The Breaking of the Storm

Book I

I

The weather had grown worse towards evening. The groups of navvies on their way to the new railroad at Sundin cowered closer together between the piled-up barrels, casks, and chests on the foredeck, while the passengers had almost disappeared from the poop. Two elderly gentlemen who had been talking a good deal together during the journey now stood on the starboard side, looking at the island round which the steamer had to pass to the southwest, and whose level shores, sweeping in broad curves towards the promontory, appeared every moment more distinctly.

“So that is Warnow?”

“No. I beg your pardon, President—that is Ahlbeck, a fishing village, which is, however, on the Warnow estates. Warnow itself lies farther inland. You can just see the church tower over the edge of the dunes.”

The President dropped the eyeglass with which he had vainly searched for the tower.

“You have sharp eyes, General, and are quick at finding out your bearings!”

“I have only been there once, it is true,” answered the General; “but since then I have had only too much cause for studying this line of coast on the map.”

The President smiled.

“Yes, yes; it is classical ground,” said he; “it has been long fought over—long and vainly.”

“And I am convinced that it was right that the struggle should be in vain: at least, that it should have only a negative result,” said the General.

“I am not sure that it will not be taken up again,” answered the President. “Count Golm and Co. have been making immense efforts lately.”

“After you have so clearly proved that it is impossible that the railway should pay?”

“And you that the harbour would be useless!”

“Pardon me, President, the decision was not left to me: or, to speak more correctly, I declined to make it. The only place in the least suitable for the harbour would be just there, in the southernmost corner of the bay, protected by Wissow Head—that is to say, on the Warnow property. It is true that I am only a trustee for my sister’s estates—”

“I know, I know,” interrupted the President; “old-fashioned Prussian honesty, which becomes over-scrupulous sometimes. Count Golm and Co. are less scrupulous.”

“So much the worse for them,” said the General.

The two gentlemen turned and went up to a young girl, who was sitting in a sheltered place under the lee of the deck cabin, and passing the time as best she could, partly in reading, partly in drawing in a little album.

“You would like to remain on deck, I suppose, Elsa?” said the General.

“Are you both going into the cabin?” answered the girl, looking up from her book. “I think it is horrible down below; but it certainly is too chilly here for you, President.”

“It really is excessively chilly,” answered the President, turning up the collar of his overcoat, and casting a glance at the sky; “I think we shall have rain before sunset even now. You really should come with us, do not you think so, General?”

“Elsa is weatherproof,” answered the General, smiling. “But you might put a shawl or something round you. Shall I fetch you anything?”

“Thank you, papa! I have everything I can possibly want here,” said Elsa, pointing to her bundle of plaids and rugs; “I will cover myself up if it is necessary. Au revoir!”

She bowed gracefully to the President, gave her father a loving look and took up her book again, while the two gentlemen turned into the narrow passage between the cabin and the bulwarks.

She read for a few minutes, then looked up again and followed with her eyes the cloud of smoke which was still issuing from the funnel in thick, dark, eddying masses and rolling down upon the vessel. The man at the wheel, too, still stood on the same spot, still turning the wheel sometimes to the right, sometimes to the left, and again holding it immovable in his rough hands. And, yes, there was still the man who had been, walking up and down with such indefatigable perseverance from end to end of the vessel, and had showed in so doing a steadiness in his movements which Elsa, in the course of the day, had repeatedly tried to imitate, but with very doubtful results.

Otherwise, Elsa thought, he had not much to distinguish him; and she said to herself that she should hardly have noticed him amongst a greater number of people, certainly not have observed him attentively, perhaps not even have seen him; and that if in the course of the day she had looked at him constantly and really studied him, it was only because there had not been much to see, to observe, or to study.

Her sketchbook which she was now turning over proved this. This was meant for a view of the harbour of Stettin. It would require a good deal of imagination to make anything out of that, thought Elsa. This one has come out better—the flat meadows, the cows, the floating beacon, smooth water beyond with a few sails, another strip of meadow, and the sea in the distance. The man at the wheel is not bad either: he stood still. But the “Indefatigable” is a terrible failure, a positive caricature! That is the results of being always in motion! At last! Only five minutes, Mr. What’s-your-name! this really might be good, the attitude is capital!

The attitude was certainly simple enough. He was leaning against a bench with his hands in his pockets, and as he looked straight out into the sea towards the west, his face was in full light, notwithstanding that the sun was hidden behind clouds, and it was also—what Elsa always particularly liked to draw—in profile.

“A fine profile,” thought Elsa, “although the finest features—the large, good-humoured blue eyes—are not seen at their best so. But, on the other hand, the dark beard will come out all the better, I can always succeed with beards; the hands in the pockets is very convenient, the left leg entirely hidden by the right, not particularly artistic but most convenient for the artist; now the bench—a little bit of the bulwarks and the ‘Indefatigable’ is finished.” Elsa held the book at a little distance from her to look at the sketch as a picture; she was highly pleased. “That shows that I really can finish off a thing when I do it with all my heart,” she said to herself, and wrote under the picture: “The ‘Indefatigable.’ With all my heart, 26th August, ’72, E. v. W.”

While Elsa had been so busily trying to put upon paper the young man’s figure and features, her image also had been present to his mind; and to him it was all the same, whether he shut his eyes or kept them open, he always saw her with equal clearness, and always equally graceful and charming, whether at the moment of their departure from Stettin, when her father introduced her to the President, and she bowed so prettily; or as she breakfasted with the two gentlemen, and laughed so merrily as she put her glass to her lips; or as she stood on the bridge with the Captain, and the wind blew her dress so close to the slender figure, and the grey veil fluttered like a flag over her shoulder; or as she spoke to the navvy’s wife on the deck who was sitting in front of her on the coiled-up ropes and hushing her baby wrapped up in a shawl; as she stooped down, lifted the shawl for one moment, and looked with a smile at the hidden treasure; and as, a minute later, she passed by, and a severe look of the brown eyes asked him how he had dared to watch her? or as she now sat against the cabin and read and drew, and read again, and looked up to the clouds of smoke or to the sailor at the wheel. It was extraordinary how firmly her image had impressed itself on his mind in the short time; but then for more than a year he had seen nothing but the sky above and the water below. It was no wonder after all if the first pretty and nice-looking girl he saw after such long abstinence made so great an impression upon his feelings.

“And besides,” said the young man to himself, “in three hours we shall be at Sundin, and then farewell, farewell forever more. But what are they doing? You are surely not going over the Oster sands with this tide?”

With these latter words he turned to the man at the wheel.

“Well, sir, it’s a fact,” answered the man, rolling his quid from one cheek to the other; “seems to me, too, we ought to starboard a bit, but the Captain thinks—”

The young man did not wait for the end of the speech. In former years he had often made this voyage; but he had passed the spot towards which their course was now directed only a few days ago, and had been alarmed to see that where there had formerly been fifteen feet of water, there were now only twelve. Today, after the strong west wind had kept the tide back to such an extent, there could hardly be ten feet, and the steamer drew eight. And yet there was no lessening of speed, no soundings were taken, not one of the proper precautions thought of! Was the Captain mad?

The young man ran so hastily past Elsa, and his eyes, as they fell upon her, had in them so singular an expression, that she rose involuntarily and looked after him. In another moment he was on the bridge beside the stout, elderly Captain, to whom he spoke long and earnestly, and at last even as it seemed warmly, while he repeatedly pointed with his hand to a particular spot in the direction in which the ship was going.

A strange feeling of anxiety came upon Elsa, such as she had not experienced in the whole journey. It could not be a small matter which roused such excitement in this quiet, good-humoured-looking man! And now she was certain of what she had already more than once guessed—that he was a sailor, and in that case no doubt a first-rate one, who was of course in the right, though the fat old Captain did shrug his shoulders so coolly, and point in the same direction, and then look through his telescope and shrug his shoulders again, while the other now hastily descended the steps from the bridge to the poop, and came straight towards her as if intending to address her.

But he did not do so at once, although, as he hastened by her, his look met hers, and he no doubt read the silent inquiry in her eyes and on her lips. He hesitated a moment, and—yes, really—he turned back, and was now close behind her.

“Madam—”

Her heart beat as if it would burst. She turned round.

“Madam,” he repeated, “it is wrong, I know, to alarm you, and perhaps without cause. But it is not impossible—in fact, I think it is probable—that within five minutes we shall be ashore. I mean we shall run aground.”

“Good heavens!” cried Elsa.

“I do not think any harm will come of it,” continued the young man, “if the Captain—Ha! we have only got half-steam on now—half-speed; but he ought to have reversed the engines, and probably even that would be too late now.”

“Can he not be made to do it?”

“On board his own ship the Captain is supreme,” answered the young man, smiling, in spite of his vexation. “I am a sailor myself, and in similar circumstances would yield just as little to any persuasions.”

He lifted his cap, bowed, and moved a step away, then stopped again. A deeper light shone in the blue eyes, and a slight tremor came into the clear, strong voice as he continued:

“There is no question of real danger. We are near the shore, and the sea is tolerably smooth. I only wished that you might not be taken by surprise. Forgive my boldness.”

He bowed again, and then quickly retired, as if he wished to avoid further questions.

“There is no question of danger,” murmured Elsa. “It is a pity; I should like to have been saved by him. But my father must know this. The President ought to be prepared; he needs it more than I do.”

She turned to the cabin; but already the diminished speed of the vessel, which in the last half-minute had still further lessened, had attracted the attention of the passengers assembled there. Her father and the President were already ascending the steps.

“What is the matter?” called the General.

“We cannot possibly be in Prora already?” said the President.

At that moment they all felt what seemed like an electric shock, while an odd, dull, grinding sound fell unpleasantly upon their ears. The keel had touched the sandbank, but had not stuck fast. A shrill whistle, a couple of seconds’ breathless silence, then the whole ship shook and quivered with the force of the reversed motion of the screw.

But what only a few minutes before would have averted the danger was too late now. The vessel had to pass backwards over the same sandbank which it had only just managed to get over. A larger wave in its retreat had forced the stern a few inches further down. The screw laboured vigorously; the ship heeled over a little, but remained fixed.

“What the devil is the meaning of this?” cried the General.

“There is no question of real danger,” said Elsa quickly.

“Bless my soul! my dear young lady!” cried the President, who had turned very pale.

“We are very near in shore, and the sea is tolerably quiet,” said Elsa.

“What do you know about it?” cried the General. “The sea is not a thing to be trifled with.”

“I am not trifling, papa,” said Elsa.

The hasty movements and shouts and cries that suddenly surrounded them on all sides, and the singular and uncomfortable position of the ship, all sufficiently proved that the prediction of the “Indefatigable” had come true, and that the steamer was aground.