O. T., A Danish Romance | Page 6

above. This is
called the ship of death, and when it is seen people are sure of bad
weather and shipwreck. Later, about midday, it began to blow, and in
an hour's time we had a regular tempest. The sea growled quite
charmingly; we travelled on between sand-hills--they resemble hills
and dales in winter time, but here it is not snow which melts away; here
never grows a single green blade; a black stake stands up here and there,
and these are rudders from wrecks, the histories of which are unknown.
In the afternoon arose a storm such as I had experienced when riding
with the man between the sand-hills. We could not proceed farther, and
were obliged on this account to seek shelter in one of the huts which
the fishermen hail erected among the white sand-hills. There we
remained, and I saw the stranding of a vessel: I shall never forget it! An
American ship lay not a musket-shot from land. They cut the mast; six
or seven men clung fast to it in the waters. O, how they rocked
backward and forward in the dashing spray! The mast took a direction
toward the shore; at length only three men were left clinging to the
mast; it was dashed upon land, but the returning waves again bore it
away; it had crushed the arms and legs of the clinging
wretches--ground them like worms! I dreamed of this for many nights.
The waves flung the hull of the vessel up high on the shore, and drove
it into the sand, where it was afterward found. Later, as we retraced our
steps, were the stem and sternpost gone: you saw two strong wooden
walls, between which the road took its course. You even still travel

through the wreck!"
"Up in your country every poetical mind must become a Byron," said
Wilhelm. "On my parents' estate we have only idyls; the whole of
Funen is a garden. We mutually visit each other upon our different
estates, where we lead most merry lives, dance with the peasant-girls at
the brewing-feast, hunt in the woods, and fish in the lakes. The only
melancholy object which presents itself with us is a funeral, and the
only romantic characters we possess are a little hump-backed musician,
a wise woman, and an honest schoolmaster, who still firmly believes,
as Jeronimus did, that the earth is flat, and that, were it to turn round,
we should fall, the devil knows where!"
"I love nature in Jutland!" exclaimed Otto. "The open sea, the brown
heath, and the bushy moorland. You should see the wild moor in
Vendsyssel--that is an extent! Almost always wet mists float over its
unapproachable interior, which is known to no one. It is not yet fifty
years since it served as an abode for wolves. Often it bursts into flames,
for it is impregnated with sulphuric gas,-- one can see the fire for
miles."
"My sister Sophie ought to hear all this!" said Wilhelm. "You would
make your fortune with her! The dear girl! she has the best head at
home, but she loves effect. Hoffman and Victor Hugo are her favorites.
Byron rests every night under her pillow. If you related such things of
the west coast of Jutland, and of heaths and moors, you might persuade
her to make a journey thither. One really would not believe that we
possessed in our own country such romantic situations!"
"Is she your only sister?" inquired Otto.
"No," returned Wilhelm, "I have two--the other is named Louise; she is
of quite an opposite character: I do not know of which one ought to
think most. Have you no brothers or sisters?" he asked of Otto.
"No!" returned the latter, with his former involuntary, half-melancholy
expression. "I am an only child. In my house it is solitary and silent.
My grandfather alone is left alive. He is an active, strong man, but very

grave. He instructed me in mathematics, which he thoroughly
understands. The preacher taught me Latin, Greek, and history: two
persons, however, occupied themselves with my religious education--
the preacher and my old Rosalie. She is a good soul. How often have I
teased her, been petulant, and almost angry with her! She thought so
much of me, she was both mother and sister to me, and instructed me in
religion as well as the preacher, although she is a Catholic. Since my
father's childhood she has been a sort of governante in the house. You
should have seen her melancholy smile when she heard my geography
lesson, and we read of her dear Switzerland, where she was born, and
of the south of France, where she had travelled as a child. The west
coast of Jutland may also appear very barren in comparison with these