A STORY FROM THE SAND-HILLS [14]
Christiansand in Norway, in her father's ship,
to visit an aunt and to stay there the whole winter.
On the Sunday before she went away they all went to church, to the
Holy Communion. The church was large and handsome, and had been
built centuries before by Scotchmen and Dutchmen; it stood some little
way out of the town. It was rather ruinous certainly, and the road
to it was heavy, through deep sand, but the people gladly surmounted
these difficulties to get to the house of God, to sing psalms and to
hear the sermon. The sand had heaped itself up round the walls of
the church, but the graves were kept free from it.
It was the largest church north of the Limfjorden. The Virgin
Mary, with a golden crown on her head and the child Jesus in her arms,
stood lifelike on the altar; the holy Apostles had been carved in
the choir, and on the walls there were portraits of the old
burgomasters and councillors of Skjagen; the pulpit was of carved
work. The sun shone brightly into the church, and its radiance fell on
the polished brass chandelier and on the little ship that hung from
the vaulted roof.
Jurgen felt overcome by a holy, childlike feeling, like that which
possessed him, when, as a boy, he stood in the splendid Spanish
cathedral. But here the feeling was different, for he felt conscious
of being one of the congregation.
After the sermon followed Holy Communion. He partook of the
bread and wine, and it so happened that he knelt by the side of Miss
Clara; but his thoughts were so fixed upon heaven and the Holy
Sacrament that he did not notice his neighbour until he rose from
his knees, and then he saw tears rolling down her cheeks.
She left Skjagen and went to Norway two days later. He remained
behind, and made himself useful on the farm and at the fishery. He
went out fishing, and in those days fish were more plentiful and
larger than they are now. The shoals of the mackerel glittered in
the dark nights, and indicated where they were swimming; the
gurnards snarled, and the crabs gave forth pitiful yells when they
were chased, for fish are not so mute as people say.
Every Sunday Jurgen went to church; and when his eyes rested on
the picture of the Virgin Mary over the altar as he sat there, they
often glided away to the spot where they had knelt side by side.
Autumn came, and brought rain and snow with it; the water rose
up right into the town of Skjagen, the sand could not suck it all
in, one had to wade through it or go by boat. The storms threw
vessel after vessel on the fatal reefs; there were snow-storm and
sand-storms; the sand flew up to the houses, blocking the entrances,
so that people had to creep up through the chimneys; that was
nothing at all remarkable here. It was pleasant and cheerful
indoors, where peat fuel and fragments of wood from the wrecks
blazed and crackled upon the hearth. Merchant Bronne read aloud,
from an old chronicle, about Prince Hamlet of Denmark, who had come
over from England, landed near Bovbjerg, and fought a battle; close by
Ramme was his grave, only a few miles from the place where the
eel-breeder lived; hundreds of barrow rose there from the heath,
forming as it were an enormous churchyard. Merchant Bronne had
himself been at Hamlet's grave; they spoke about old times, and about
their neighbours, the English and the Scotch, and Jurgen sang the air
of "The King of England's Son," and of his splendid ship and its
outfit.
"In the hour of peril when most men fear,
He clasped the bride that he held so dear,
And proved himself the son of a King;
Of his courage and valour let us sing."
This verse Jurgen sang with so much feeling that his eyes
beamed, and they were black and sparkling since his infancy.
There was wealth, comfort, and happiness even among the domestic
animals, for they were all well cared for, and well kept. The
kitchen looked bright with its copper and
to visit an aunt and to stay there the whole winter.
On the Sunday before she went away they all went to church, to the
Holy Communion. The church was large and handsome, and had been
built centuries before by Scotchmen and Dutchmen; it stood some little
way out of the town. It was rather ruinous certainly, and the road
to it was heavy, through deep sand, but the people gladly surmounted
these difficulties to get to the house of God, to sing psalms and to
hear the sermon. The sand had heaped itself up round the walls of
the church, but the graves were kept free from it.
It was the largest church north of the Limfjorden. The Virgin
Mary, with a golden crown on her head and the child Jesus in her arms,
stood lifelike on the altar; the holy Apostles had been carved in
the choir, and on the walls there were portraits of the old
burgomasters and councillors of Skjagen; the pulpit was of carved
work. The sun shone brightly into the church, and its radiance fell on
the polished brass chandelier and on the little ship that hung from
the vaulted roof.
Jurgen felt overcome by a holy, childlike feeling, like that which
possessed him, when, as a boy, he stood in the splendid Spanish
cathedral. But here the feeling was different, for he felt conscious
of being one of the congregation.
After the sermon followed Holy Communion. He partook of the
bread and wine, and it so happened that he knelt by the side of Miss
Clara; but his thoughts were so fixed upon heaven and the Holy
Sacrament that he did not notice his neighbour until he rose from
his knees, and then he saw tears rolling down her cheeks.
She left Skjagen and went to Norway two days later. He remained
behind, and made himself useful on the farm and at the fishery. He
went out fishing, and in those days fish were more plentiful and
larger than they are now. The shoals of the mackerel glittered in
the dark nights, and indicated where they were swimming; the
gurnards snarled, and the crabs gave forth pitiful yells when they
were chased, for fish are not so mute as people say.
Every Sunday Jurgen went to church; and when his eyes rested on
the picture of the Virgin Mary over the altar as he sat there, they
often glided away to the spot where they had knelt side by side.
Autumn came, and brought rain and snow with it; the water rose
up right into the town of Skjagen, the sand could not suck it all
in, one had to wade through it or go by boat. The storms threw
vessel after vessel on the fatal reefs; there were snow-storm and
sand-storms; the sand flew up to the houses, blocking the entrances,
so that people had to creep up through the chimneys; that was
nothing at all remarkable here. It was pleasant and cheerful
indoors, where peat fuel and fragments of wood from the wrecks
blazed and crackled upon the hearth. Merchant Bronne read aloud,
from an old chronicle, about Prince Hamlet of Denmark, who had come
over from England, landed near Bovbjerg, and fought a battle; close by
Ramme was his grave, only a few miles from the place where the
eel-breeder lived; hundreds of barrow rose there from the heath,
forming as it were an enormous churchyard. Merchant Bronne had
himself been at Hamlet's grave; they spoke about old times, and about
their neighbours, the English and the Scotch, and Jurgen sang the air
of "The King of England's Son," and of his splendid ship and its
outfit.
"In the hour of peril when most men fear,
He clasped the bride that he held so dear,
And proved himself the son of a King;
Of his courage and valour let us sing."
This verse Jurgen sang with so much feeling that his eyes
beamed, and they were black and sparkling since his infancy.
There was wealth, comfort, and happiness even among the domestic
animals, for they were all well cared for, and well kept. The
kitchen looked bright with its copper and