CHAPTER 3

The locality where we tarried last lay solitary and apart from all communication with the outer world. A stranger rarely visited this beach, and if a tourist chanced to be led hither, he made his way out of it as expeditiously as possible. It was, therefore, quite an event to the simple villagers when a family arrived from Berlin for the Summer.

    One Baron Von Kahring had rented a vacant cottage for the season. The baroness, with her two daughters, had already taken possession, in order that the elder daughter, who had recently been subjected to a painful surgical operation, might recover her strength in the bracing sea-air. She was not visible to outsiders, but a pavilion had been erected before the cottage, where she reclined during the day. Therefore the younger daughter was so much the more an object of interest to the village folks. The father and a brother were accustomed to spend several days at a time here, going back and forth to the city.

  Wulf had not yet seen the new-comers, but upon hearing the name Kahring, he at once said to himself: "Can this be the family whose son was at my uncle's?"

He was still unaware of the fact, when one day, as he was making some repairs to his boat, he observed Arnold passing by.

  There had been a very friendly, if not a very ardent relation between the two, and now Arnold's appearance revived the recollections of happier times. He sprang up, reached out his hand and exclaimed cordially: "Arnold, you here?"

The baron's son looked up in surprise, not recognizing the sunburnt sailor. At length he said: "Ah, I see. Do you live here?"

   At a glance Wulf perceived that his former comrade's greeting was not very encouraging, and the half-contemptuous expression with which he contemplated Wulf's appearance and employment disclosed an immediate key to his demeanor; and Arnold, who had been very glad at one time to avail himself of Wulf's assistance in his studies, was not so eager to communicate with him in a humble position.

Wulf desired to help him out of the dilemma, so he hammered away at his work while Arnold stood near.

"Are you obliged to do much of that kind of work?" the latter finally inquired, as Wulf began to fasten boards smeared with tar on the boat.

"As often as it is necessary," replied the worker, rather curtly.

"And are you not miserable in such employment?"

"Not at all."

A pause ensued, after which Arnold remarked:

"Well, I must go home. We shall often see each other, as we expect to remain here for some time. Good-bye."

"Good-bye!"

   Wulf worked energetically until his former companion was out of sight. Then he threw down his tools, and stood gloomily with folded arms. Why had he grown so pale? Had he unwisely over-exerted himself after his recent illness? No; to-day, for the first time, he keenly realized how his calling was regarded by one with whom he had formerly felt to be on terms of equality. Never before had it occurred to him that there was a dividing wall between men of the world and himself, and that he was regarded by them as belonging to a lower class. Here in this humble village he was superior, and if he had been heart and soul a sailor, he would neither have understood Arnold's contempt, nor, indeed, observed it.

 But he felt it as painfully as if burning wax had fallen on his heart; and even if there had been any thing to mitigate this suffering, he was all the more disgusted with a calling which was uncongenial to him.

   Nevertheless he held his head so much the higher. If Arnold had feared any undue familiarity from his former schoolmate, he deceived himself. It was not Wulf that sought Arnold—quite the contrary.

    The days which this city-bred youth was obliged to pass here were so long and monotonous that he soon waived all distinction of rank, and endeavored to gain the young seaman's companionship.

But the latter had little spare time, and did not encourage these advances, which opposition only urged Arnold in his approaches.

   Lady Von Kahring observed this, and took occasion to caution her son against low associations. She, herself, treated Wulf, when she met him with her son, with the condescending favor she showed to her servants. It was not even agreeable to remember that Arnold had been in daily companionship with a young fisherman at school, and that the latter had been set up as an example for her son to emulate. She therefore ignored this fact, in order to make Wulf realize his true position.

But "the young fisherman" was so reserved, that neither her rigid formality nor the young baron's behavior seemed to make any impression upon him.

Eugenie, the younger daughter of the Kahring family, sought Ingeborg's acquaintance. The captain's daughter met her in a sweet, friendly way, and soon the two young girls were often seen on the beach together, searching for sea-weed and shells, or climbing the surrounding cliffs, and yet they had very little in common.

It is true Ingeborg listened attentively when Eugenie talked of the splendid sights, the beautiful dresses, the theaters, the children's balls, and her delight in the prospect of being introduced into society the coming Winter. But all these great things belonged to a world of which Ingeborg had little knowledge, and for which there was still less attraction. How any one could spend day after day in such frivolous occupation was incomprehensible to her, and "gallants" or "beaux" were foreign words. Her father, her pastor, Wulf—were they "gentlemen?" Eugenie chatted of this and that, and was indignant when Ingeborg interposed a "Pshaw! that isn't true;" or, "Ugh! how ugly that is!" or the earnest inquiry whether city people knew God's commandments.

"Silly one! It isn't polite for you to interrupt me with such expressions," Eugenie would interject, as she continued her rhapsodical descriptions without further observing her companion's astonishment.

Arnold accompanied the girls gladly, partly through ennui, partly through interest in Ingeborg. What better could he do, unaccustomed to being alone, than to play the part of a gallant? He had learned to row a little, and often a boat carrying the three, passed Wulf at his work, but he cast neither a sympathetic nor a contemptuous glance toward it.

It was a bright, hot Summer's day. The sea lay calm and heavy as molten lead. It was oppressively warm in the low-roofed cottage. Arnold proposed to take his sister and Ingeborg out on the water. They consented, and strolled to the beach.

"Listen!" said Arnold; "we shall try something new to-day. It is tiresome to row in this heat. We will put up the sails."

"But there is no wind," remonstrated Ingeborg.

"No matter; we can take this little sail-boat and row at first, you helping me steer. See? A fresh breeze will soon come when we get out to sea."

And the breeze came. Suddenly, as if a myriad of sparkling gold-pieces had been flung over the water, the sunbeams trembled here and there upon its bosom.

"Hello, Wulf!" cried Arnold to the young fisherman at his work in the distance; "shall we have any wind to-day?"

"More than we want," was the prompt reply.

"Arnold, I don't think mamma would like to have us go out in a sail-boat; there might be danger," said Eugenie.

"Ah yes, when I did not understand how to manage one; but now it is absurd to speak of danger. Still, in order that mamma may not be uneasy, we shall push out from here; then no one will see us," was the confident reply.

Ingeborg was silent. She had been out so often this way that she gave it no thought. Eugenie was delighted with the novel pleasure, and Arnold was so thoroughly imbued with the assurance of his own skill and experience that the possibility of danger never entered his mind.

Not far distant from the beach were seated Baron and Lady Von Kahring, under the canopy of a tent, where their invalid daughter, Theodora, reclined on an easy couch. Her gaze was directed out to sea as if her recovery were dependent upon it. Lady Von Kahring was writing, and her husband was reading a newspaper.

"This paper is four days old," he remarked petulantly; "one is a veritable exile in this isolated spot."

"But we can not go east yet," replied Lady Von Kahring. "Besides, you are always traveling back and forth to Berlin."

"Dear father, I am so thankful to be here. We could not have found such a quiet place anywhere else in the world."

There was a deep silence. The baron continued to read, and his wife resumed her writing. The wind came up, and drove a cloud here and there over the sea. Suddenly Theodora raised herself on the couch and appeared to follow a distant object with spell-bound attention. Turning to her father, she said: "Please hand me the spy-glass." He passed it to her without looking up. Theodora adjusted it to her eyes; her face grew deathly pale, while the scar upon one of her cheeks became livid scarlet, an evidence of deep excitement.

"Mother," she said quietly, "do not be alarmed, but yonder in that boat are Arnold, Eugenie, and Ingeborg. The wind is up, and Arnold does not know how to manage the sails—they go out farther and farther. O, if a boat could only be sent quickly after them!"

Baron Von Kahring sprang up. The sailboat was near enough to give evidence of bad management. It plunged so low into the depths that even an inexperienced eye must know it was in danger of going down.

The mother cried out in terror, while the father called loudly for Arnold to return immediately. Theodora wrung her hands in anguish, seeing that the only means of rescue was not available. She made desperate efforts to rise, when suddenly a little boat was seen to push out from the shore. One of the men in it was rowing, while the other stood up and cried in tones of thunder: "Arnold, bind the sail fast." That this cry had been heard was evident, as the sail was being worked, without, however, the desired effect. At the same time a sail was quickly unfurled in the rescuing boat which the wind filled, and the second sailor seizing an oar, the boat flew over the water on eagle's wings.

But too late! A shrill cry of horror rang out from the lookers-on. Arnold's boat had made a plunge down—down, as if to take leave forever, and was not seen again. It had sunken, and the three bright, young people it had contained were consigned to a watery grave!

Lady Von Kahring swooned. Theodora gave her immediate attention, while the baron hastened to the beach, where a number of men were assembled, among them Captain Nielsen, Ingeborg's father. He did not utter a word. He heard the expressions, "Too late!" "Brave boy!" but his whole being seemed concentrated in his eyes transfixed upon the water.

Finally he exclaimed with deep emotion, "He has them—all three!" and now it was plainly seen that Wulf's boat (for he was the "brave boy") contained several persons, and was turned homeward.

"Meet him," continued the captain; where upon four or five boats flew from willing hands upon the sea, his own being foremost. Now they reached Wulf, who, with beaming face, stood up in his boat, waved his hat joyfully, and cried out:

"All safe and well!"

"Brave boy, you swim like a fish!"

A few minutes later all were on terra firma. Ingeborg appeared to be the most exhausted, and her father carried her home in his arms.

Eugenie was more affected by fright, while Arnold looked deeply mortified and crest-fallen.

"I reached them just at the right moment; the boat sank only a few feet away. Three dives and they were all safe," said Wulf modestly.

When Frau Ericksen heard of the fortunate rescue her heart was glad. Ah yes; here was something which only a sailor could do. Would this adventure perhaps make her son more reconciled to his calling? No; it produced an entirely different result.

After necessary attention had been given to the shipwrecked, naturally the interest of all centered in Wulf. Captain Nielsen pressed him silently to his heart and kissed him, but in his speechless love lay a gratitude deeper than a thousand words could have expressed.

The Kahrings, too, were unable to thank him enough, and they were sincere. But Wulf was too great a sailor to comprehend wholly this excessive flow of gratitude. He felt that he had only fulfilled duty, and that he had done nothing extraordinary; but from this time he liked the Kahrings better, their tact and kindness now making him feel quite on equality with them. They cordially invited him ta their home circle. Theodora particularly desired to see and grasp the hand of her brother's and sister's deliverer; and Wulf, after some inward struggle, decided to accept the invitation.

He was received with exceeding kindness, and treated with undisguised cordiality; and finding the young man agreeable, they really enjoyed his visits, partly through ennui, and partly through obligation.

Wulf's pride dissolved more and more under the warm rays of this hospitable amiability, and he soon began to be quite at his ease among them.

Lady Von Kahring was the first to suggest to him that he was too gifted for his surroundings and position, at the same time urging him to strive after higher attainments, and go to Berlin for future improvement.

The word was spoken. It tore away the veil from the gloom in which Wulf had been living. If the fact of his ability had not been perfectly clear to him before, this conversation would have certainly confirmed it.

It is difficult to get a glimpse into the heart where tumultuous waves often roll higher than out upon the sea. Frau Ericksen, Captain Nielsen, everybody here had the firm conviction that it would be almost criminal for Wulf to become a "doctor." He, himself, had endeavored to banish the ambition from his mind; and now he had been led by circumstances into the circle of a family which, however, superficial its aims, still found opportunity for higher interests, and which moved amid very different forms and scenes from those to which he had been accustomed. Once he might have been content to live here without further aspirations; now it was evident that his ignorance had deceived him. This only increased his unhappiness. It is true he had, thus far, adhered to his resolution to labor diligently without complaint to his mother. He had consequently become more self-reliant, for absolute resignation demands thorough self-reliance; but now this life, with its mental inertia, he realized, must end. The bolt had been withdrawn from the chamber of his soul; light had entered; the darkness was recognized to be indeed darkness, and he craved the light.

One day, after a brief absence from home, Arnold returned with the rank of an ensign. The long-dreaded examination had been happily passed, and he was now an officer—a distinction which caused the young man to appear outwardly as though he had really acquired some new attainment.

Wulf was well aware that in point of actual knowledge he was vastly Arnold's superior; and yet what was he?

The Kahrings now regarded the simple artisan as an agreeable companion for the gay young officer in this seclusion, where nothing better could be found for his diversion.

"Old fellow, what ails you anyhow?" Arnold asked frankly, one day, his dejected-looking acquaintance.

"What ails me? Why, every thing that I haven't got."

Arnold looked up inquiringly. He had an affected loftiness of speech, coupled with an indifference of manner toward every body; but the unlucky boat-ride had inspired him with not only a kind of affection for Wulf, but an instinctive respect, and he now approached him somewhat cautiously until he knew what was his mood.

"Now tell me," he ventured, after a slight pause, "what do you really wish for?"

"I wish for what I shall do, what I shall do! Go away from this place. There is something within me that will not let me rest. I can not overcome it. I was not made to drag out my life on this sea-coast."

"Ah! the old aspirations revived," said Arnold with a laugh. "You desire to be a great man, eh? Instead of wasting away your life alone here, you would make a worse shipwreck of it elsewhere? Your taste isn't bad!"

"What am I to do?"

"Come with us to Berlin. That's where one discovers for the first time what life really is."

"I desire to learn——"

"Certainly, without that, you can do nothing, especially if you would make money."

"It is not my ambition to be rich," retorted Wulf, proudly. "I desire to study, because I long to improve myself; and learning to know the great men whose minds enlighten the world, I would be like them."

"You are too sanguine," replied Arnold. "That naturally proceeds from your isolation here. Yes, yes: only learn to know men; the sacred halo, which appears in the distance to be sunbeams, becomes gold-pieces when you approach it. I tell you, to be rich is the true wisdom of life. But come along with me now. Mamma wishes me to invite you to spend the evening with us. It is disagreeable out of doors. A thunder-storm is coming on; we must go in, where we can have a further talk over our plans."

  Wulf felt the warm blood mantle his bronzed cheeks. It was clear to him what he must do. Two pictures were present to his mind. He saw his old mother observing him with anxious eye, and he knew that every body around her expected him to continue his father's business. On the other hand, and most attractive, appeared the circle of distinguished people awaiting his coming.

  Although the Kahrings occupied a fisherman's cottage, they had surrounded themselves with enough city comforts to indicate their social position. Wulf saw, in vision, the bright lamp, the elegant tea-service, the dignified, gracious hostess, the merry Eugenie; and, quicker than cloud follows cloud in the sky, the first picture vanished before the splendor of the second.

"Thank you, I will come. Good-bye until we meet," said Wulf.

  Arnold looked after the tall figure. "An eccentric fellow!" he said to himself; "still longing after school-benches. I am glad to be free again, and out of a prison which only bothers my head. But what prospect have I now? Nothing beyond." And the young ensign sauntered off, smoking a cigar.

   Wulf hurried to his mother's humble abode. She was standing by the little window, looking out sharply for her tardy son. As she opened the door for him she asked reproachfully: "What detained you so long? See the storm coming. Hurry off to the boats that lie in the water."

  More speedy work was seldom done. The boats were soon brought to a safe place, and the young sailor, bathed in perspiration, re-entered the room where his mother now came forward to meet him with more affectionate solicitude.

"Now, my son, eat your supper."

  How comfortable the place looked! Yonder in a corner was the old canopy-bed, with its quaint designs; here was the stove whose polished stone hearth depicted the history of paradise and the fall of man, more forcibly than authentically. Around the two sides of the room was a brown bench, which served the purpose of a chest as well, and concealed all manner of things from view. There, upon the table, a pewter oil-lamp lighted up the spotless cloth upon which was spread the evening meal, to which Frau Ericksen again invited her son with significant gestures.

Wulf waved his hand. "No, mother, I am invited to tea with the Kahrings, and I must make haste or I shall be too late."

"Wulf," remonstrated his mother, "there is a terrible storm at hand. Your dear father always remained at home with us during such times, and read us a prayer."

"You can do that, mother, dear."

There was no reply. Wulf dressed hurriedly and hastened off with "Good-night; the storm may not be so bad, but do not sit up for me."

What did he really lose by this action? He knew thoroughly well that the evening at home would be precisely like hundreds and hundreds that had preceded it. His mother would sit by the spinning-wheel without saying a word; Karen would also sit there, and work just as silently; Peter, the man-servant, would, if possible, be still more quiet when he came in to mend his nets and listen to the storm.

Later on, his mother would read the evening lesson; after which they would all exchange one tedium for another by going to bed.

   How often he had sat there in utter self-denial; had read his books longing for explanations to many questions! He had, it is true, never attempted the frivolous indiscretion of any interchange of thought. What understanding could his mother have of the things that interested him? Was not her mental horizon limited, very limited? She had been the wife of a brave fisherman, and had shown great intelligence in practical things. She knew her Bible and hymn-book thoroughly; every thing aside from this was beyond her sphere. Little as these old, diligent hands were acquainted with the pen, still less had the head any conception of the thoughts that animated her son.

   And Karen? She was just as pretty, good, and industrious a girl as could be found anywhere. Her work was cheerfully done. She was obedient to her mother, went to Church regularly, laughed with her companions, and looked upon a certain tall young "Martin" with undisguised pleasure. Surely, enough for her! Neither mother nor sister had any conception of Wulf's feelings—it was impossible; and he made no effort to explain the position. What could they be to him? These were his thoughts.

As stars in a dark night glittered the windows of the little cottage where the Kahrings resided, when Wulf approached it.

He was warmly received.

The baroness greeted him with: "We wait tea for you; the children would not sit down without you."

Looking upon the stately lady who proffered her hand with these kindly words, Wulf unwittingly contrasted his stout little mother's appearance with hers. How it suffered by comparison! And now, while without it was dark and stormy, within and around him every thing was as bright and charming as wealth and cultured taste could furnish. Instead of the howling storm was the cozy hum of the tea-kettle; and while its music continued, Eugenie's voice rang out in unison with the guest's, at the same time she played the accompaniments of his quaint songs upon the piano. Who could be insensible to these external comforts, pleasant formalities, and kindly words? Certainly not the young man whose life had always been so barren of them.

"From my son I learn that we are to have the pleasure of seeing you in Berlin this Winter," said Lady Von Kahring, during a pause in the music.

"Thank you; I sincerely hope so, Madame," half stammered Wulf; "but it is not positively certain as yet. So far as I am concerned, I trust it may be so."

"O, nonsense! only come soon," interjected Arnold; "you learn nothing here."

"My son is right. In a large city one has so many ways and means for self-improvement," added Lady Von Kahring.

"May I knock at your door when I arrive there a stranger?" asked Wulf modestly.

"One naturally does what one can to assist struggling young people," was the affable reply.

It was noteworthy how skillfully this lady could answer direct questions in the third person.

"I can rent a room for you," said Arnold.

"And your bass voice will be an addition to our musical association,'" added Eugenie.

The old baron, who never talked much, arose at this juncture to open a window; but the storm prevented him. "What beastly weather we have here!" he muttered. "Rain every day—a wretched way of living."

He was right, Wulf thought. It was also a pitiful way of living, and he wondered how he had endured it so long.

After taking leave of this delightful circle, Wulf did not go directly home. His blood was violently stirred; he felt that he must walk and face the wind for a while. In his meanderings he approached the little church-yard. There was his father's grave. Beside the tombstone his mother had placed a similar one, with her name carved upon it, leaving room for the date of her death. She expected to pass away and leave no other record. But should he bury himself, figuratively, in this secluded spot at the early age of nineteen? He turned away with a shudder, and there determined to embrace the profession which had been his ideal since childhood, and to inform his mother of this decision on the following day; for she would surely be asleep when he returned at this late hour.

   But the mother had not slept. Many anxious thoughts had been interwoven with her wool at the spindle, and although her lips had remained silent, her heart had not been calm.

   It was just as true as ever that she would have preferred to see Wulf succeed his father in business; but she was neither so narrow as to resist a legitimate struggle, nor so weak as to wish to keep Wulf wholly to herself. It was only against the breach of an old custom she contended. For an only son to act contrary to long established usage was to her preposterous and unintelligible. On this account she had removed him from school, in order to make him a sailor. She had nurtured this error a long time; and who knows whether she ever would have discerned it if his serious illness had not intervened? But she had deferred the time for action until Autumn, then further postponed it from time to time; and it was simply this that robbed good Frau Ericksen of her sleep.

   Meanwhile Wulf had changed. It seemed to his mother that it was not only a desire for learning which animated him, but an ambition to become famous; a longing for external things, which, to her mind, were not worth the trouble; a continual ideality, a looking upon people of fine manners through gold spectacles, accepting them as noble and good and beautiful in the abstract. Yes; this she was sure was the cause of his discontent; and that he looked down upon his mother and sister burned her heart as a natural consequence. And, then, must he go so unarmed into the world—into a great city of which she knew nothing except by hearsay, but which at best seemed to her a very Babel? Should he win or lose most there? Finally she said: "Yes; he will gain wisdom even through harm. Now I can not and will not restrain him any longer. He shall see for himself that 'all is not gold that glitters.' But my boy is good," she added consolingly; "and if he goes away, he will come back to me again."