CHAPTER 2

On the evening of this same day the sea lay solemn and calm before the young traveler. Dark clouds hovered over its unstirred depths, which trembled only on the surface, like the first awakening of a slumbering child. Wulf stood with folded arms gazing out upon the vast expanse. The water seemed to loom before him like a brazen wall, which threatened to inclose him irrevocably—the grand, free element suggesting only to his perturbed mind the image of eternal imprisonment.

    He was not far distant from his home, and yet he hesitated to take the final footsteps thither. How different his previous returns had been! Then his happy heart had flown in advance of his feet, and he was either at the well-known threshold at a bound, or gliding lightly there to surprise suddenly the inmates, in his boyish merriment.

    To day he stood still for a long while. At length, when night began to approach, he summoned all his courage, drew a deep sigh, took a step forward, and was once more in the old home, to begin a new life. The door stood open. Wulf entered the familiar room. An elderly, bustling, healthy woman, in the quaint costume of the country, suddenly arose to meet him. It was Frau Ericksen, Wulf's mother; but she did not recognize her son in the darkening twilight.

"Good evening, mother," said Wulf, extending his hand.

She knew the voice at once. "My son! we were not expecting you to-day."

"But I am here," was the response.

Surprised by his tone, Frau Ericksen lighted a lamp and held it before his face. But it reflected no happy expression. Somewhat alarmed, she stepped backward and asked:

"Wulf, are you ill?"

"No, mother, I am not ill. I have come home because you wished it, but it was a reluctant acquiescence on my part."

The mother was silent. Wulf continued:

"I shall work here and learn the business. Uncle sends you greeting."

"You speak and act like a dead man," said his mother; "but this will pass off, and you will soon be happy."

"Happy!" cried Wulf; "no, mother I shall not be happy. I shall do all that you desire, but happiness can never be enforced."

Frau Ericksen left the room. "He will get over it; he will get accustomed to it in time," she repeated to herself.

Meanwhile Wulf greeted his only sister Karen, a stout, active girl of eighteen summers, whose brother was somewhat of a stranger to her on account of his prolonged absences from home.

    Soon after, mother, sister, and brother sat down to supper—three estimable, well-disposed persons, but fundamentally different both in character and temperament—and now united in their labor, thoughts, and life!

   The next morning Wulf donned a sailor's suit and began his work. There was very little conversation in the home-circle. The mother and Karen were naturally quiet, and Wulf was not disposed to talk. Concerning that which occupied his mind and heart he neither dared nor desired to speak, since he had decided to learn what duty demanded.

  Wulf was a robust fellow, with plenty of bone and muscle, but the work he had now undertaken was so different from his former mode of life, and demanded so much physical exertion, that it made him very tired. Nevertheless he could overcome that sensation; and now, if it were only possible to conquer his desires, and overcome his thoughts! So long as he was obliged to work vigorously in the open air, it was all very well. But now Winter approached, and brought with it many idle, gloomy hours. How could he pass away the time? "Tinkering" around did not satisfy Wulf. He felt that he must do something else if he would master his tormenting aspirations and discontented heart.

    If he must be a seaman he would, at least, not confine his knowledge to the narrow limits of a common ship. He would learn. But where? How? From books? He had none. From people? No one lived here who could instruct him. Yes; there was one man in the neighborhood who possessed a large fund of information, and who had often invited him to his home.

  This was Captain Nielsen, who, after long service, had settled down here for rest in that beautiful residence yonder, with its pretty green blinds. He lived quietly, but was seen every Sunday at church with his only daughter, a girl of fourteen.

  Marvelous tales were related of Captain Nielsen by the villagers; how he had married a Spanish countess or Grecian princess, and lived with her in the distant South; how wife and children had died, and only this little daughter had been spared to him; how he had brought her to his northern home, that the fragile plant might gain strength; and it did seem as though the fresh sea-air had improved the child, for instead of being, now, slender and delicate, Ingeborg was a picture of perfect health.

   This little strange maiden lived a solitary life. Her father had been her only teacher in worldly matters, and had filled her head with stories of his travels and the wonderful experiences through which he had passed.

   Ingeborg's religious instructor was the old pastor of the adjacent village church. She accepted all his teachings, but was often unable to digest it or put it in practice in her secluded life. Besides, as she did not enjoy the companionship of other children, she grew up to be somewhat visionary in character. One could not help observing that Ingeborg was like a flower which had sprung up in a barren soil.

These were the inmates of the dwelling where Wulf began to visit frequently.

   Captain Nielsen was very kind to the ambitious youth, and assisted him to the extent of his ability. The aspirations of his deepest soul Wulf did not reveal, for the reason that the old captain firmly believed boys were born in order to become worthy seamen. But Wulf gladly accepted the books Nielsen offered him, assured that he should thereby improve himself in nautical, mathematical, and astronomical science.

   Yes, books, books! They look so harmless in themselves; and yet how much trouble some of them have brought into the world! Wulf soon learned other things from them than mere ship knowledge. They aroused in him a thirst to learn more and to search farther; and when for hours he lived in them selfishly, as in another world, and then returned to every-day work-life, as though he were a stranger to it and books alone his existence, he would shut them resolutely, and hasten to the beach to work, leaving their enjoyment to the hours when he was shut indoors on account of storm and rain.

  During such times, when the sea raged heaven-high—heaving hills becoming valleys, valleys themselves swelling up to towering mountains again—Wulf felt that in the tumult of the elements without, the battle raged less fiercely in his own breast.

  It is true his mother discerned that something was wrong; but in her long life she had learned to labor and to wait, and she hoped that in time her son would become accustomed to the new, or really the old, situation.

  Frau Ericksen was a woman of few words. It would have been far better in this case if the mother had talked freely with her son. As it was, silence estranged two hearts which were bound together by the strongest interests.

  Since Wulf did not complain outwardly, his mother apparently went on her way as though every thing was right. Wulf, therefore, believed that she understood none of the impulses which stirred him, and thus it happened that time only estranged the more a mother and son who were living together, and yet were far apart.

   Perhaps the sister might have been a reconciling medium if she had not had so many other things to think about and to do. A son of the most prominent seaman in the village distinguished her above all the other young women, and this was very gratifying to Karen. Naturally, therefore, she did not trouble herself much about her brother.

But there was one child who perceived most clearly Wulf's discontent and unhappiness. Ingeborg Nielsen had often observed Wulf's eyes sparkle in conversation with her father, especially when the subject was one of higher intellectual culture. Long ago she had discovered that Wulf's employment was beneath him, and she could not divine why he continued it. But Wulf rarely spoke to her or noticed her.

Thus a year passed away, and Winter again fell on the lonely beach. It could be no superficial effort which animated Wulf now, for he had grown much stronger. The poor boy had a trying youth—a joyless, ineffectual struggle with the present. His mother, deceived by his apparent resignation, believed him to be growing more and more reconciled to his enforced calling.

   But how was it with Wulf? He toiled faithfully all day, and read his books at night; for he was able to put to a practical use the information gained in this way, and surely no well-wisher could grudge the boy this.

   Indeed, it had become pretty well known among the villagers that he was able to relieve sick people as well as animals. It had happened in this wise: Captain Nielsen's dog had broken a leg, and was whining pitifully one day as Wulf entered. Forgetting every thing but the creature's suffering, and having had a similar experience at his uncle's, it was not long before the dog was properly cared for and the leg bandaged—an act for which the animal evinced his gratitude by licking his deliverer's hand, as he was soon able to spring up and frisk around. This was not the end of the affair. Other unfortunate animals in the neighborhood were brought to Wulf for treatment, and the success which followed in their relief and cure gladdened his heart. Then poor people began to seek his advice, and although at first he was inclined to turn them away, he could not withhold a kind word and simple directions here and there. What did a youth like Wulf understand about medical science? Very little, it is true; and yet common sense taught him that a fever patient ought not to be housed in a bake-oven; that broken limbs were not mended by dark incantations, and that rheumatism was not the result of sprains. He therefore gained the confidence of the poor and sick by successful treatment of simple ailments, and much of his time became occupied in this way.

   How interesting to him was this broken bone or that premonitory symptom of disease! If all these experiences had been allowed to continue much longer, he might have been created a miracle-doctor.

  But just at this juncture his mother never failed to upbraid him, and to ask with significant gesture: "Wulf, have you done this? Have you taken care of that?" referring to neglected home duties, and this always restored him to a sense of prosaic reality.

    Once more on the dangerous way! O, had he at last, after the lapse of a year, with all his struggles made no progress, but found himself still on the old ground! And not even there; for to-day he did not have the resolution to burn his implements in order to begin a new life; to-day he was not able to sacrifice so much for his mother as when he had parted from his uncle. This question continually presented itself: "What hinders me from being happy?"

And the answer was no longer, "A struggle against the will," but, "The willfulness of my mother."

   He gnashed his teeth, and mechanically resumed his work. It was, however, impossible to throw off his dejection; but he did not serve in the capacity of a doctor any longer. Was it on account of an inward storm or an outward prevention?

   Wulf was ill, very ill. He did not recognize the faithful motherly and sisterly devotion and love at his bedside. He did not hear the solicitous conferences between physicians who had been summoned from a distance. He was unconscious of his delirious ravings, and little guessed that his mother, for the first time, had become convinced that her son's heart was bent upon a medical profession, not as a mere passing whim, but in the intensity of his whole being. Wulf lay in a fever. There were anxious days when it seemed that the merest grain of sand might turn the balance for life or death. In those days the mother's heart was torn for her beloved, her only son, and she resolved that he should meet with no hindrances in the carrying out of his desires, if only his life should be spared to her.

Old Uncle Ericksen had also sat by his darling's bedside, although unrecognized by him. Perhaps his earnest appeals aided to confirm the mother's conclusion.

   One morning Wulf awoke, and looked around him. He lay in bed, but knew not why. Accidentally his glance fell upon his hand. Was that small, white, emaciated hand his own? No, surely not, for his was hard and strong. While these reflections were passing through his mind, the bed-curtain was drawn aside and his mother was before him. Only a few words were exchanged between them, but if Wulf could have heard the prayer she uttered, when she knew her son had been delivered from death, he would have realized how much she loved him, and there would have been no barrier again between them forever.

   Wulf recovered, but gained strength slowly. It had been Winter when his illness began, but it was Spring when he became able to walk out with feeble steps. All around new life was springing from every germ. At length, he had gained sufficient strength to resume his work.

His mother was silent.

Had she forgotten her vow?