Pelle the Conqueror, Complete by Martin Anderson Nexo

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But Kongstrup did not seem to be nearly so pleased about it. He
had put away his high spirits and retired into his shell once more.
When he was going about like this, he often looked as if there was
something invisible lying in ambush for him and he was afraid of
being taken unawares.

This invisible something reached out after the others, too. Fru
Kongstrup never interfered unkindly in anything, either directly
or in a roundabout way; and yet everything became stricter. People
no longer moved freely about the yard, but glanced up at the tall
windows and hurried past. The atmosphere had once more that
oppression about it that made one feel slack and upset and
depressed.

Mystery once again hung heavy over the roof of Stone Farm. To many
generations it had stood for prosperity or misfortune--these had
been its foundations, and still it drew to itself the constant
thoughts of many people. Dark things--terror, dreariness, vague
suspicions of evil powers--gathered there naturally as in a
churchyard.

And now it all centered round this woman, whose shadow was so heavy
that everything brightened when she went away. Her unceasing,
wailing protest against her wrongs spread darkness around and
brought weariness with it. It was not even with the idea of
submitting to the inevitable that she came back, but only to go on
as before, with renewed strength. She could not do without him, but
neither could she offer him anything good; she was like those beings
who can live and breathe only in fire, and yet cry out when burnt.
She writhed in the flames, and yet she herself fed them. Fair Maria
was her own doing, and now she had brought this new relative into
the house. Thus she herself made easy the path of his infidelity,
and then shook the house above him with her complaining.

An affection such as this was not God's work; powers of evil had
their abode in her.

XVII

Oh, how bitterly cold it was! Pelle was on his way to school,
leaning, in a jog-trot, against the wind. At the big thorn Rud was
standing waiting for him; he fell in, and they ran side by side like
two blown nags, breathing hard and with heads hanging low. Their
coat-collars were turned up about their ears, and their hands pushed
into the tops of their trousers to share in the warmth of their
bodies. The sleeves of Pelle's jacket were too short, and his wrists
were blue with cold.

They said little, but only ran; the wind snatched the words from
their mouths and filled them with hail. It was hard to get enough
breath to run with, or to keep an eye open. Every other minute they
had to stop and turn their back to the wind while they filled their
lungs and breathed warm breath up over their faces to bring feeling
into them. The worst part of it was the turning back, before they
got quite up against the wind and into step again.

The four miles came to an end, and the boys turned into the village.
Down here by the shore it was almost sheltered; the rough sea broke
the wind. There was not much of the sea to be seen; what did appear
here and there through the rifts in the squalls came on like a
moving wall and broke with a roar into whitish green foam. The wind
tore the top off the waves in ill-tempered snatches, and carried
salt rain in over the land.

The master had not yet arrived. Up at his desk stood Nilen, busily
picking its lock to get at a pipe that Fris had confiscated during
lessons. "Here's your knife!" he cried, throwing a sheath-knife to
Pelle, who quickly pocketed it. Some peasant boys were pouring coal
into the stove, which was already red-hot; by the windows sat a
crowd of girls, hearing one another in hymns. Outside the waves
broke without ceasing, and when their roar sank for a moment, the
shrill voices of boys rose into the air. All the boys of the village
were on the beach, running in and out under the breakers that looked
as if they would crush them, and pulling driftwood upon shore.

Pelle had hardly thawed himself when Nilen made him go out with
him. Most of the boys were wet through, but they were laughing and
panting with eagerness. One of them had brought in the name-board
of a ship. _The Simplicity_ was painted on it. They stood round
it and wrangled about what kind of vessel it was and what was its
home-port.

"Then the ship's gone down," said Pelle gravely. The others did not
answer; it was so self-evident.

"Well," said a boy hesitatingly, "the name-board may have been
torn away by the waves; it's only been nailed on." They examined
it carefully again; Pelle could not discover anything special
about it.

"I rather think the crew have torn it off and thrown it into the
sea. One of the nails has been pulled out," said Nilen, nodding
with an air of mystery.

"But why should they do that?" asked Pelle, with incredulity.

"Because they've killed the captain and taken over the command
themselves, you ass! Then all they've got to do is to christen the
ship again, and sail as pirates." The other boys confirmed this with
eyes that shone with the spirit of adventure; this one's father had
told him about it, and that one's had even played a part in it. He
did not want to, of course, but then he was tied to the mast while
the mutiny was in progress.

On a day like this Pelle felt small in every way. The raging of the
sea oppressed him and made him feel insecure, but the others were
in their element. They possessed themselves of all the horror of the
ocean, and represented it in an exaggerated form; they heaped up all
the terrors of the sea in play upon the shore: ships went to the
bottom with all on board or struck on the rocks; corpses lay rolling
in the surf, and drowned men in sea-boots and sou'westers came
up out of the sea at midnight, and walked right into the little
cottages in the village to give warning of their departure. They
dwelt upon it with a seriousness that was bright with inward joy,
as though they were singing hymns of praise to the mighty ocean.
But Pelle stood out side all this, and felt himself cowardly when
listening to their tales. He kept behind the others, and wished he
could bring down the big bull and let it loose among them. Then they
would come to him for protection.

The boys had orders from their parents to take care of themselves,
for Marta, the old skipper's widow, had three nights running heard
the sea demand corpses with a short bark. They talked about that,
too, and about when the fishermen would venture out again, while
they ran about the beach. "A bottle, a bottle!" cried one of them
suddenly, dashing off along the shore; he was quite sure he had
seen a bottle bob up out of the surf a little way off, and disappear
again. The whole swarm stood for a long time gazing eagerly out into
the seething foam, and Kilen and another boy had thrown off their
jackets to be ready to jump out when it appeared again.

The bottle did not appear again, but it had given a spur to the
imagination, and every boy had his own solemn knowledge of such
things. Just now, during the equinoctial storms, many a bottle went
over a ship's side with a last message to those on land. Really and
truly, of course, that was why you learned to write--so as to be
able to write your messages when your hour came. Then perhaps the
bottle would be swallowed by a shark, or perhaps it would be fished
up by stupid peasants who took it home with them to their wives
to put drink into--this last a good-natured hit at Pelle. But it
sometimes happened that it drifted ashore just at the place it was
meant for; and, if not, it was the finder's business to take it to
the nearest magistrate, if he didn't want to lose his right hand.

Out in the harbor the waves broke over the mole; the fishermen had
drawn their boats up on shore. They could not rest indoors in their
warm cottages; the sea and bad weather kept them on the beach night
and day. They stood in shelter behind their boats, yawning heavily
and gazing out to sea, where now and then a sail fluttered past like
a storm-beaten bird.

"In, in!" cried the girls from the schoolroom door, and the boys
sauntered slowly up. Pris was walking backward and forward in front
of his desk, smoking his pipe with the picture of the king on it,
and with the newspaper sticking out of his pocket. "To your places!"
he shouted, striking his desk with the cane.

"Is there any news?" asked a boy, when they had taken their places.
Fris sometimes read aloud the Shipping News to them.

"I don't know," answered Fris crossly. "You can get out your slates
and arithmetics."

"Oh, we're going to do sums, oh, that's fun!" The whole class was
rejoicing audibly as they got out their things.

Fris did not share the children's delight over arithmetic; his
gifts, he was accustomed to say, were of a purely historical nature.
But he accommodated himself to their needs, because long experience
had taught him that a pandemonium might easily arise on a stormy
day such as this; the weather had a remarkable influence upon
the children. His own knowledge extended only as far as Christian
Hansen's Part I.; but there were two peasant boys who had worked
on by themselves into Part III., and they helped the others.

The children were deep in their work, their long, regular breathing
rising and falling in the room like a deep sleep. There was a
continual passing backward and forward to the two arithmeticians,
and the industry was only now and then interrupted by some little
piece of mischief that came over one or another of the children as
a reminder; but they soon fell into order again.

At the bottom of the class there was a sound of sniffing, growing
more and more distinct. Fris laid down his newspaper impatiently.

"Peter's crying," said those nearest.

"Oh-o!" said Fris, peering over his spectacles. "What's the matter
now?"

"He says he can't remember what twice two is."

Fris forced the air through his nostrils and seized the cane, but
thought better of it. "Twice two's five!" he said quietly, at which
there was a laugh at Peter's expense, and work went on again.

For some time they worked diligently, and then Nilen rose. Fris
saw it, but went on reading.

"Which is the lightest, a pound of feathers or a pound of lead?
I can't find it in the answers."

Fris's hands trembled as he held the paper up close to his face to
see something or other better. It was his mediocrity as a teacher
of arithmetic that the imps were always aiming at, but he would
_not_ be drawn into a discussion with them. Nilen repeated his
question, while the others tittered; but Fris did not hear--he was
too deep in his paper. So the whole thing dropped.

Fris looked at his watch; he could soon give them a quarter of an
hour's play, a good long quarter of an hour. Then there would only
be one little hour's worry left, and that school-day could be laid
by as another trouble got through.

Pelle stood up in his place in the middle of the class. He had some
trouble to keep his face in the proper folds, and had to pretend
that his neighbors were disturbing him. At last he got out what he
wanted to say, but his ears were a little red at the tips. "If a
pound of flour costs twelve ores, what will half a quarter of coal
cost?"

Fris sat for a little while and looked irresolutely at Pelle. It
always hurt him more when Pelle was naughty than when it was one
of the others, for he had an affection for the boy. "Very well!" he
said bitterly, coming slowly down with the thick cane in his hand.
"Very well!"

"Look out for yourself!" whispered the boys, preparing to put
difficulties in the way of Fris's approach.

But Pelle did one of those things that were directly opposed to all
recognized rules, and yet gained him respect. Instead of shielding
himself from the thrashing, he stepped forward and held out both
hands with the palms turned upward. His face was crimson.

Fris looked at him in surprise, and was inclined to do anything
but beat him; the look in Pelle's eyes rejoiced his heart. He did
not understand boys as boys, but with regard to human beings his
perceptions were fine, and there was something human here; it would
be wrong not to take it seriously. He gave Pelle a sharp stroke
across his hands, and throwing down the cane, called shortly,
"Playtime!" and turned away.

The spray was coming right up to the school wall. A little way out
there was a vessel, looking very much battered and at the mercy of
the storm; she moved quickly forward a little way, and stood still
and staggered for a time before moving on again, like a drunken man.
She was going in the direction of the southern reef.

The boys had collected behind the school to eat their dinner
in shelter, but suddenly there was the hollow rattling sound
of wooden-soled boots over on the shore side, and the coastguard
and a couple of fishermen ran out. Then the life-saving apparatus
came dashing up, the horses' manes flying in the wind. There was
something inspiriting in the pace, and the boys threw down
everything and followed.

The vessel was now right down by the point. She lay tugging at her
anchor, with her stern toward the reef, and the waves washing over
her; she looked like an old horse kicking out viciously at some
obstacle with its hind legs. The anchor was not holding, and she
was drifting backward on to the reef.

There were a number of people on the shore, both from the coast and
from inland. The country-people must have come down to see whether
the water was wet! The vessel had gone aground and lay rolling on
the reef; the people on board had managed her like asses, said the
fishermen, but she was no Russian, but a Lap vessel. The waves went
right over her from end to end, and the crew had climbed into the
rigging, where they hung gesticulating with their arms. They must
have been shouting something, but the noise of the waves drowned it.

Pelle's eyes and ears were taking in all the preparations. He was
quivering with excitement, and had to fight against his infirmity,
which returned whenever anything stirred his blood. The men on the
beach were busy driving stakes into the sand to hold the apparatus,
and arranging ropes and hawsers so that everything should go
smoothly. Special care was bestowed upon the long, fine line that
the rocket was to carry out to the vessel; alterations were made
in it at least twenty times.

The foreman of the trained Rescue Party stood and took aim with the
rocket-apparatus; his glance darted out and back again to measure
the distance with the sharpness of a claw. "Ready!" said the others,
moving to one side. "Ready!" he answered gravely. For a moment all
was still, while he placed it in another position and then back
again.

Whe-e-e-e-ew! The thin line stood like a quivering snake in the air,
with its runaway head boring through the sodden atmosphere over the
sea and its body flying shrieking from the drum and riding out with
deep humming tones to cut its way far out through the storm. The
rocket had cleared the distance capitally; it was a good way beyond
the wreck, but too far to leeward. It had run itself out and now
stood wavering in the air like the restless head of a snake while
it dropped.

"It's going afore her," said one fisherman. The others were silent,
but from their looks it was evident that they were of the same
opinion. "It may still get there," said the foreman. The rocket had
struck the water a good way to the north, but the line still stood
in an arch in the air, held up by the stress. It dropped in long
waves toward the south, made a couple of folds in the wind, and
dropped gently across the fore part of the vessel. "That's it! It
got there, all right!" shouted the boys, and sprang on to the sand.
The fishermen stamped about with delight, made a sideways movement
with their heads toward the foreman and nodded appreciatively at
one another. Out on the vessel a man crawled about in the rigging
until he got hold of the line, and then crept down into the shrouds
to the others again. Their strength could not be up to much, for
except for that they did not move.

On shore there was activity. The roller was fixed more firmly to
the ground and the cradle made ready; the thin line was knotted to
a thicker rope, which again was to draw the heavy hawser on board:
it was important that everything should hold. To the hawser was
attached a pulley as large as a man's head for the drawing-ropes
to run in, for one could not know what appliances they would have
on board such an old tub. For safety's sake a board was attached
to the line, upon which were instructions, in English, to haul it
until a hawser of such-and-such a thickness came on board. This was
unnecessary for ordinary people, but one never knew how stupid such
Finn-Lapps could be.

"They may haul away now as soon as they like, and let us get done
with it," said the foreman, beating his hands together.

"Perhaps they're too exhausted," said a young fisherman. "They must
have been through a hard time!"

"They must surely be able to haul in a three-quarter-inch rope!
Fasten an additional line to the rope, so that we can give them
a hand in getting the hawser on board--when they get so far."

This was done. But out on the wreck they hung stupidly in the
rigging without ever moving; what in the world were they thinking
about? The line still lay, motionless on the sand, but it was not
fast to the bottom, for it moved when it was tightened by the water;
it must have been made fast to the rigging.

"They've made it fast, the blockheads," said the foreman. "I suppose
they're waiting for us to haul the vessel up on land for them--with
that bit of thread!" He laughed in despair.

"I suppose they don't know any better, poor things!" said "the
Mormon."

No one spoke or moved. They were paralyzed by the incomprehensibility
of it, and their eyes moved in dreadful suspense from the wreck down
to the motionless line and back again. The dull horror that ensues
when men have done their utmost and are beaten back by absolute
stupidity, began to creep over them. The only thing the shipwrecked
men did was to gesticulate with their arms. They must have thought
that the men on shore could work miracles--in defiance of them.

"In an hour it'll be all up with them," said the foreman sadly.
"It's hard to stand still and look on."

A young fisherman came forward. Pelle knew him well, for he had met
him occasionally by the cairn where the baby's soul burned in the
summer nights.

"If one of you'll go with me, I'll try to drift down upon them!"
said Niels Koller quietly.

"It'll be certain death, Niels!" said the foreman, laying his hand
upon the young man's shoulder. "You understand that, I suppose! I'm
not one to be afraid, but I won't throw away my life. So you know
what I think."

The others took the same view. A boat would be dashed to pieces
against the moles. It would be impossible to get it out of the
harbor in this weather, let alone work down to the wreck with wind
and waves athwart! It might be that the sea had made a demand upon
the village--no one would try to sneak out of his allotted share;
but this was downright madness! With Niels Koller himself it must
pass; his position was a peculiar one--with the murder of a child
almost on his conscience and his sweetheart in prison. He had his
own account to settle with the Almighty; no one ought to dissuade
him!

"Then will none of you?" asked Niels, and looked down at the ground.
"Well, then I must try it alone." He went slowly up the beach. How
he was going to set about it no one knew, nor did he himself; but
the spirit had evidently come over him.

They stood looking after him. Then a young sailor said slowly:
"I suppose I'd better go with him and take the one oar. He can
do nothing by himself." It was Nilen's brother.

"It wouldn't sound right if I stopped you from going, my son,"
said "the Mormon." "But can two of you do more than one?"

"Niels and I were at school together and have always been friends,"
answered the young man, looking into his father's face. Then he
moved away, and a little farther off began to run to catch up
Niels.

The fishermen looked after them in silence. "Youth and madness!"
one of them then said. "One blessing is that they'll never be able
to get the boat out of the harbor."

"If I know anything of Karl, they will get the boat out!" said
"the Mormon" gloomily.

Some time passed, and then a boat appeared on the south side of the
harbor, where there was a little shelter. They must have dragged it
in over land with the women's help. The harbor projected a little,
so that the boat escaped the worst of the surf before emerging from
its protection. They were working their way out; it was all they
could do to keep the boat up against the wind, and they scarcely
moved. Every other moment the whole of the inside of the boat was
visible, as if it would take nothing to upset it; but that had one
advantage, in that the water they shipped ran out again.

It was evident that they meant to work their way out so far that
they could make use of the high sea and scud down upon the wreck--a
desperate idea! But the whole thing was such sheer madness, one
would never have thought they had been born and bred by the water.
After half an hour's rowing, it seemed they could do no more; and
they were not more than a couple of good cable-lengths out from the
harbor. They lay still, one of them holding the boat up to the waves
with the oars, while the other struggled with something--a bit of
sail as big as a sack. Yes, yes, of course! Now if they took in the
oars and left themselves at the mercy of the weather--with wind and
waves abaft and beam!--they would fill with water at once!

But they did not take in the oars. One of them sat and kept a
frenzied watch while they ran before the wind. It looked very
awkward, but it was evident that it gave greater command of the
boat. Then they suddenly dropped the sail and rowed the boat hard
up against the wind--when a sea was about to break. None of the
fishermen could recollect ever having seen such navigation before;
it was young blood, and they knew what they were about. Every
instant one felt one must say Now! But the boat was like a living
thing that understood how to meet everything; it always rose above
every caprice. The sight made one warm, so that for a time one
forgot it was a sail for life or death. Even if they managed to
get down to the wreck, what then? Why, they would be dashed against
the side of the vessel!

Old Ole Koller, Niels's father, came down over the sandbanks. "Who's
that out there throwing themselves away?" he asked. The question
sounded harsh as it broke in upon the silence and suspense. No one
looked at him--Ole was rather garrulous. He glanced round the flock,
as though he were looking for some particular person. "Niels--have
any of you seen Niels?" he asked quietly. One man nodded toward the
sea, and he was silent and overcome.

The waves must have broken their oars or carried them away, for they
dropped the bit of sail, the boat burrowed aimlessly with its prow,
and settled down lazily with its broadside to the wind. Then a great
wave took them and carried them in one long sweep toward the wreck,
and they disappeared in the breaking billow.

When the water sank to rest, the boat lay bottom upward, rolling in
the lee of the vessel.

A man was working his way from the deck up into the rigging. "Isn't
that Niels?" said Ole, gazing until his eyes watered. "I wonder if
that isn't Niels?"

"No; it's my brother Karl," said Nilen.

"Then Niels is gone," said Ole plaintively. "Then Niels is gone."

The others had nothing to answer; it was a matter of course that
Niels would be lost.

Ole stood for a little while shrinkingly, as if expecting that some
one would say it was Niels. He dried his eyes, and tried to make it
out for himself, but they only filled again. "Your eyes are young,"
he said to Pelle, his head trembling. "Can't you see that it's
Niels?"

"No, it's Karl," said Pelle softly.

And Ole went with bowed head through the crowd, without looking at
any one or turning aside for anything. He moved as though he were
alone in the world, and walked slowly out along the south shore.
He was going to meet the dead body.

There was no time to think. The line began to be alive, glided
out into the sea, and drew the rope after it. Yard after yard it
unrolled itself and glided slowly into the sea like an awakened
sea-animal, and the thick hawser began to move.

Karl fastened it high up on the mast, and it took all the men--and
boys, too--to haul it taut. Even then it hung in a heavy curve from
its own weight, and the cradle dragged through the crests of the
waves when it went out empty. It was more under than above the water
as they pulled it back again with the first of the crew, a funny
little dark man, dressed in mangy gray fur. He was almost choked in
the crossing, but when once they had emptied the water out of him he
quite recovered and chattered incessantly in a curious language that
no one understood. Five little fur-clad beings, one by one, were
brought over by the cradle, and last of all came Karl with a little
squealing pig in his arms.