affectionately, and I beg you to remember me most kindly to your
worthy wife and children.
"R.W. SCHWARYENCRONA, M.D."
When the fisherman had finished reading this letter, Dame Katrina, who
had been silently weeping while she listened to it, asked him what he
intended to do.
"My duty is very clear," he said. "I shall tell the boy everything."
"That is my opinion also; it must be done, or we should never have
another peaceful moment," she murmured, as she dried her eyes.
Then they both relapsed into silence.
It was past midnight when the three children returned from their
expedition. Their cheeks were rosy, and their eyes shone with pleasure
from their walk in the fresh air. They seated themselves around the fire
to finish gayly their Christmas-eve by eating a last cake before the
enormous log which looked like a burning cavern.
CHAPTER VI.
ERIK'S DECISION.
The next day the fisherman called Erik to him, and in the presence of
Katrina, Otto, and Vanda, spoke to him as follows:
"Erik, the letter of Doctor Schwaryencrona was about you. He writes that
you have given entire satisfaction to your teachers, and the doctor
offers to pay all the expenses of your education, if you wish to
continue your studies. But this letter also requires you to decide for
yourself, whether you will accept this offer, or remain with us at
Noroe, which we would like so much to have you do, as you no doubt know.
But before you make up your mind, I must tell you a great secret, a
secret that my wife and I would have preferred to keep to ourselves."
At this moment Dame Katrina could not restrain her tears, and, sobbing,
she took the hand of Erik and pressed it to her heart, as if protesting
against the information which the young man was now to hear.
"This secret," continued Mr. Hersebom, in a strangely altered voice, "is
that you are our son only by adoption. I found you on the sea, my child,
and brought you home when you were only eight or nine months old. God is
my witness that we never intended to tell you this, and neither my wife
nor myself have ever made the least difference between you, and Otto,
and Vanda. But Doctor Schwaryencrona requires us to do so. Therefore, I
wish you to read what he has written to me."
Erik had suddenly become deadly pale. Otto and Vanda, surprised at what
they had heard, both uttered a cry of astonishment. Then they put their
arms around Erik, and clung closely to him, one on the right, and the
other on the left.
Then Erik took the doctor's letter, and without trying to conceal his
emotion, he read what he had written to Mr. Hersebom.
The fisherman then told him all the facts about himself. He explained
how Dr. Schwaryencrona had undertaken to try and discover the family to
which he belonged; and, also, that he had been unsuccessful. How, that
but for his advice and suggestions, they would never have thought of
doing so. Then Dame Katrina arose, and going to the oaken chest, brought
out the garments that the baby had worn, and showed him also the coral
which had been fastened around his neck. The story was naturally so full
of dramatic interest to the children, that they forgot for a time, at
least, how sad it was. They looked with wonder at the lace, and velvet,
the golden setting of the coral, and the inscription. It almost seemed
to them as if they were taking part in some fairy tale. The
impossibility of obtaining any information, as reported by the doctor,
only made them regard these articles as almost sacred.
Erik looked at them as if he were in a dream, and his thoughts flew to
the unknown mother, who, without doubt, had herself dressed him in these
little garments, and more than once shook the coral before the eyes of
the baby to make him smile. It seemed to him when he touched them as if
he held direct communion with her through time and space.
But where was this mother? Was she still living, or had she perished?
Was she weeping for her lost son, or must the son, on the contrary,
think of her as forever lost to him?
He remained for some minutes absorbed in these reflections, with his
head bent, but a word from Dame Katrina recalled him to himself.
"Erik, you are always our child," she cried, disturbed by his silence.
The eyes of the young man as he looked around him fell on all their
loving countenances--the maternal look of the loving wife, the honest
face of Mr. Hersebom, that of Otto even more affectionate than usual,
and that of Vanda, serious and troubled. As he read the tenderness and
disquietude displayed on all their faces, Erik felt as if his heart was
melting within him. In a moment he realized his situation, and saw
vividly the scene which his father had described. The cradle abandoned
to the mercy of the waves, rescued by the hardy fisherman, and carried
to his wife; and these people, humble and poor as they were, had not
hesitated to take care of the little stranger, to adopt and cherish him
as their own son. They had not spoken of the matter for fourteen years,
and now they were hanging on his words as if they were a matter of life
and death to them.
All this touched him so deeply that suddenly his tears came. An
irresistible feeling of love and gratitude overwhelmed him. He felt
eager on his part to repay by some devotion the tenderness which they
had shown to him. He resolved to stay with them at Noroe forever, and
content himself with their humble lot, while he endeavored to do
everything in his power to repay them.
"Mother," said he, throwing himself into Katrina's arms, "do you think
that I can hesitate, now that I know all? We will write to the doctor,
and thank him for his kind offer, and tell him that I have chosen to
remain with you. I will be a fisherman, like you, father, and like Otto.
Since you have given me a place at your fireside, I would prefer to
retain it. Since you have nourished me by the labor of your hands, I ask
to be allowed to repay you in your old age for your generosity toward me
when I was a helpless infant."
"God be praised!" cried Dame Katrina, pressing Erik to her heart in a
transport of joy and tenderness.
"I knew that the child would prefer the sea to all their books," said
Mr. Hersebom, not understanding the sacrifice that Erik's decision would
be to him.
"Come, the matter is settled. We will not talk about it any more, but
only try to enjoy this good festival of Christmas!"
They all embraced each other, with eyes humid with happiness, and vowed
they would never be separated.
When Erik was alone he could not help a stifled sigh, as he thought
about all his former dreams of work, and of the career which he had
renounced. But still he experienced at the same time a joy which he
believed would repay him for the sacrifice.
"Since it is the wish of my adopted parents," he said to himself, "the
rest does not signify. I ought to be willing to work for them in the
sphere and condition where their devotion has placed me. If I have
sometimes felt ambitious to take a higher position in the world, was it
not that I might be able to assist them? Since it makes them happy to
have me with them, and as they desire nothing better than their present
life, I must try to be contented, and endeavor by good conduct and hard
work to give them satisfaction. Adieu, then, to my books."
Thus he mused, and soon his thoughts returned to the time when the
fisherman had found him floating in his little cradle on the waves. What
country did he belong to? Who were his parents? Were they still alive?
Had he in some foreign country brothers and sisters whom he would never
know?
Christmas had also been in Dr. Schwaryencrona's house in Stockholm a
season of great festivity. It was at this time, as the reader doubtless
remembers, that they had agreed to decide the bet between him and Mr.
Bredejord, and that Professor Hochstedt was to be the umpire.
For two years not a word had been said by either of them about this bet.
The doctor had been patiently pursuing his researches in England,
writing to the maritime agencies, and multiplying his advertisements in
the newspapers; but he had taken care not to confess that his efforts
had been fruitless.
As for Mr. Bredejord, he had had the good taste to avoid all allusion to
the subject, and contented himself with occasionally admiring the
beautiful binding of the Pliny which was displayed in the doctor's
book-case.
But when he struck his snuff-box sharply with the ends
of his fingers, while he looked at the book, the doctor correctly
interpreted the pantomime, which was a shock to his nerves, and said to
himself:
"Oh, yes; he is thinking how well the Pliny will look beside his elegant
editions of Quintilian and Horace."
On these evenings he was more merciless than ever, if his unfortunate
partner made any mistakes at whist.
But time had taken its flight, and he was now obliged to submit the
question to the impartial arbitration of Professor Hochstedt.
Dr. Schwaryencrona approached the subject frankly. Kajsa had hardly left
him alone with his two friends when he confessed to them, as he had
confessed in his letter to Mr. Hersebom, that his investigations had
been without result. Nothing had occurred to throw any light on the
mystery which surrounded Erik's origin, and the doctor in all sincerity
declared that the problem was thought by him to be insolvable.
"But," he continued, "I should be doing myself an injustice if I did not
declare with equal sincerity that I do not believe that I have lost my
bet. I have not discovered Erik's family, it is true, but all the
information that I have been able to obtain corroborates the conclusion
which I had arrived at. The 'Cynthia' was, no doubt, an English vessel,
for there are at least seventeen ships bearing this name registered at
Lloyd's. As for ethnographical characteristics, they are clearly Celtic.
My hypothesis, therefore, as to the nationality of Erik is victoriously
confirmed. I am more than ever certain that he is of Irish extraction as
I at first surmised. But I can not compel his family to come forward and
acknowledge him, if they have any reasons of their own for wishing him
to continue lost to them. This is all I have to say, my dear Hochstedt;
and now you must be the judge as to whether the Quintilian of our friend
Bredejord should not legitimately be transferred to my book-case!"
At these words, which seemed to occasion a strong inclination to laugh,
the lawyer fell back in his arm-chair, raised his hands as if in
protestation, then he fixed his brilliant eyes upon Professor Hochstedt
to see how he would regard the matter. The professor did not betray the
embarrassment which might have been expected. He would have certainly
felt miserable if the doctor had urged any incontrovertible argument,
which would have compelled him to decide in favor of one or the other.
His prudent character led him to speak in indefinite terms. He excelled
in presenting, one after the other, both sides of a question, and he
reveled in his vagaries, like a fish in water. Therefore, this evening
he felt quite equal to the situation.
"The fact is incontestable," he said, shaking his head, "that there are
seventeen English vessels bearing the name of 'Cynthia,' and this seems
to favor the conclusion arrived at by our eminent friend. The
characteristic traits also have assuredly great weight, and I do not
hesitate to say that they appear to me to be quite conclusive. I do not
hesitate to confess that if I were called upon to give an opinion as to
Erik's nationality, I should say that he was Irish. But to decide the
bet in question we require something more than probabilities; we must
have facts to guide us. The chances so far greatly favor the opinion of
Dr. Schwaryencrona, but Bredejord can allege that nothing has actually
been proved. I see, therefore, no sufficient reason for declaring that
the Quintilian has been won by the doctor; neither can I say that the
professor has lost his Pliny. In my opinion, as the question remains
undecided, it ought to be annulled, which is the best thing to do in
such a case."
The doctor's face clearly betrayed his dissatisfaction. As for Mr.
Bredejord he leaped to his feet, saying:
"Your argument is a beautiful one, my dear Hochstedt, but I think you
are hasty in your conclusions. Schwaryencrona, you say, has not verified
his opinions sufficiently for you to say positively that he has won the
bet, although you think that all the probabilities are in his favor.
What will you say then, if I prove to you immediately that the 'Cynthia'
was not an English vessel at all?"
"What would I say?" said the professor, somewhat troubled by this sudden
attack. "Upon my word I do not know. I would have to consider the
question in a different aspect."
"Examine it then at your leisure," answered the advocate, thrusting his
hand into the inner pocket of his coat, and taking out a case from which
he selected a letter inclosed in one of those yellow envelopes, which
betray at the first glance their American origin.
"This is a document which you can not controvert," he added, placing the
letter before the doctor's eyes, who read aloud:
"-To Mr. Bredejord, Stockholm.-
"NEW YORK, October 27th.
"SIR,--In reply to your letter of the 5th instant, I hasten to
write you the following facts:--
"1st.--A vessel named 'Cynthia,' commanded by Captain Barton, and
the property of the Canadian General Transportation Company, was
lost, with her cargo and all on board, just fourteen years ago, in
the neighborhood of the Faroe Islands.
"2d.--This vessel was insured in the General Steam Navigation
Company of New York for the sum of eight hundred thousand dollars.
"3d.--The disappearance of the 'Cynthia' having remained
unexplained, and the causes of the sad accident never having been
clearly proved to the satisfaction of the insurance company, a
lawsuit ensued, which was lost by the proprietors of the said
vessel.
"4th.--The loss of this lawsuit occasioned the dissolution of the
Canadian General Transportation Company, which has ceased to exist
for the last eleven years, having gone into liquidation. While
waiting to hear from you again, I beg of you, sir, to accept our
sincere salutations.
"JEREMIAH SMITH, WALKER & CO.,
"Maritime Agents."
"Well, what do you say to that?" asked Mr. Bredejord, when the doctor
had finished reading the letter. "It is a document of some value, I
think. Do you agree with me?"
"I quite agree with you," answered the doctor. "How did you procure it?"
"In the simplest way in the world. That evening when you spoke to me
about the 'Cynthia' being necessarily an English vessel, I thought that
you were taking too limited a field for your researches, and that the
vessel might be an American one. When time passed, and you received no
intelligence, for you would have told us if you had, the idea occurred
to me of writing to New York. The third letter brought the result which
you have before you. The affair is no longer a complicated one. Do you
not think that it assures to me beyond contest the possession of your
Pliny?"
"It appears to me to be rather a forced conclusion," replied the doctor,
taking the letter and reading it over again, to see if he could find any
new arguments to support his theory.
"How forced?" cried the advocate.
"I have proved to you that the vessel was an American one, and that she
was lost off the Faroe Islands, that is to say, near the coast of
Norway, precisely at the time which corresponds to the arrival of the
infant, and still you are not convinced of your error."
"Not in the least, my dear friend. I do not dispute the value or your
document. You have discovered what I have found it impossible to do--the
true 'Cynthia,' which was lost at a little distance from our coast, and
at a specified epoch; but permit me to say, that this only confirms
precisely my theory, for the vessel was a Canadian one, or in other
words, English, and the Irish element is very strong in some parts of
Canada, and I have therefore more reason than ever for being sure that
the child is of Irish origin."
"Ah, is that what you find in my letter?" said Mr. Bredejord, more vexed
than he was willing to appear to be. "Then without doubt you persist in
believing that you have not lost your Pliny?"
"Assuredly!"
"Perhaps you think you have a right to my Quintilian?"
"I hope in any case to be able to prove my right, thanks to your
discovery, if you will only give me time by renewing the bet."
"I am willing. I ask nothing better. How much time do you want?"
"Let us take two more years, and wait until the second Christmas after
this one."
"It is agreed," answered Mr. Bredejord. "But be assured, doctor, that
you will finally see me in possession of your Pliny!"
"By my faith no. It will make a fine appearance in my book-case beside
your Quintilian."
CHAPTER VII.
VANDA'S OPINION.
In the beginning, Erik burning with zeal at the sacrifice which he had
made, devoted all his energies to a fisherman's life, and tried to
forget that he had ever known any other. He was always the first to rise
and prepare the boat for his adopted father, who found every morning all
the arrangements completed, and he had only to step on board. If the
wind failed, then Erik took the heavy oars, and rowed with all his
strength, seeming to choose the hardest and most fatiguing duties.
Nothing discouraged him, neither the long waiting for the fish to seize
the bait, nor the various preparations to which the captive was
subjected--first, the removal of the tongue, which is a most delicate
morsel; then the head, then the bones, before placing them in the
reservoir, where they receive their first salting. Whatever their work
was, Erik did his part not only conscientiously, but eagerly. He
astonished the placid Otto by his extreme application to the smallest
details of their business.
"How you must have suffered, when you were shut up in the town," said
the lad to him, naively. "You only seem to be in your element when you
are on the borders of the fiord or on the open sea."
When their conversation took this turn, Erik always remained silent.
Sometimes, however, he would revert to the subject himself, and try to
prove to Otto, or rather to himself, that there was no better state of
existence than their own.
"It is what I have always heard," the other would answer with his calm
smile.
And poor Erik would turn away and stifle a sigh.
The truth is that he suffered cruelly after renouncing his studies and
seeing himself condemned to a life of manual labor. When these thoughts
came to him he fought against them with all his might. He did not wish
any one to suspect that he felt in this way, and in hiding them within
his own breast he suffered all the more.
A catastrophe which occurred at the beginning of the spring, only served
to increase his discouragement.
One day, as there was a great deal of work to do at home in piling
together the salted fish, Mr. Hersebom had intrusted it to Erik and to
Otto, and had gone out to fish alone. The weather was stormy, and the
sky very cloudy for the time of the year. The two young men, although
they worked actively, could not help noticing that it was exceptionally
dull, and they felt the atmosphere very heavy.
"It is singular!" said Erik, "but I feel a roaring in my ears as if I
were some distance above the earth in a balloon."
Almost immediately his nose began to bleed. Otto had a similar
sensation, although not quite so severe.
"I think the barometer must be very low," said Erik. "If I had time I
would run to Mr. Malarius' and see."
"You have plenty of time," said Otto. "Our work is nearly done, and even
if you were delayed I could easily finish it alone."
"Then I will go," replied Erik. "I do not know why the state of the
atmosphere should trouble me so much. I wish father was home."
As he walked toward the school, he met Mr. Malarius on the road.
"Is it you, Erik?" said the teacher. "I am glad to see you, and make
sure that you are not on the sea. I was just going to inquire. The
barometer has fallen with such rapidity during the last half hour. I
have never seen anything like it. We are surely going to have a change
of weather."
Mr. Malarius had hardly finished speaking, when a distant grumbling,
followed by a lugubrious roaring, fell upon their ears. The sky became
covered with a cloud as black as ink, which spread rapidly in all
directions, and obscured every object with great swiftness. Then
suddenly, after an interval of complete silence, the leaves of the
trees, the bits of straw, the sand, and even the stones, were swept away
by a sudden gust of wind.
The hurricane had begun.
It raged with unheard-of violence. The chimneys, the window shutters,
and in some places even the roofs of the houses were blown down; and the
boat-houses without exception were carried away and destroyed by the
wind. In the fiord, which was usually as calm as a well in a court-yard,
the most terrible tempest raged; the waves were enormous and came and
went, breaking against the shore with a deafening noise.
The cyclone raged for an hour, then arrested in its course by the
heights of Norway, it moved toward the south, and swept over continental
Europe. It is noted in meteorological annals as one of the most
extraordinary and disastrous that ever was known upon the Atlantic
coast. These great changes of the atmosphere are now generally announced
beforehand by the telegraph. Most of the European sea-ports forewarned
of the danger have time to warn vessels and seamen of the threatened
tempest, and they seek a safe anchorage. By this means many disasters
are averted.
But on the distant and less frequented coasts, in the fishing-hamlets,
the number of shipwrecks was beyond computation.
In one office, that of "Veritas" in France, there were registered not
less than 730.
The first thought of all the members of the Hersebom family, as well as
of all the other families of fishermen, was naturally for those who were
on the sea on this disastrous day. Mr. Hersebom went most often to the
western coast of a large island which was about two miles distant,
beyond the entrance to the fiord. It was the spot where he had first
seen Erik. They hoped that during the tempest he had been able to find
shelter by running his boat upon the low and sandy shore. But Erik and
Otto felt so anxious that they could not wait until evening to see if
this hope was well founded.
The fiord had hardly resumed its ordinary placidity, after the passage
of the hurricane, when they borrowed a boat of one of their neighbors,
in order to go in search of him. Mr. Malarius insisted upon accompanying
the young men upon their expedition, and they all three set out,
anxiously watched by Katrina and her daughter.
On the fiord the wind had nearly gone down, but it blew from the west,
and to reach the entrance to the harbor they were obliged to use their
oars. This took them more than an hour.
When they reached the entrance an unexpected obstacle presented itself.
The tempest was still raging on the ocean, and the waves dashed against
the island which, formed the entrance to the fiord of Noroe, forming two
currents, which came and went with such violence in the narrow pass that
it was impossible to gain the open sea. A steamboat could not have
ventured through it, and a weak boat could not have resisted it for a
moment.
The only thing they could do, therefore, was to return to Noroe, and
wait as patiently as they could.
The hour when he habitually came home passed without bringing Mr.
Hersebom, but none of the other fishermen returned; so they hoped that
they were all detained by the impassable state of the entrance to the
fiord, and would not believe that he had personally met with any
disaster. That evening was a very sad one at all the firesides where a
member was missing. As the night passed without any of the absent men
making their appearance, the anxieties of their families increased. In
Mr. Hersebom's house nobody went to bed. They passed the long hours of
waiting seated in a circle around the fire, silent and anxious.
Dawn is late in these high latitudes in March, but when at last it grew
light it was bright and clear. The wind was calm, and they hoped they
would be able to get through the pass. A regular fleet of boats,
composed of every one who could get away from Noroe, was ready to go in
search of the absent men. Just at this moment several vessels hove in
sight, and soon reached the village. They were the fishermen who had
gone out the day before, not expecting such a cyclone; but Mr. Hersebom
was not among them.
Nobody could give any account of him, and the fact of his not returning
with the others increased their anxiety as all the men had been in great
peril. Some had been surprised by the cyclone and dashed upon the shore,
others had time to shelter themselves in a secure place of anchorage. A
few had reached the land just in time to save themselves.
It was decided that the flotilla should go in search of those who were
missing. Mr. Malarius who still wished to take part in the expedition
accompanied Erik and Otto. A large yellow dog begged so earnestly to go
with them, that at length they yielded. It was Kaas, the Greenland dog
that Mr. Hersebom had brought back with him, after a voyage to Cape
Farewell.
After issuing from the pass the boats separated, some going to the
right, and others to the left, to explore the shores of the innumerable
islands which lie scattered near the entrance to the fiord of Noroe, as
well as all along the coast of Norway.
When they met at midday at a given point, which had been agreed upon
before separating, no trace of Mr. Hersebom had been discovered. As the
search had apparently been well conducted, everyone was of the opinion
that they had nothing more to do but to go home.
But Erik was not willing to own himself defeated, and give up all hope
so easily. He declared that having visited all the islands which lay
toward the south, he now wished to explore those which were in the
north. Mr. Malarius and Otto supported him; and seeing this they granted
his desire.
This persistence deserved some recompense. Toward two o'clock as they
approached a large island, Kaas began suddenly to bark furiously; then
before they could prevent him he threw himself into the water, and swam
to the shore.
Erik and Otto rowed with all their strength in the same direction. Soon
they saw the dog reach the island, and bound, while he uttered loud
howls, toward what appeared to be a human form lying extended upon the
sand. They made all possible haste, and soon saw beyond a doubt that it
was a man who was lying there, and this man was Mr. Hersebom; bloody,
pale, cold, inanimate--dead, perhaps. Kaas was licking his hands, and
uttering mournful cries.
Erik's first action was to drop on his knees beside the cold body, and
apply his ear to his heart.
"He is alive, I feel it beat," he cried.
Mr. Malarias had taken one of Mr. Hersebom's hand's, and was feeling his
pulse and he shook his head, sadly and doubtfully; but he would not
neglect any of the means which are usually tried in such cases. After
taking off a large woolen girdle which he wore around his waist, he tore
it in three pieces, and giving one to each of the young men, they rubbed
vigorously the body, the arms, and the legs of the fisherman.
It was soon manifest that this simple treatment had produced the effect
of restoring the circulation. The beating of the heart grew stronger,
the chest rose, and a feeble respiration escaped through the lips. In a
little while Mr. Hersebom was partially restored to consciousness, for
he distinctly moaned.
Mr. Malarias, and the two young men lifted him from the ground, and
carried him to the boat, where they hastily arranged a bed for him of
sails. As they laid him in the bottom of the boat he opened his eyes.
"A drink!" he said in a weak voice.
Erik held a flask of brandy to his lips. He swallowed a mouthful and
appeared to be conscious of their arrival, for he tried to give them an
affectionate and grateful smile. But fatigue overcame him almost
immediately, and he fell into a heavy sleep which resembled a complete
lethargy. Thinking justly that the best thing they could do was to get
him home as speedily as possible, they took their oars and rowed
vigorously; and in a very short time they reached Noroe.
Mr. Hersebom was carried to his bed, and his wounds were dressed with
arnica. He was fed with broth, and given a glass of beer, and in a short
time he recovered consciousness. His injuries were not of a very grave
nature. One of his arms was fractured, and his body was covered with
wound and bruises. But Mr. Malarius insisted that he should remain quiet
and rest, and not fatigue himself by attempting to talk. He was soon
sleeping peacefully.
It was not until the next day that they permitted him to speak and
explain in a few words what had happened to him.
He had been overtaken by the cyclone just as he had hoisted his sail to
return to Noroe. He had been dashed against the rocks of the island and
his boat had been broken into a thousand pieces and carried away by the
waves. He had thrown himself into the sea to escape the frightful shock,
when she struck, but in spite of all his efforts, he had been dashed by
the waves upon the rocks and terribly wounded; he had only been able to
drag himself beyond the reach of the waves.
Exhausted by fatigue, one arm broken, and his whole body covered with
wounds, he had lain in an unconscious state, unable to move. He could
give no account of the manner in which he had passed the twenty hours;
doubtless he had either been delirious or unconscious.
Now that he was saved, he began to lament for the loss of his boat, and
because of his broken arm, which was now in splints. What would become
of him, even admitting that he might be able to use his arm again after
eight or ten weeks? The boat was the only capital possessed by the
family, and the boat had been broken to pieces by the wind.
It would be very hard for a man of his age to be compelled to work for
others. Besides, could he find work? It was very doubtful, for nobody in
Noroe employed any assistant, and the factory even had lately reduced
its hands.
Such were the bitter reflections of Mr. Hersebom, while he lay upon his
bed of pain; and he felt still worse when he was able to get up, and
occupy his accustomed seat in his arm-chair.
While waiting for his complete recovery, the family lived upon such
provisions as they had in the house, and by the sale of the salt
cod-fish which still remained. But the future looked very dark, and
nobody could see how it was to be lightened.
This imminent distress had given a new turn to Erik's thoughts. For two
or three days he reflected that it was by his good fortune that Mr.
Hersebom had been discovered. How could he help feeling proud, when he
saw Dame Katrina and Vanda look at him with intense gratitude, as they
said: "Dear Erik, our father saved you from the waves, and now, in your
turn, you have snatched him from death."
Certainly it was the highest recompense that he could desire for the
self-abnegation of which he had given such a noble proof, in condemning
himself to a fisherman's life. To feel that he had been able to render
his adopted family such an inestimable benefit was to him a thought full
of sweetness and strength. This family, who had so generously shared
with him all that they possessed, were now in trouble, and in want of
food. But, could he remain to be a burden to them? Was it not rather his
duty to try and do something to assist them?
Erik did not doubt his obligation to do this. He only hesitated as to
the best way for him to do it. Should he go to Bergen and become a
sailor? or was there some better occupation open to him, where he could
be immediately useful to them. He resolved to consult Mr. Malarius, who
listened to his reasons, and approved of them, but did not think well of
his project of becoming a sailor.
"I understood, but I deplored your decision when you were resigned to
remain here and share the life of your adopted parents; but I can not
understand why you should condemn yourself to the life of a sailor,
which would take you far away from them, when Doctor Schwaryencrona
offers you every advantage to pursue a more congenial career," said Mr.
Malarius. "Reflect, my dear child, before you make such a decision."
Mr. Malarius did not tell him that he had already written to Stockholm
to inform the doctor of the sad state of their affairs, and the change
which the cyclone of the 3d of March had made in the circumstances of
Erik's family. He was not surprised, when three days after his
conversation with Erik, he received the following letter, which he lost
no time in carrying to the house of Mr. Hersebom.
The letter read as follows:
"STOCKHOLM, March 17th.
"MY DEAR MR. MALARIUS,--I thank you cordially for informing me of
the disastrous consequences of the cyclone of the 3d of March to
the worthy Mr. Hersebom. I am proud and happy to learn that Erik
acted in these circumstances, as always before, like a brave boy
and a devoted son. You will find a check in this letter for 500
kroners; and I beg you to give them to him from me. Tell him if it
is not enough to buy at Bergen a first-class boat, he must let me
know without delay. He must name this boat 'Cynthia,' and then
present it to Mr. Hersebom as a souvenir of filial love. That done,
if Erik wishes to please me he will return to Stockholm and resume
his studies. His place is always ready for him at my fireside, and
if he needs a motive to assist in this decision, I add that I have
at length obtained some information, and hope yet to be able to
solve the mystery enshrouding his birth.
"Believe me, my dear Malarius, your sincere and devoted friend,
"R.W. SCHWARYENCRONA, M.D."
You may imagine with what joy this letter was received. The doctor, by
sending this gift to Erik, showed that he understood the character of
the old fisherman. If he had offered it directly to him, it is hardly
probable that Mr. Hersebom would have accepted it. But he could not
refuse the boat from Erik's hand, and bearing the name of "Cynthia,"
which recalled how Erik had become a member of the family. Their only
grief now, which already began to sadden all their countenances, was the
thought that he must soon leave them again. Nobody dared to speak about
it, although it was constantly in their thoughts. Erik himself, with his
head bowed, was divided between the desire of satisfying the doctor, and
realizing the secret wishes of his own heart, and the no less natural
wish of giving no offense to his adopted parents.
It was Vanda who first broke the reserve, and spoke upon the subject.
"Erik," she said, in her sweet grave voice, "you can not say 'No' to the
doctor after receiving such a letter. You can not do it, because it
would be treating him most ungratefully, and sinning against yourself.
Your place is among scholars, and not among fishermen. I have thought so
for a long time. Nobody has dared to tell you, therefore I tell you."
"Vanda is right," said Mr. Malarius, with a smile.
"Vanda is right," repeated Dame Katrina, drying her eyes.
And in this manner, for the second time, Erik's departure was decided.
CHAPTER VIII.
PATRICK O'DONOGHAN.
The information which Dr. Schwaryencrona had received was not very
important, but it sufficed to start his inquiries in a new direction.
He had learned the name of the ex-director of the Canadian
Transportation Company, it was Mr. Joshua Churchill. But they did not
know what had become of this gentleman since the dissolution of the
company. If they could succeed in finding him, he might be able to give
them some information about the old records of the company; perhaps
there might have been a list of the passengers by the "Cynthia," and the
baby might have been registered with his family or with the persons who
had charge of him. But their investigations proved very unsatisfactory.
The solicitor who had formerly had the books in his possession as the
receiver of the company about ten years before; did not know what had
become of Mr. Churchill. For a moment Dr. Schwaryencrona consoled
himself with a false hope. He remembered that the American newspapers
usually published a list of the passengers embarking for Europe, and he
sent for a number of old gazettes to see if he could find the
"Cynthia's" list; but he was soon convinced that this was a fruitless
effort. He discovered that the practice of publishing the names of
passengers on European steamships was of comparatively recent date. But
the old gazettes were of one use to him, they gave the exact date of
sailing of the "Cynthia," which had left on the 3d of November, not from
a Canadian port as they had at first supposed, but from New York, to go
to Hamburg.
It was therefore in New York that the doctor must first make his
investigations, and, if unsuccessful, then in other parts of the United
States.
At Hamburg all his inquiries proved to be useless. The consignee of the
Canadian Transportation Company knew nothing about the passengers of the
"Cynthia," and could only give them information about the freight, which
they had already obtained.
Erik had been in Stockholm six months when they learned that the
ex-director, Mr. Joshua Churchill, had died several years before, in an
hospital, without leaving any known heirs, or probably any money. As for
the registers of the company, they had probably been sold long before as
waste paper.
These long researches led to nothing, except to provoke the sarcasms of
Mr. Bredejord, which were wounding, to the doctor's self-love, who,
however, did not as yet give way to despair.
Erik's history was now well known in the doctor's household. They no
longer forbore to speak openly about it, and the results of their
researches were talked of both in the dining-room and the parlor.
Perhaps the doctor had acted more discreetly during the first two years
of Erik's sojourn with him, when he had kept his affairs a secret. Now
they furnished food for the gossiping of Kajsa and Dame Greta, and even
occupied the thoughts of Erik himself; and his reflections were often
very melancholy.
Not to know whether his parents were still living, to reflect that he
might never be able to discover the secret of his birth, was in itself a
sad thought to him; but it was still more sad to be ignorant of the land
of his birth.
"The poorest child in the streets, the most miserable peasant, knew at
least what his country was, and to what branch of the great human family
he belonged," he would sometimes say to himself, as he thought of those
things. "But I am ignorant of all this. I am cast on the globe like a
waif, like a grain of dust tossed by the winds, and nobody knows where I
came from. I have no tradition--no past. The spot where my mother was
born, and where her ashes now rest, is perhaps profaned and trodden
under foot, and I am powerless to defend and protect it."
These thoughts saddened Erik. Sometimes he would tell himself that he
had a mother in Dame Katrina, and a home at Mr. Hersebom's, and that
Noroe was his country. He vowed that he would repay their kindness to
him fourfold, and would always be a devoted son to Norway, but still he
felt himself in an exceptional position.
Sometimes when he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, he could
observe the physical difference between himself and those surrounding
him. The color of his eyes and his skin often occasioned him gloomy
reflections. Sometimes he would ask himself which country he would
prefer to be a native of if he had a choice, and he studied history and
geography that he might become better acquainted with the civilization
of different countries, and with the habits of their inhabitants. It was
a sort of consolation to him to believe that he belonged to the Celtic
race, and he sought in books a confirmation of the theory of the doctor.
But when the learned man repeated that in his opinion he was certainly
Irish, Erik felt depressed. Why among all the Celtic race should he
belong to the people who were the most oppressed? If he had felt
absolutely sure of this, he would have loved this unfortunate country.
But all proof being wanting, why might he not rather believe that he was
French? There were certainly Celts in France, and it was a country that
he would have been proud to claim as his own, with her glorious
traditions, her dramatic history, and her fruitful principles, which she
had disseminated all over the world. Oh! he could have passionately
loved, and served with devotion, such a country. He would have felt a
filial interest in studying her glorious annals, in reading the works of
her great authors, and in studying her poets. But alas! all these
delicate emotions were denied him, and he felt that the problem of his
origin would never be solved, since after so many years spent in making
inquiries they had learned nothing.
However, it seemed to Erik that if he could pursue these inquiries
himself, and follow up the information already obtained, that he might
discover something which might lead to some result, and his activity and
zeal might succeed where money had failed. Would he not work with an
ardor which must overcome all difficulties?
This idea took possession of his mind, and insensibly had a marked
effect in his studies, giving them a special direction; although he was
not aware of this fact himself. As he had made up his mind to travel, he
commenced to study cosmography and nautical matters; in fact, everything
that was taught in the school for marines.
"Some day," he said to himself, "I will pass my examination as a
captain, and then I shall go to New York in my own vessel, and pursue my
inquiries with regard to the 'Cynthia.'"
As a natural consequence, this project of personally investigating the
matter of his birth soon became known, for he was candor itself.
Dr. Schwaryencrona, Mr. Bredejord and Professor Hochstedt ended by
becoming interested, and finally adopted his views as their own. The
question of Erik's birth, which had at first only been an interesting
problem in their eyes, engrossed them more and more. They saw how much
Erik took it to heart, and as they were sincerely attached to him, they
realized how important it was to him, and they were disposed to do
everything in their power to cast some light upon the mystery.
One fine evening, just as the vacation was approaching, it occurred to
them that it would be a good idea to make an excursion to New York
together, and see if they could, obtain any further news about the
matter.
Who first conceived this idea was a disputed point among them, and gave
rise to many discussions between the doctor and Mr. Bredejord, each
claiming a priority. Doubtless it occurred to them both simultaneously;
but be this as it may, the proposal was adopted unanimously, and in the
month of September the three friends, accompanied by Erik, embarked at
Christiana for New York. Ten days later they had reached that city, and
opened communication with the house of Jeremiah Smith, Walker & Company,
from whom they had received the first intelligence.
And now a new agent appeared on the scene, whose assistance they had had
little suspicion of, and this was Erik himself. In New York he only saw
what would assist him in his search. He was up at daybreak visiting the
wharves, accosting the sailors, whom he might chance to meet, working
with indefatigable activity to collect the most minute intelligence.
"Do you know anything about the Canadian Transportation Company? Could
you tell me of any officer, or passenger, or sailor, who had sailed on
the 'Cynthia'?" he asked everywhere.
Thanks to his perfect knowledge of the English language, his sweet and
serious countenance, and his familiarity with everything pertaining to
the sea, he was well received everywhere. They mentioned to him
successively several old officers, sailors, and employs, of the
Canadian Transportation Company. Sometimes he was able to find them.
Sometimes all traces of them were lost. But none of them could give him
any useful information about the last voyage of the "Cynthia." It took
fifteen days of walking, and searching incessantly, to obtain one little
bit of information which might prove valuable, among all the confused
and contradictory accounts which were poured into poor Erik's willing
ears.
This one little truth however seemed to be worth its weight in gold.
They assured him that a sailor named Patrick O'Donoghan, had survived
the shipwreck of the "Cynthia," and had even returned to New York
several times since that eventful voyage. This Patrick O'Donoghan had
been on the "Cynthia," on her last voyage, and had been a special
attendant of the captain. In all probability he would know the
first-class passengers, who always eat at the captain's table. They
judged by the fineness of the infant's clothing that he belonged to this
class. It was now a matter of the greatest importance to find this
sailor.
This was the conclusion of Dr. Schwaryencrona and Mr. Bredejord, when
Erik informed them of his discovery, when he returned to the Fifth
Avenue Hotel to dinner.
As usual it led to a discussion, since the doctor tried to draw from
this discovery a confirmation of his favorite theory.
"If ever there was an Irish name," he cried, "Patrick O'Donoghan is one.
Did I not always say that I was sure that Erik was of Irish birth?"
"Does this discovery prove it?" asked Mr. Bredejord laughing. "An Irish
cabin-boy does not prove much. It would be difficult, I fancy, to find
an American vessel without one or two natives of Erin among her crew."
They discussed the matter for two or three hours, neither of them
willing to give way to the other.
From that day Erik devoted all his energies to the task of finding
Patrick O'Donoghan.
He was not successful it is true, but by force of seeking, and
questioning, he discovered a sailor who had known this man, and who was
able to give him some information. Patrick O'Donoghan was a native of
the County Cork. He was between thirty-three and thirty-four years old,
of medium height, with red hair, black eyes, and a nose which had been
broken by some accident.
"A boy one would remember among a thousand," said the sailor. "I
recollect him very well, although I have not seen him for seven or eight
years."
"Is it in New York you usually meet him?" asked Erik.
"Yes, in New York, and in other places; but the last time was in New
York."
"Do you know any one who could give me any information about him, so
that I could find out what has become of him?"
"No, unless it is the proprietor of the hotel called the Red Anchor, in
Brooklyn. Patrick O'Donoghan lodges there when he is in New York. The
name of the hotel-keeper is Mr. Bowles, and he is an old sailor. If he
does not know, I do not know of any one else who can tell you anything
about him."
Erik hurried on board one of the ferry-boats that cross the East River,
and ten minutes later he was in Brooklyn.
At the door-way of the Red Anchor he saw an old woman, who was neatly
dressed, and busily occupied in peeling potatoes.
"Is Mr. Bowles at home?" he said, saluting her politely, after the
custom of his adopted country.
"He is at home, but he is taking a nap," answered the good woman,
looking with curiosity at her questioner. "If you have any message for
him, you can give it to me. I am Mrs. Bowles."
"Oh, madam, you can no doubt give me the information I desire as well as
Mr. Bowles," answered Erik. "I wish to know whether you are acquainted
with a sailor named Patrick O'Donoghan, and whether he is now with you,
or if you can tell me where I can find him?"
"Patrick O'Donoghan: yes, I know him, but it is five or six years since
he has been here, and I am unable to say where he is now."
Erik's countenance displayed such great disappointment that the old
woman was touched.
"Are you so anxious to find Patrick O'Donoghan that you are disappointed
in not finding him here?" she asked.
"Yes, indeed," he answered. "He alone can solve a mystery that I shall
seek all my life to make clear."
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