The southerly wind continued to blow a greyish mist in across the town. The ducks sat there, huddled together in the wind. But then, suddenly, something happened.
No one knew who first raised the alarm. It was not the lookout in the Redoubt, although he was the obvious one.
Someone or other, who had been out on some errand, had been the first to see the sight… and three minutes later all
Tórshavn had seen it: crowds of people could be seen behind the corner of every house looking down towards the shore.
“Oh, Jesus have mercy on us!”
Large sails had appeared on the horizon. They stood out there like an evil and far too obvious sign. The old women were the ones who wailed loudest. These ships must mean trouble. They wailed and they wept, their teeth chattered, and they tried to warm their cold hands beneath their Sunday aprons.
Aye, there was nothing else to be expected. The last trading ship of the year had been there and left. Besides, such huge sails: it was obvious to everyone that this was no ordinary ship.
A moment later and another ship appeared on the horizon.
Terror was already tensing its back in preparation. It was at first like a little smoking fuse, and then suddenly it was like a blaze that was reflected in everyone’s eyes, and finally it broke out in a wild confusion of shouting, weeping and cursing.
There was no real hesitation. There was only one thing to be done. Save what could be saved – household appliances, bedclothes, a little wool that had been put aside, anything at all! – And then up into the mountains. Tramping Englishmen and drunken Scots had often come ashore, broken their way into chests and cupboards, slaughtered the cattle and dragged folk away to fish off Iceland. This was something everyone had heard about. And that was not even the worst thing. On one occasion great hoards of heathens – Turks or black men it was said – had laid waste and burned on Suduroy, slaughtering to obtain food and dragging over thirty women and children off from their quiet homes to unknown devilish slavery. That was the most dreadful thing anyone could talk about. Nor had Tórshavn always escaped. Some years ago a French crew had destroyed the Redoubt and plundered the town.
The Faroese, who were themselves the descendants of pirates, had over the centuries been tamed by poverty and isolation. They had turned into a shy and faint-hearted people. Faced with foreigners, they knew but one defence – flight up into the inaccessible mountains. Now the whole of Tórshavn was on the move at the sight of three large sails on the horizon.
Someone had started beating a drum somewhere in the alleyways. There was someone there who had not lost courage. Otto Hjørring, that dull dog, was perhaps not just a loud mouth after all. But he was so drunk. With one hand he was holding the more than half dead drummer by the collar and with the other he was waving his drawn sword. He hit out at Beach Flea’s dilapidated gable so that the chimney almost fell down. But Beach Flea was not at home; his wife had sent him down to the Sands to fetch the duck. And as for her, she had always feared the commandant, but today she only feared the pirates. And so it was with all the women. With their arms full of spinning wheels, infants and dried fish, they streamed in terror through Gongin, wept, fell down, got up again and forever implored God’s help. The huts were deserted and left with their doors open, and the fire in the hearth was left to go out.
The men fled rather more slowly, indeed there were those who wondered whether it was necessary to flee straight away. But that was one thing; another was to have to don a red uniform, white gaiters and tall grenadier hats, face the enemy and defend oneself as a soldier of the king – that was probably more than Otto Hjørring, the drunken wretch, could persuade them to do.
Gabriel had spent that afternoon together with Magdalene, the judge’s widow, helping her to go through the old bureau. His chubby hands eagerly slid back and forth across the woodwork, searching; he tapped gently and indomitably here and there in order to find hollow places. There was not the least little thing, not a single thing, no yellowing mortgage deed that had not seen the light of day. But the treasure in the secret compartment still refused to materialise. But there was no doubt about that – if it was there, he would find it all right. This was quite a different search from what Magdalene with her withered fingers had ever been able to carry out, and she was very grateful to her nephew for the strength and determination he revealed. The bureau actually groaned beneath his hand. He had started to deal with it very firmly. It looked extremely shabby and as though its dignity was offended with all the empty pigeon holes and their contents spread over tables and chairs.
Gabriel tried and tried and thought and thought. But his thoughts were as much on Barbara as on the bureau. Aye, if only he had known her innermost pigeonholes. In recent days it had been almost an obsession. This new minister for Vágar – was it to be his turn now? Could it be that there was already something going on between them? He kept watch as much as possible, but the store occupied him every day. He was in Nýggjastova each evening. He mocked, he insinuated, he paid court, but Barbara merely smiled secretively and protested when he went much further than was acceptable.
Barbara enjoyed him. She was so musical. There was not a shade, not the slightest intonation in his voice that escaped her. She heard his heartbeats. She heard the pitiful dog deep down in Gabriel howling and asking her to say it was all a lie. And how she played with this dog! But her kind heart often ran away with her, and then she said it was not true. But every time she said that, she secretly thought, “Suppose it were true.” And then she smiled, and Gabriel’s dog howled again.
She could finally scarcely do without his chatter, and when Gabriel turned his attention to the bureau, she was not far from sulking. She went out and before long returned with Suzanne.
When they heard the shouting and the din outside, Magdalene was afraid. But Gabriel had his wits about him. He grabbed old Judge Stenderup’s telescope and went up a stepladder to the top loft. Barbara and Suzanne hurried after him. But Magdalene continued to go around moaning, “Oh, Jesus, it’s a pirate ship.”
“Of course it’s not,” shouted Gabriel, staring out across the sea with a knowledgeable expression on his face. But there was just a touch of fear in his voice.
The three of them stood in a group around the little window in the gable and took it in turns to look through the telescope. Barbara was flushed with excitement and almost hopped about on the rickety floor. Suzanne said nothing.
Gabriel said he believed they were warships.
“Are they? Are they? Let me see.”
“Even if they are warships, it may be too early to feel pleased,” said Suzanne. “Men from warships can also ransack a town and burn it down. We’ve seen that before.”
Gabriel was anything but pleased. It looked as though the ground was beginning to burn beneath his feet. He slowly descended the ladder. But Barbara and Suzanne could not tear themselves away from the window. They stared and stared, spoke breathlessly, both at the same time, interrupting each other, fighting over the telescope and all the time shouting, “Let me see. Let me see.”
Barbara was far too careless about her skirts. She gave not a thought to the ladder below. Gabriel could see her legs.
“Oh, Christ have mercy on us,” Magdalene went on complaining. She looked around irresolutely at all her things that lay scattered around all over the sitting room.
“Yes, we’d probably better get all that out of the way,” said Gabriel in a flat voice.
Magdalene started haphazardly gathering her papers together.
“Good heavens,” Suzanne’s voice was heard from above. “Suppose they are pirates and they come and rape us both.”
Barbara suddenly laughed in a warm descant; her eyes were radiant: “Yes. And fancy how sorry everyone will be for us afterwards. That will be the most amusing thing of all.”
Gabriel could still see her legs.
“Don’t just stand up there and get randy,” he shouted. It was supposed to sound jaunty and playful, bu
t it was a howl of pain. Then he tore himself away and rushed out.
He had regained his strength. Like a wounded whale, he worked his way forward through Gongin against the crowd. When he had reached Reyn, he encountered the last fugitives. He rushed into the empty apartment to carry his belongings to safety.
But Barbara and Suzanne had scarcely noticed his disappearance. They were becoming more and more entranced by the ships.
“I can see one of them quite clearly now,” shouted Barbara: “There are three rows of cannon on it and a gilt figure on the prow.” She clapped her hands.
The law speaker came walking through Gongin. He could hardly be said to be hurrying, but alert observers would nevertheless have noticed that he was raising his heels rather more quickly from the ground than usual. His face was also strangely tense.
Bailiff Harme was quite beside himself. His wig was askew and he was waving a long Dutch chalk pipe in the air. He had started to shout for Suzanne and looked rather apoplectic. When he caught sight of the law speaker he calmed down for a moment. This huge figure was like a rock in the maelstrom. If Samuel Mikkelsen was dispirited, it could at least not be seen in his face. He looked as thoroughly kind and quiet as usual. But he was not in a position to give any advice to the frightened bailiff.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” he said. “I’m so undecided, but I think I will stay where I am. But the rest of you can get away if you like. There is no knowing. For of course, they could mean trouble.”
Several people had gathered outside the bailiff’s house. They were unwilling to let themselves be seen to be too afraid. It was worth seeing what the top dogs decided to do.
But the bailiff was quite incapable of deciding on anything at all. He bustled to and fro. Now he had three ledgers under his arm. The law speaker simply stood there. Just stood.
The judge appeared. As usual, he stroked his chin.
“It will be a cause of shame to us all,” he said, “if they turn out now to be friendly warships and the people on board find no one here, either in the town or in the Redoubt.”
“That is my feeling, too,” said Samuel Mikkelsen quietly.
And there they both stood.
Pastor Wenzel came struggling through Gongin with a huge burden on his back. He was almost ready to drop beneath silver, fine garments and bedclothes.
The judge’s lips twitched a little. He could not resist it: “Oh riches and gold, – you idols of earth so fair to behold.”
The minister glanced at him from under the eiderdowns, but he maintained a furious silence.
But the ordinary people were simply horrified. This man of God! They had never seen him like this before. Anna Sophie came along with the two old women. They looked so small and withered in the crowd here. The wind blew in Ellen Katrine’s silvery white hair. It was a wretched sight.
People were again gripped by fear. The crowd started to move, while the bailiff with his ledgers continued to call out: “Suzanne. Suzanne.”
Something caught the light somewhere higher up. Barbara opened the gable window in Nýggjastova and leaned out: “They are not pirates! Can’t you see that?”
Her voice was somewhere between irritation and laughter. It sounded as though she had been interrupted in the midst of something very amusing and was irritated that people could not understand it was all a joke.
Everyone started. Barbara’s arms were resting on the window ledge, round and calm. She was wearing a blue dress, pale and flushed and with warmth in her voice. She was a picture of good humour and roguishness in the midst of the cold terror.
“Can’t you understand?” she continued, “big ships like these can’t be pirate vessels. They must be warships.”
There was general hesitation. The law speaker shaded his eyes with his hand and stared out across the sea. Then he turned and with a little smile said, “I really think Barbara is right.”
Barbara was radiant. “Yes, don’t you think so? They have a white flag.”
“A white flag with golden lilies?” asked the judge.
“Yes, I think so.” She took the telescope: “Yes, a white flag with some gold in it.”
“Oh, that’s a quite different matter, quite different.” The bailiff began to adopt his official deportment again. “Then they’re French, and we are not at war with them.”
“As far as I know, Denmark is not at war with anyone,” said the law speaker sarcastically.
There was a general discussion and conversation. People went down to the water’s edge again to take a look. Curiosity started to replace fear.
“My good men,” said the law speaker to a couple of the soldiers, “go over to the Redoubt. We must fire a salute. Let us not be a complete laughing stock in the eyes of the foreign visitors.”
They went. Order was returning. People were carrying their poor belongings back home. The air was full of joy, relief and expectancy. Only a small number of wives refused to believe and went on moaning about enemy ships. But the young people all wanted to go out to Tinganes to see the foreign sailors arrive.
When Barbara and Suzanne came down into the street, they encountered Gabriel. He appeared not to have the least idea of what was going on.
“Oh, how fat you are!” said Barbara.
“Yes, why are you so fat?”
They prodded him. And then they burst into laughter. Suzanne started pulling out red silk material from his waistcoat. But Gabriel struck out at her and went off, troubled and upset. He had eight yards of material tucked inside his trousers.
Half an hour after this, all the windows in Tórshavn shook as the cannon fired a salute. There was a dense crowd on Tinganes and at Skindersker. Anchor chains rattled; foreign voices gave orders and shouted, and out of the gunpowder smoke there appeared masts and sails, bowsprits and shrouds, carved galleries and long rows of gun ports. The sailors were swarming in the rigging, busy furling the heavy sails. The Redoubt also fired a fitting salute.
There was life and festivity. Never had Tórshavn seen anything like it. Three huge warships! When you stood on the Sand, you could see the topmasts on one of them high up above all the roofs on Reyn.
The three French warships, the Néréide, the Amphitrite and the Fleurs de Lys, were returning from the war in America. Gales and storms had driven them too far north. Now they were looking for a harbour in the Faroes in order to repair various bits of damage to the ships and to take on fresh water before continuing their journey home.
But Tórshavn was not a safe harbour. As long as the wind was in the south west, the ships were certainly shielded by the Kirkjubø Ridge, but if it turned more to the south or east, the waves would blow straight in on the open roads. The law speaker, the bailiff and the judge had been on board and explained this to the admiral. They had advised him to go to Kongshavn or Vestmannahavn, where he would be safe from all winds. However, the law speaker was of the opinion that he should wait until the following day, for darkness was falling now. It was not easy to navigate between the islands at night, and it would be a very strange misfortune if a south-easterly gale should blow up that very night.
Samuel Mikkelsen had never been of an irresponsible nature, but neither had he ever been one of those quickest to move, especially when the wine came on the table. He was now sitting in a golden cabin, the likes of which he had never seen before and although he was outwardly but a man dressed in homespun, he soon had such a sense of inner wellbeing that he felt completely at home.
Strange to think that these Frenchmen had come to take on water. That was not much of a drink with which to show hospitality. There was plenty of water in the Faroes, especially when the French were providing wine in exchange.
The judge translated his thoughts, and the officers on the ship were surprised that this clan chieftain or Finn or whatever was able to express himself so elegantly. They had all the time been polite to the three Faroese, and now they became exceedingly so.
They were not themselves inclined to set sail that ev
ening. They had been at sea for two and a half months. Kongshavn and Vestmannahavn were as dead as ditchwater as far as they could understand, but here in Tórshavn there must at least be a few people – were there no girls, so they could have a dance? The judge was most inclined to say unfortunately not. But Samuel Mikkelsen was reluctant to miss the opportunity of repaying such splendid friendship on the part of their guests, so if the officers could derive just a little pleasure from a dance, that was the least they could do for them.
And so it was agreed that a dance and some sort of celebration should be arranged in the Royal Store warehouses, and boats were sent ashore carrying lanterns and flags and barrels of wine and other articles that could serve to give a festive air to the stone cellar beneath the outermost of the buildings on Tinganes.
As the hour approached, most of the citizens of Tórshavn gathered on Tinganes to see the foreign gentlemen come ashore. There were rumours of the splendour on board. The admiral, Count de Casteljaloux had admittedly neither actors nor actresses on board, as it had been heard was the case with a small number of French marshals when they went to war. But he had an orchestra and a library, a librarian, a butler and numerous valets. Never before had there been such a distinguished man on the Faroe Islands.
The ships turned their high, carved sterns to the shore. Candles had been lit on board, and through the glass windows it was possible to see into the cabins. The sea roared noisily around the point. People stood in the stiff evening wind and stared out there. They talked about big ships that had visited the islands before, the Lion of Norway that had been wrecked on New Year’s night off Lambareidi and the Westerbeech, the Dutch East-Indiaman which came to grief at the foot of the mountains of Suduroy. There were some who wanted to pass the time by singing the ballad of the Lion of Norway, but that was far too sad and far too ridiculous an idea for this great evening. And what would their foreign visitors think?
Barbara Page 8