Dry Fish and Wet Part 43

But they got the pilot, and made in to Risorbank just in time.

n.o.body shouted hurrah for Nils, and a stiff nip of grog was what he got when he came down; instead of a medal with ribbon and all that he'd maybe get nowadays.

Bernt Jorgensen was roused from his meditation by the sound of the salute on board the _Henrik Ibsen_. He rose and went up on deck to see what was going on. The shareholders, with wives and children, nephews and nieces and relatives generally, were making a tour of the vessel.

Cilia was down in the saloon, seated in state on a red plush sofa.

She did not feel altogether comfortable, to tell the truth, having acquired a horror of showy furniture since her own escapade in that direction. But she was proud to feel that "we" had achieved the distinction of giving Strandvik its first steamer.

The trial trip was to take place while dinner was being served in the saloon.

The _Henrik Ibsen_ steamed along the fjord, beflagged from deck to top, and greeted with cheers from all along the waterside; not a citizen of Strandvik but felt a thrill of pride in his citizenship that day.

The dinner was a most festive affair. The conversation ran gaily on the topic of freights and steamship traffic. Old Klementsen already saw in his mind's eye a whole fleet of Strandvik steamers putting out to sea with flags flying, and coming home laden deep with gold to the beloved little town.

Justice Heidt, guest of honour in his capacity as princ.i.p.al representative of local authority, made a speech, in which he referred to "Strandvik's first steamship, a tangible witness to the high degree of initiative among our business men. The vessel has been named after a great poet, and it is our hope that it will, like its famous namesake, add to our country's credit and renown in distant lands. Good luck and prosperity to the _Henrik Ibsen_." The toast was received with hearty cheers from all.

Someone proposed the health of Soren Braaten, as leader in the enterprise, and Cilia's too, as the guiding spirit of the undertaking; then the captain's health was drunk, and many more.

All were excited to a high pitch of enthusiasm. Old Klementsen, delighted to feel himself a shipowner, sat in a corner with a magnum of champagne before him, delivered an oration on the subject of time-charter on the China coast; he had read an article on the subject in a paper, and was greatly impressed by the same.

"Beautifully steady, isn't she?" said Cilia to her husband. Hardly had she spoken, however, when, "Brrr--drrrrum--drrrum--drrrum"--the pa.s.sengers were thrown headlong in all directions, and Cilia herself was flung into the arms of Justice Heidt, the two striking their heads together with a force that made both dizzy for the moment.

Bottles, gla.s.ses and plates were scattered about, adding to the general confusion.

So violent was the shock that many thought the boiler had burst, and something approaching panic prevailed.

Schoolmaster Pedersen was screaming like a maniac. In his anxiety to see what was happening, he had thrust his head through one of the portholes, and could not get it back despite his utmost efforts.

Everyone else was too much occupied to help him, and there he stood, unable to move.

The rest of the party hurried up on deck, all save Klementsen, who, having emptied his magnum, felt himself unable to get up the companion, and wisely refrained from making the attempt.

The _Henrik Ibsen_ had struck on a sunken reef. The excitement of the occasion, together with the generous good cheer, had had their effect on the crew, who had not paid much heed to their course, with the result that the vessel had taken her own, until brought up all standing by the unexpected obstacle.

The bow had run right on the shelf of rock, and things looked distinctly unpleasant, until Soren Braaten explained that "unfortunately" there was shallow water on all sides, when the company began to feel somewhat easier in their minds.

Cilia's head was treated with vinegar bandages, and Justice Heidt's nose bound up as if in sympathy with the damage inside. But the festive spirit among the shareholders generally was at a low ebb, and anyone taking advantage of the moment might have bought shares then at well below par.

Aha, there is a tug already, the _Storegut_; things looked brighter in a moment, perhaps they might get off at once. But then came the question, had she sprung a leak? No; sound as a bell. A proper sort of steamer this.

A hawser was pa.s.sed from the tug, then full speed astern--Hurrah--she's moving! The Henrik Ibsen drew slowly off the reef and was soon clear once more. The pa.s.sengers brightened up, and soon the steamer was on her way back to Strandvik, the tug standing by in case of need.

Nachmann's supply of champagne was inexhaustible, and Thor Smith got on his feet with another speech for "the splendid vessel which has stood the test so manfully to-day. The _Henrik Ibsen_ was not built for picnic voyages over sunny seas; no, she had shown what she could do and borne it magnificently." Cheers for the _Henrik Ibsen_ and general acclamation.

Then the whole company joined in the song:

"And what though I ran my ship aground, It was grand to sail the seas!"

At last the _Henrik Ibsen_ set out on a real voyage in earnest, and Soren Braaten was glad enough; he felt in need of rest after all he had been through.

He told Cilia, indeed, that he would rather go sailing in the Arctic than have it all to do over again. No, this steamship business was a trial.

Hardly had Soren settled down to his well-earned rest, when, only four days after the vessel had sailed, came a telegram from Hull announcing her arrival and awaiting orders. That meant wiring off at once to the brokers in Drammen and Christiania asking for freights.

The telegraph, indeed, was kept so busy, that old Anders the messenger declared the wretched steamboat gave more work than anyone had a right to expect. Now and again, at weddings and suchlike, it was only natural to have a few extra telegrams going and coming; but, then, he would take them round in bundles at a time, and be handsomely treated into the bargain. Whereas this--why, he'd hardly as much as got back from delivering one wire to Soren Braaten, when a new one came in, and off he'd have to go again. And a man couldn't even stroll round with them at his ordinary pace; it was always "urgent" or "express," or something of the sort, that sent him hurrying off as if the wind were at his heels.

And as for being handsomely treated! It was a thankless task if ever there was one. When Anders appeared with his seventh wire in one day, Soren almost flew at him. "What, you there again with more of those infernal telegram things!"

Soren Braaten had had more telegrams the last fortnight than in all his life before; and, worst of all, they were so briefly worded, it took him all his time to make out the sense. If things went on at this rate he would very soon be wanting another cure at Sandefjord, and this time in earnest.

There was never any rest, this steamer of his flew about at such a rate; just when you thought she was in England she'd be somewhere down the Mediterranean or the Black Sea. Soren said as much to his old friend Skipper Sorensen, who answered: "Better be careful, lad, or she'll run so fast one day she'll run away with all your money."

And Soren was anxious about that very thing, for the remittance seemed to him rather small in comparison with the length of voyage involved.

Soren found himself at last hopelessly at sea both as to charters and accounts, and confided to Cilia one day that he was going to throw up the whole thing; as far as he was concerned, "the wretched boat can manage itself."

Cilia thought over the matter seriously. Her first idea was to take over the chartering herself, but when Soren began talking about freight from Wolgast to Salonica, and Rouen to Montechristi, her geography failed her.

Fixing the old _Apollo_ or _Birkebeineren_ for voyages in the Baltic or the North Sea was easy enough. Cilia knew the name of every port from Pitea to Vlaardingen, from London to Kirkwall, but outside the English Channel she was lost.

The end of it was that Soren went in to Christiania and got a broker he knew there to take over the business, and glad he was to get rid of it. The week after, he went on board _Birkebeineren_, rigged her up, and sailed with a cargo of planks to Amsterdam. Even though he made little out of it beyond his keep, it was nicer than sitting at home in a state of eternal worry about the steamer.

"It pays better than the savings bank, anyway," said Cilia, when he grumbled.

"Maybe; but it's a wearisome business all the same, this steam chartering. And we've other things to think about but what pays best."

And off he went on board his own old-fashioned _Birkebeineren_.

XIX

NILS PETTER'S LEGACY

The news ran like wildfire through the town: Nils Petter Jorgensen had been left a million gylden by his wife's uncle in Holland. It was true as could be; Justice Heidt had had a letter from the Queen to say so.

"Jantje!" roared Nils Petter out into the wash-house, where his wife stood in a cloud of steam and soapsuds.

"What is it, husband?" Jantje appeared in the doorway, little, stout and smiling, with her sleeves rolled up and the perspiration thick on her forehead.

"Come into the parlour a minute."

"Oh, I haven't time now, husband. There's the washing to be done."

"Oh, bother the washing! We've done with all that now," said Nils Petter loftily. And, thrusting his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, he strode stiffly in, followed by Jantje.

"Jantje, sit down on the sofa. Ahem ... er ... an event has occurred..."