The Great Hunger | Page 6

its red eyes glaring from one to
another of the terrified captors, as if saying: "Come on--just a little
nearer!"
Meanwhile, Martin Bruvold was in terror that the shark would smash
the boat to pieces. He drew his knife and took a step forward--a flash in
the air, and the steel went in deep between the back fins, sending up a
spurt of blood. "Look out!" cried the others, but Martin had already
sprung back out of reach of the black tail. And now the dance of death
began anew. The knife was fixed to the grip in the creature's back; one
gaff had buried its hook between the eyes, and another hung on the
flank--the wooden shafts were flung this way and that at every bound,
and the boat's frame shook and groaned under the blows.
"She'll smash the boat and we'll go to the bottom," cried Peer.
And now HIS knife flashed out and sent a stream of blood spouting
from between the shoulders, but the blow cost him his foothold--and in
a moment the two bodies were rolling over and over together in the

bottom of the boat.
"Oh, Lord Jesus!" shrieked Klaus, clinging to the stempost. "She'll kill
him! She'll kill him!"
Peer was half up now, on his knees, but as he reached out a hand to
grasp the side, the brute's jaws seized on his arm. The boy's face was
contorted with pain--another moment and the sharp teeth would have
bitten through, when, swift as thought, Peter Ronningen dropped his
oars and sent his knife straight in between the beast's eyes. The blade
pierced through to the brain, and the grip of the teeth relaxed.
"C-c-cursed d-d-devil!" stammered Peter, as he scrambled back to his
oars. Another moment, and Peer had dragged himself clear and was
kneeling by the forward thwart, holding the ragged sleeve of his
wounded arm, while the blood trickled through his fingers.
When at last they were pulling homeward, the little boat overloaded
with the weight of the great carcase, all at once they stopped rowing.
"Where is Klaus?" asked Peer--for the doctor's son was gone from
where he had sat, clinging to the stem.
"Why--there he is--in the bottom!"
There lay the big lout of fifteen, who already boasted of his love-
affairs, learned German, and was to be a gentleman like his father--
there he lay on the bottom-boards in the bow in a dead faint.
The others were frightened at first, but Peer, who was sitting washing
his wounded arm, took a dipper full of water and flung it in the
unconscious one's face. The next instant Klaus had started up sitting,
caught wildly at the gunwale, and shrieked out:
"Cut the line, and row for your lives!"
A roar of laughter went up from the rest; they dropped their oars and
sat doubled up and gasping. But on the beach, before going home, they

agreed to say nothing about Klaus's fainting fit. And for weeks
afterwards the four scamps' exploit was the talk of the village, so that
they felt there was not much fear of their getting the thrashing they
deserved when the men came home.
Chapter II
When Peer, as quite a little fellow, had been sent to live with the old
couple at Troen, he had already passed several times from one adopted
home to another, though this he did not remember. He was one of the
madcaps of the village now, but it was not long since he had been a
solitary child, moping apart from the rest. Why did people always say
"Poor child!" whenever they were speaking about his real mother? Why
did they do it? Why, even Peter Ronningen, when he was angry, would
stammer out: "You ba-ba-bastard!" But Peer called the pock-marked
good-wife at Troen "mother" and her bandy-legged husband "father,"
and lent the old man a hand wherever he was wanted--in the smithy or
in the boats at the fishing.
His childhood was passed among folk who counted it sinful to smile,
and whose minds were gloomy as the grey sea-fog with poverty,
psalm-singing, and the fear of hell.
One day, coming home from his work at the peat bog, he found the
elders snuffling and sighing over their afternoon meal. Peer wiped the
sweat from his forehead, and asked what was the matter.
The eldest son shoved a spoonful of porridge into his mouth, wiped his
eyes, swallowed, and said: "Poor Peer!"
"Aye, poor little chap," sighed the old man, thrusting his horn spoon
into a crack in the wall that served as a rack.
"Neither father nor mother now," whimpered the eldest daughter,
looking over to the window.
"Mother? Is she--"

"Ay, dearie, yes," sighed the old woman. "She's gone for sure-- gone to
meet her Judge."
Later,