by John Galt
“Well, well,” answered Fluke, “I’m off, so good morning t’ye, and many thanks for your advice; we shall speak ships again some time.”
The sailor and his spectral companion, who had evinced a thousand goblin tricks during this conference, now departed for Little Britain, but great was the reluctance and opposition which the changeling exhibited to such a proceeding, and it was by main force only that Fluke dragged him into the astrologer’s house. The moment that Horoscope beheld the creature, he raised his hand to Fluke, who was about to relate his story, and said—
“Old man, I know your desires, but speak not a word till I give you permission. Parable, lead this child into my study, and turn the key; and, dost there?—no prattling, if thou wouldst not have a legion let loose upon thee! Now, friend, thy story.”
Fluke then related in his own peculiar manner all that has already been told, and concluded by entreating of the astrologer to point out some means whereby he should be relieved from his unearthly companion, and recover his young Basil. Horoscope stated in reply, that the boy had been seduced away by fairies, who had left in his place one of their own elf-children; and that there was but one way to be pursued for the reversing of the spell, which required considerable courage and perseverance.
“This day,” said the astrologer, “is one of the four great divisions of the year, upon all of which men have power over fairies; and it is, moreover, the holy season of Our Lady’s Annunciation. Thou must then immediately go to those dark and marshy fields which lie to the north-east of this place in Finsbury, and prepare thee a grave; in which at night-time thou must place the changeling, repeating such a spell as I shall give thee. All this must be done alone; and alone and in silence thou must watch through the night, with thy back towards the grave. If these ceremonies be faithfully performed, when the first rays of the sun shall cast thy shadow upon the ground, look upon the grave, and thy Basil shall be restored; but if the least point be omitted, another quarter of a year must pass ere this spell can be repeated. Go now, prepare the grave, and at night come hither for thy elf-child and the spell.”
Fluke departed, after thanking the astrologer, and promising the strictest attention to his instructions. Having prepared the grave, he passed the remainder of the day in refreshing himself for his night’s watching; and about the hour of nine he went to Horoscope’s for his charge, taking with him a dark lanthorn and his cutlass.
The changeling and the old mariner were soon on the road to Finsbury Fields, which at the time of this history spread its marshy wildness on either side of what is now called the Pavement, leaving only a long lane, guarded with low hedges passing between them, though the place is now occupied by splendid shops and stately dwelling-houses. Fluke’s first care was to lay the elf in the grave, and much was he surprised to find him passive, and comparatively gentle to what he had formerly seen him; and then, holding up the lanthorn to Horoscope’s written instructions, he read over the changeling the following spell:
“Receive, O earth! O virgin earth!
This elf within thy narrow bed;
And raise to life with second birth,
That beauteous form so lately fled.
Throughout the night, throughout the night,
Mine eyes shall watch, mine heart shall grieve,
But the first rays of golden light,
Those tears, those sorrows shall relieve.
’Tis done! in darkness works the spell,
No mortal sight thy work shall see;
But morn shall prove it wrought full well,
And give my Basil back to me.”
Having uttered these lines, Fluke wrapped himself in his watch-coat, unsheathed his cutlass, and then, turning his back to the grave, and to the east, sat down in much anxiety of mind upon a mound of earth. The night which followed was dark, fearful, and tempestuous; the lightning, and rain, and wind were continually in motion, and with the storm there seemed to mingle shouts from the grave; and sometimes he heard, or thought he heard, several voices, with singing and with laughter. Then again it would seem as if a procession passed him on horseback, with the bridle-bits and stirrups ringing loudly and merrily; but though the gloom of the midnight was too deep for discerning anything through it, the old mariner actually imagined that he saw a shadowy train ride by him, one of which bore something before him on his saddle-bow. When it had passed, a blaze of light seemed to burst out of the grave, followed by such strange sounds of mourning and shouting that the honest sailor could scarcely refrain from turning round to look upon it; but the remembrance of Horoscope’s words made him resist the temptation.
Towards morning a deep sleep fell upon him, from which he awoke not till the sun’s beams cast his shadow on the ground before him. He rose in a moment, and rushing to the spot where the grave was, he found instead of it a small mound of the most beautiful green turf, with little Basil Hartwell lying upon it asleep, and as lovely as when he was conveyed to Fairyland. Words cannot express Fluke’s joy as he clasped the boy to his bosom, and departed. The same morning also, to increase his happiness, and set all his future fears at rest, the payment of a very large sum of prize, which had long been litigated, put an end to his continuing a resident in the “Both Ends” of Pickaxe Street.
CARL BLUVEN AND THE STRANGE MARINER, by Henry David Inglis
(1833)
On that wild part of the coast of Norway that stretches between Bergen and Stavenger, there once lived a fisherman called Carl Bluven. Carl was one of the poorest of all the fisherman who dwelt on that shore. He had scarcely the means of buying materials wherewith to mend his net, which was scarcely in a condition to hold the fish in it; still less so was he is a condition to make himself master of a new boat, which he stood greatly in need of; for it was so battered and worn, that while other fishermen adventured out into the open sea, Carl was obliged to content himself with picking up what he could among the rocks and creeks that lay along the coast.
Notwithstanding his poverty, Carl was on the eve of marriage. His bride was a daughter of a woodcutter in the neighboring forest, who contrived, partly with his hatchet, and partly with his gun, to eke out his livelihood; so that the match was pretty equal on both sides. But Carl was in a sad dilemma on one account; he had nothing to present to the minister on his marriage—not a keg of butter, nor a pot of sausages, nor a quarter of a sheep, nay not even a barrel of dried fish; and as he had been accustomed to boast to his father-in-law of his thriving trade, he knew not in what way to keep up appearances. In short, the evening before his wedding day arrived, and Carl was still unprovided.
So dejected had Carl been all day, that he had never stirred out of his hut; and it was approaching nightfall. The wind had risen, and the hollow bellowing of the waves, as they rolled in among the huge caverned rocks, sounded dismally in Carl’s ear, for he knew he dared not launch his leaky boat in such a sea; and yet, if he caught no fish, there would be nothing for supper when he should bring his wife home. Carl rose, clapped his hat on his head, with the air of a man who is resolved to do something, and walked out upon the shore. Nothing could be more dismal than the prospect around Carl’s hut; no more desolate and dreary home than Carl’s could a man bring his bride to. Great black round-headed rocks, partly covered with seaweed, were thickly strewn along the coast for many miles; these, when the tide was back, were left dry, and when it flowed, their dark heads, now seen, now hidden, as the broad-backed waves rolled over them, seemed like the tumbling monsters of the deep.
When Carl left his hut, the rising tide had half-covered the rocks; and the waves, rushing through the narrow channels, broke in terrific violence on the shore, leaving a wide, restless bed of foam, as they retreated down the sloping beach. The sun, too, was just disappearing beneath the waves, and threw a bright and almost unnatural blaze upon the desolate coast. Carl wandered along, uncertain what to do. He might as well have swamped his boat at once, as have drawn it out of the creek where it lay secure; so, after wading in and out amo
ng the channels, in the hope of picking up some fish that might not have been able to find their way back with the wave that had thrown them on shore, he at length sat down upon a shelving rock, and looked out upon the sea, towards the great whirlpool called the Maelstroom, of which so many fearful things were recorded.
“What riches are buried there,” said Carl to himself half aloud. “Let me see—within my time, six great ships have been sucked down; and if the world be, as they say, thousands of years old, what a mine of wealth must be at the bottom of the Maelstroom be! What casks of butter and hams—to say nothing of gold and silver—and here am I, Carl Bluven, to be married tomorrow, and not a keg for the minister. If I had but one cask from the bottom of the Maelstroom, I would”—but Carl did not finish the sentence. Like all fisherman of that coast, Carl had his superstitions and his beliefs; and he looked round him rather uneasily, for he well knew that all in the Maelstroom belonged to Kahlbrannar, the tall old mariner of the whirlpool; and after having had the hardihood to entertain so bold a wish, Carl felt more uncomfortable than he cared to own; and seeing the night gathering in, and the tide rising to his feet, while the spray dashed in his face, he was just about to return to his solitary hut, when a high crested wave, rushing through the channel beside him, bore a cask along with it, and threw it among the great stones that lay beneath the rocks.
As parts of wrecks had often been thrown upon this dangerous shore, Carl was not greatly surprised; and circumstances having allayed the superstitious fears that were beginning to rise, he had soon his hands upon the cask, getting it out from among the rocks in the best way he was able; till, having reached the sand, he rolled it easily up to the door of his dwelling; and having shut to the door, and lighted his lamp, he fell to work in opening the cask to see what it contained. It proved the very thing he
Next morning betimes, Carl Bluven was on his way to his wedding, rolling the cask before him with the larger half of the butter in it for his marriage fee. With such a present as this, Carl was well received by the minister, as well as by his father-in-law, and by Uldewalls the bride, who, with her crown upon her head, the Norwegian emblem of purity, became the wife of the fisherman; and he, after spending a day or two in feasting with his new relations, returned with Uldewalls to his hut on the sea shore, carrying back with him a reasonable supply of sausages and brandiwine, and Gammel Orsk cheese, and such like dainties, as the dowry of his wife.
For some little time all went well with Carl. What with the provisions he had brought home, and the remains of his butter, the new married couple did not fare amiss; even though the fisherman rarely drew a net; for Carl wished to enjoy his honeymoon, and not be wading and splashing among the sea-green waves, when he might be looking into the blue eyes of Uldewalls. At length, however, the sausage pots stood empty, and even the Gammel Orsk cheese was reduced to a shell: as for the butter, Carl and his wife had found it so good, that the cask had been empty long since.
Carl left his hut, taking his net and his oars over his shoulders, leaving Uldewalls picking cloudberries; and unmooring his boat, paddled out of the creek, and began throwing his nets; but not a fish could he take: still he continued to try his fortune, in an out among the creeks, til the sun set, and dusk began to creep over the shore. The tide had retired, so that Carl’s boat was left dry a long way within water-mark, and he had to walk a dreary mile or more, over the shingle and sand, among the black dripping rocks that lay between him and his own dwelling. But there was no help for it: so, mooring his boat the best way he could, he turned towards the coast, in somewhat of a dejected mood, at his want of success.
As Carl turned away, he noticed at a little distance, close to the water, a small boat, that well he knew belonged to no fisherman of that coast; it was the very least boat he had ever seen, such as no seaman of Bergenhuus could keep afloat on such a sea; and the build of it, too, was the queerest he had ever beheld. But Carl, seeing from the solitary light that shone in the window of his hut, that Uldewalls expected him, kept his direct course homeward, resolved next day to return and examine the boat, which he had no doubt, had been thrown ashore from some foreign wreck. But Carl had soon still greater cause for wonder: raising his eyes from the pools of water, in which he hoped to find some floundering fish, he observed a tall figure advancing from the shore, in the direction of the little boat he had seen, and nearly in the same line which he was pursuing. Now Carl was no coward; yet he would rather have avoided this rencontre. He knew well that no fisherman would walk out among the rocks towards the sea, at the fall of night, and, besides, Carl knew all the fishermen within six leagues; and this was none of them; but he disdained to turn out of his way, which ,indeed, he could only have done by wading through some deep channels that lay on either side of him; and so he continued to walk straight on, his wonder, however, and perhaps his uneasiness, every moment increasing, as the lessening distance showed him more distinctly a face he was sure he had never seen on that coast, and which was of that singular character, which involuntarily raised in the mind of Carl certain uncomfortable sensations.
“A dreary night this, Carl Bluven,” said the strange mariner to our fisherman, “and likely for a storm.”
“I hope not,” said Carl, not a little surprised that he should be addressed by his name; “I hope not, for the sake of the ships and the poor mariners.”
“You hope not,” said the other, with an ugly sneer; “and who, I wonder, likes better than Carl Bluven to roll a cast-a-way cask to his cabin door?”
“Why,” returned Carl, apologetically, and still more suspicious of his company, from the knowledge he displayed, “what Providence kindly sends, ’tis not for a poor fisherman to refuse.”
“You liked the butter I sent you, then!” said the strange mariner.
“You sent me!” said Carl.
But Carl’s rejoinder remained without further explanation. “Ah ha!” said the tall mariner, pointing out to sea in the direction of the Maelstroom, “she bears right upon it—the Frou, of Drontheim, deeply laden. We’ll meet again, Carl Bluven.” And without further parley, the tall strange mariner brushed past Carl, and strode hastily towards the sea. Carl remained for some time rooted to the spot, looking after him through the deepening dusk, which, however, just enabled Carl to see him reach the little boat, and push off through the surf—but farther he was unable to follow him.
As Carl walked towards his own house, as fast as the huge stones and pools of back-water would permit him, he felt next thing to sure, that the tall mariner he had encountered was no other than Kahlbranner; and a feeling of satisfaction entered his heart, that he had made so important and useful an acquaintance, who not only could, but had already shown, his willingness to do him a kindness; and just as Carl had come to this conclusion, he reached the water-mark opposite to his own house, and, at the same time, his foot struck against a cask, lying high and dry, on the very spot where the other cask had drifted. Carl guessed where it came from; and was right merry at so reasonable a present; and rolling the cask to his own door, he was soon busy staving it, and drawing out, one after another, some of the choicest white puddings, and dried hams, that ever left the harbor of Bergen. “Here’s to Kahlbrannar’s health,” said Carl, after supper, taking his cup of corn brandy in his hand, and offering to hobernob (ed.: to toast) with his wife. But Uldewalls shook her head, and refused to hobernob, or to drink, and Carl fancied, and no doubt it was but fancy, that he heard a strange laugh outside the hut, and that as he raised his eyes, he saw the face of the tall mariner draw back from the window. Carl, however, tossed off his cup; feeling rather proud of the friendship of Kahlbranner.
* * * *
Carl Bluven had a singular dream that night. He thought, that, looking out of the door of his hut, he saw the little boat he had noticed that evening, lying beyond the rocks at low tide, and that he walked out to examine it; and being curious to know whether he could steer so very small a boat, he stepped into it; and leaning forward, hoisted the little
sail at the bow, the only one it had; and when he turned round to take the helm, he saw the tall mariner sitting as a steersman. Away shot the boat, Carl, nothing daunted at the company he was in, or the frailty of the vessel, for the helmsman steered with wonderful dexterity, and the boat flew along like a sea-bird skimming the waves. Not a word was spoken, till after a little while, the steersman, pointing forward, said, “There she is, as I told you, the Frou, of Drontheim, bearing right upon the Maelstroom, as my name is Kahlbranner; she’ll be down to the bottom before us.” Carl now looked out ahead, and saw a fearful sight: the sea, a league across, was like a boiling cauldron, whirling round and round and round, and gradually, as it were, shelving down to the centre, where there appeared a huge hole, round which the water wheeled with an awful swirl, strong enough to suck in all the fleets that ever sailed the seas. A gallant three-masted ship was within the whirlpool; she no longer answered the helm, but flew round and round the cauldron, gradually nearing the centre, which she soon reached, and, stern foremost, rushed down the gulph, that swallowed her up. But notwithstanding the terrors of the Maelstroom, and the horror of this spectacle, Carl did not yet awake from his dream. The little boat, piloted by the tall mariner, flew directly across the whirlpool to its centre—down, down, down they sunk; and the next moment Carl found himself walking with his companion on the ribbed sea-sand at the bottom of the Maelstroom. What a sight met the eyes of Carl! Mountains of wealth; piles of all that ships have carried, or nations trafficked in from the beginning of time; wrecks of a thousand vessels, great and small, scattered here and there, and the white bones of the mariners, thicker strewn than gravestones in a churchyard. But what mainly attracted the eye of Carl, was the gold and the silver that lay about as plentiful as pebble-stones; all bright and fresh, though ever so old; for Carl could read upon some of the coins which he picked up the name of Cluff Kyrre, the first king of Norway.