The Ship Comes Home

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Title:     The Ship Comes Home
Author: Anthon B. E. Nilsen [More Titles by Nilsen]

It was Sunday. Bramsen and Andrine had had a settling up, the day before, of various matters outstanding, and the savings-bank book had been handed over, with its "Cr. balance 19s. 6½d."--being all that remained from the interregnum period of Bramsen's term of office as Chancellor of the Exchequer.

Andrine opened the book and stood aghast.

"But--but, sakes alive, Paal, where's all the money gone?"

"The money--why--the money--h'm...." And in his embarrassment he looked appealingly at Amanda, who nudged him encouragingly in the ribs and whispered:

"Go on--it's all right. Tell her straight out."

"Why, you see, Andrine, it's like this. When you handed over charge of all this worldly mammon, that's naught but vanity and vexation of spirits and so on, and a clog upon the soul...."

"Oh, leave out all that and say what you've done with the money." Andrine was quivering with impatience.

"Well--I--I bought the ship."

"Ship--what ship?"

"The Erik, 216 ton register, B. I. to 1901, 12½ ft. with full cargo...."

"Overhauled last year," prompted Amanda.

"Heavens! Fool that I was not to have known what you'd be up to. And now here we are as penniless as Adam and Eve."

Andrine held her apron to her eyes, weeping "buckets and hosepipes" as Bramsen later put it to Holm.

Bramsen and Amanda were alarmed at the way she took it, and endeavoured to console her as best they could. Neither said a word as yet about Amanda's engagement; it was plain that to mention it now would bring on a seizure at least.

"Oh--oh--oh, how could I be such a fool!" sobbed Andrine.

"Well, now, to tell the truth, Andrine, I'd never have thought it of you myself, to take up with the like of that nonsense. But seeing we've got you back again now, safe and sound, why, best say no more about it."

"What--whatever did you want to go buying ships for, Bramsen?"

"Why, you see, it was mostly because of Carljohan...." Bramsen in his eagerness had said too much, and Amanda judged it best to disappear into the kitchen for a while.

"Carljohan who?" Andrine stopped crying and looked up sharply.

"Why, Johnsen's son."

"What's he got to do with it?"

"Why, he's a deal to do with it, now he and Amanda's fixed things up together."

"Amanda! That child! And you let them!" Andrine drew herself up impressively, and Bramsen cowered.

"Don't you forget, Andrine," he said, "we weren't so very old, you and I, when we got spliced together; and he's a first-rate lad. There isn't a knot or a twist he doesn't know, and you should see him up aloft--a cat's not in it. And wrestling too--mark my words, he'll make his way in the world, and I'm sorry for the man that comes athwart him."

"Oh yes, you can talk! But seems to me you've been doing your best to ruin us all while I've been away."

"We're not ruined yet, my girl, nor likely to be, I hope. Just wait and see." And Bramsen patted his wife on the cheek.

Andrine calmed down after a while, and when Amanda came in with steaming coffee and hot cakes, the three sat down in peace and amity, and were soon discussing the excellent qualities of Carljohan and the ship.

"It's been pretty rough these last few days--we'll soon see what she's good for," said Bramsen, thinking of the ship.

"If only they come home safe and sound," sighed Amanda, thinking of Carljohan.

And so, on Sunday morning, behold the three of them walking down to church; neither Bramsen nor Amanda thought of playing truant to-day, so thankful were they to feel that Andrine had "come round" and all was well.

And Bramsen was, to tell the truth, relieved to have got it over. With the bank-book once more in Andrine's care, he felt the responsibility lifted from his shoulders. The reins of government were once more in Andrine's hands, and he had his ten shillings extra per month unbeknown to her as before.

Amanda had always chosen their place in church up in the gallery close to the pulpit. From here one could see the parson turning the leaves of his sermon, and so calculate roughly how far he was from the end. Furthermore, there was the loveliest view over the harbour and the fjord through one of the big windows.

There had been a number of wrecks during the recent gales, and Amanda could not keep her thoughts from Carljohan and his ship. The voice of the parson, and the singing rang in her ears like the rush of waters; she sat staring blankly at her hymn-book, open at No. 106, though there had been three since that.

Once or twice she woke, to hear her father's voice trailing behind the rest in a hymn, sounding all through the church, till people turned to look. Amanda flushed with embarrassment, but Bramsen went on all unconscious, plodding through each verse in his own time, regardless of the rest.

But always she fell back upon her own thoughts, of the ship and Carljohan; it was a wonder to her how Mother Christiansen, whose husband was also on board, could sit there so calmly, as if there was nothing to fear. And she with all those children to think of!

The sermon now--but Carljohan was out on the North Sea and terrible weather. Great seas breaking over the bows, till the fo'c'stle was almost hidden.

And up in the rigging was Carljohan shortening sail--oh, how the vessel pitched and rolled, till the yards almost touched the water.

If he should lose his hold--if he should be swept away--Amanda gasped at the thought, and clutched her father's hand.

"What is it, Amanda? Are you ill?" whispered Bramsen anxiously.

"No, no; only keep still. I'll be all right directly."

The organ pealed and the sound of the hymn filled the church.

Amanda could not sing a note; she was certain now that something had happened to Carljohan. Her tears flowed in streams, and she was hard put to it to hide them behind handkerchief and book.

She could hear Mother Christiansen's cracked voice just behind, and tried in vain to join in herself.

Already she glanced out of the big window beyond the choir. On the farther side of the harbour lay a vessel at anchor.

But--it had not been there before! Surely ... yes, it was a vessel just in--its flag still flying!--Heavens, it was the Erik!

She stood up to make sure. Yes, it was she. It was she! There was the big white figure-head--there was no mistake.

And Amanda joined in the singing with her masterful voice, till those near at hand looked at her in wonder. Bramsen himself stopped singing for a moment to listen. Then he took up the verse again and sang on bravely as before.

[The end]
Anthon B. E. Nilsen's short story: Ship Comes Home

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