THE BOTTLE NECK [2]
up and carried it home with
them, so that once more it was provided for. At home in their wooden
cottage these boys had an elder brother, a sailor, who was about to
start on a long voyage. He had been there the day before to say
farewell, and his mother was now very busy packing up various things
for him to take with him on his voyage. In the evening his father
was going to carry the parcel to the town to see his son once more,
and take him a farewell greeting from his mother. A small bottle had
already been filled with herb tea, mixed with brandy, and wrapped in a
parcel; but when the boys came in they brought with them a larger
and stronger bottle, which they had found. This bottle would hold so
much more than the little one, and they all said the brandy would be
so good for complaints of the stomach, especially as it was mixed with
medical herbs. The liquid which they now poured into the bottle was
not like the red wine with which it had once been filled; these were
bitter drops, but they are of great use sometimes-for the stomach. The
new large bottle was to go, not the little one: so the bottle once
more started on its travels. It was taken on board (for Peter Jensen
was one of the crew) the very same ship in which the young mate was to
sail. But the mate did not see the bottle: indeed, if he had he
would not have known it, or supposed it was the one out of which
they had drunk to the felicity of the betrothed and to the prospect of
a marriage on his own happy return. Certainly the bottle no longer
poured forth wine, but it contained something quite as good; and so it
happened that whenever Peter Jensen brought it out, his messmates gave
it the name of "the apothecary," for it contained the best medicine to
cure the stomach, and he gave it out quite willingly as long as a drop
remained. Those were happy days, and the bottle would sing when rubbed
with a cork, and it was called a great lark," "Peter Jensen's lark."
Long days and months rolled by, during which the bottle stood
empty in a corner, when a storm arose- whether on the passage out or
home it could not tell, for it had never been ashore. It was a
terrible storm, great waves arose, darkly heaving and tossing the
vessel to and fro. The main mast was split asunder, the ship sprang
a leak, and the pumps became useless, while all around was black as
night. At the last moment, when the ship was sinking, the young mate
wrote on a piece of paper, "We are going down: God's will be done."
Then he wrote the name of his betrothed, his own name, and that of the
ship. Then he put the leaf in an empty bottle that happened to be at
hand, corked it down tightly, and threw it into the foaming sea. He
knew not that it was the very same bottle from which the goblet of joy
and hope had once been filled for him, and now it was tossing on the
waves with his last greeting, and a message from the dead. The ship
sank, and the crew sank with her; but the bottle flew on like a
bird, for it bore within it a loving letter from a loving heart. And
as the sun rose and set, the bottle felt as at the time of its first
existence, when in the heated glowing stove it had a longing to fly
away. It outlived the storms and the calm, it struck against no rocks,
was not devoured by sharks, but drifted on for more than a year,
sometimes towards the north, sometimes towards the south, just as
the current carried it. It was in all other ways its own master, but
even of that one may get tired. The written leaf, the last farewell of
the bridegroom to his bride, would only bring sorrow when once it
reached her hands; but where were those hands, so soft and delicate,
which had once spread the table-cloth on the fresh grass in the
green wood, on the day of her betrothal? Ah, yes! where was the
furrier's daughter? and where was the land which might lie nearest
to her home?
The bottle knew not, it travelled onward and onward, and at last
all this wandering about became wearisome; at all
them, so that once more it was provided for. At home in their wooden
cottage these boys had an elder brother, a sailor, who was about to
start on a long voyage. He had been there the day before to say
farewell, and his mother was now very busy packing up various things
for him to take with him on his voyage. In the evening his father
was going to carry the parcel to the town to see his son once more,
and take him a farewell greeting from his mother. A small bottle had
already been filled with herb tea, mixed with brandy, and wrapped in a
parcel; but when the boys came in they brought with them a larger
and stronger bottle, which they had found. This bottle would hold so
much more than the little one, and they all said the brandy would be
so good for complaints of the stomach, especially as it was mixed with
medical herbs. The liquid which they now poured into the bottle was
not like the red wine with which it had once been filled; these were
bitter drops, but they are of great use sometimes-for the stomach. The
new large bottle was to go, not the little one: so the bottle once
more started on its travels. It was taken on board (for Peter Jensen
was one of the crew) the very same ship in which the young mate was to
sail. But the mate did not see the bottle: indeed, if he had he
would not have known it, or supposed it was the one out of which
they had drunk to the felicity of the betrothed and to the prospect of
a marriage on his own happy return. Certainly the bottle no longer
poured forth wine, but it contained something quite as good; and so it
happened that whenever Peter Jensen brought it out, his messmates gave
it the name of "the apothecary," for it contained the best medicine to
cure the stomach, and he gave it out quite willingly as long as a drop
remained. Those were happy days, and the bottle would sing when rubbed
with a cork, and it was called a great lark," "Peter Jensen's lark."
Long days and months rolled by, during which the bottle stood
empty in a corner, when a storm arose- whether on the passage out or
home it could not tell, for it had never been ashore. It was a
terrible storm, great waves arose, darkly heaving and tossing the
vessel to and fro. The main mast was split asunder, the ship sprang
a leak, and the pumps became useless, while all around was black as
night. At the last moment, when the ship was sinking, the young mate
wrote on a piece of paper, "We are going down: God's will be done."
Then he wrote the name of his betrothed, his own name, and that of the
ship. Then he put the leaf in an empty bottle that happened to be at
hand, corked it down tightly, and threw it into the foaming sea. He
knew not that it was the very same bottle from which the goblet of joy
and hope had once been filled for him, and now it was tossing on the
waves with his last greeting, and a message from the dead. The ship
sank, and the crew sank with her; but the bottle flew on like a
bird, for it bore within it a loving letter from a loving heart. And
as the sun rose and set, the bottle felt as at the time of its first
existence, when in the heated glowing stove it had a longing to fly
away. It outlived the storms and the calm, it struck against no rocks,
was not devoured by sharks, but drifted on for more than a year,
sometimes towards the north, sometimes towards the south, just as
the current carried it. It was in all other ways its own master, but
even of that one may get tired. The written leaf, the last farewell of
the bridegroom to his bride, would only bring sorrow when once it
reached her hands; but where were those hands, so soft and delicate,
which had once spread the table-cloth on the fresh grass in the
green wood, on the day of her betrothal? Ah, yes! where was the
furrier's daughter? and where was the land which might lie nearest
to her home?
The bottle knew not, it travelled onward and onward, and at last
all this wandering about became wearisome; at all