The Project Gutenberg EBook of Up The Baltic, by Oliver Optic This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Up The Baltic Young America in Norway, Sweden, and Denmark Author: Oliver Optic Release Date: September 18, 2008 [EBook #26653] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UP THE BALTIC *** Produced by David Edwards, Anne Storer and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from scans of public domain material produced by Microsoft for their Live Search Books site.) image YOUNG AMERICA IN NORWAY. Page 159. Up the Baltic YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD—SECOND SERIES. UP THE BALTIC; or, YOUNG AMERICA IN NORWAY, SWEDEN, AND DENMARK. A STORY OF TRAVEL AND ADVENTURE. by WILLIAM T. ADAMS. (OLIVER OPTIC), author of “outward bound,” “shamrock and thistle,” “red cross,” “dikes and ditches,” “palace and cottage,” “down the rhine,” etc. BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. New York: lee, shepard and dillingham, NOS. 47 AND 49 GREENE ST. 1875. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, By WILLIAM T. ADAMS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry, No. 19 Spring Lane. TO MY EVER-CHEERFUL AND GOOD-NATURED FRIEND SHEPARD K. MATTISON, whom i met for the first time at trollhätten, on the göta canal, and with whom i journeyed through sweden, russia, austria, spain, and portugal, This Volume IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD. By OLIVER OPTIC. A Library of Travel and Adventure in Foreign Lands. First and Second Series; six volumes in each Series. 16mo. Illustrated. First Series. I. OUTWARD BOUND; or, Young America Afloat. II. SHAMROCK AND THISTLE; or, Young America in Ireland and Scotland. III. RED CROSS; or, Young America in England and Wales. IV. DIKES AND DITCHES; or, Young America in Holland and Belgium. V. PALACE AND COTTAGE; or, Young America in France and Switzerland. VI. DOWN THE RHINE; or, Young America in Germany. Second Series. I. UP THE BALTIC; or, Young America in Norway, Sweden, and Denmark. II. NORTHERN LANDS; or, Young America in Russia and Prussia. In preparation. III. CROSS AND CRESCENT; or, Young America in Turkey and Greece. In preparation. IV. SUNNY SHORES; or, Young America in Italy and Austria. In preparation. V. VINE AND OLIVE; or, Young America in Spain and Portugal. In preparation. VI. ISLES OF THE SEA; or, Young America Homeward Bound. In preparation. PREFACE. Up the Baltic, the first volume of the second series of “Young America Abroad,” like its predecessors, is a record of what was seen and done by the young gentlemen of the Academy Squadron on its second voyage to Europe, embracing its stay in the waters of Norway, Sweden, and Denmark. Agreeably to the announcement made in the concluding volume of the first series, the author spent the greater portion of last year in Europe. His sole object in going abroad was to obtain the material for the present series of books, and in carrying out his purpose, he visited every country to which these volumes relate, and, he hopes, properly fitted himself for the work he has undertaken. In the preparation of Up the Baltic, the writer has used, besides his own note-books, the most reliable works he could obtain at home and in Europe, and he believes his geographical, historical, and political matter is correct, and as full as could be embodied in a story. He has endeavored to describe the appearance of the country, and the manners and customs of the people, so as to make them interesting to young readers. For this purpose these descriptions are often interwoven with the story, or brought out in the comments of the boys of the squadron. The story is principally the adventures of the crew of the second cutter, who attempted “an independent excursion without running away,” which includes the career of a young Englishman, spoiled by his mother’s indulgence, and of a Norwegian waif, picked up by the squadron in the North Sea. The author is encouraged to enter upon this second series by the remarkable and unexpected success which attended the publication of the first series. Difficult as it is to work the dry details of geography and history into a story, the writer intends to persevere in his efforts to make these books instructive, as well as interesting; and he is confident that no reader will fail to distinguish the good boys from the bad ones of the story, or to give his sympathies to the former. Harrison Square, Boston, May 10, 1871. CONTENTS. page I. A Waif on the North Sea 11 II. Off the Naze of Norway 27 III. An Accident to the Second Cutter 43 IV. Norway in the Past and the Present 59 V. Mr. Clyde Blacklock and Mother 76 VI. A Day at Christiansand 92 VII. Up the Christiania Fjord 110 VIII. Sights of Christiania, and other Matters 128 IX. The Excursion without Running away 146 X. Gottenburg and Finkel 164 XI. On the Way to the Rjukanfos 181 XII. The Boatswain and the Briton 201 XIII. The Meeting of the Absentees 218 XIV. Through the Sound to Copenhagen 237 XV. Copenhagen and Tivoli 255 XVI. Excursion to Klampenborg and Elsinore 274 XVII. To Stockholm by Göta Canal 292 XVIII. Up the Baltic 310 XIX. The Cruise in the Little Steamer 329 XX. Stockholm and its Surroundings 349 UP THE BALTIC; OR, YOUNG AMERICA IN NORWAY, SWEDEN, AND DENMARK. CHAPTER I. A WAIF ON THE NORTH SEA. “Boat on the weather bow, sir!” shouted the lookout on the top-gallant forecastle of the Young America. “Starboard!” replied Judson, the officer of the deck, as he discovered the boat, which was drifting into the track of the ship. “Starboard, sir!” responded the quartermaster in charge of the wheel. “Steady!” added the officer. “Steady, sir,” repeated the quartermaster. By this time a crowd of young officers and seamen had leaped upon the top-gallant forecastle, and into the weather rigging, to obtain a view of the little boat, which, like a waif on the ocean, was drifting down towards the coast of Norway. It contained only a single person, who was either a dwarf or a boy, for he was small in stature. He lay upon a seat near the stern of the boat, with his feet on the gunwale. He was either asleep or dead, for though the ship had approached within hail, he neither moved nor made any sign. The wind was light from the southward, and the sea was quite calm. “What do you make of it, Ryder?” called the officer of the deck to the second master, who was on duty forward. “It is a flat-bottomed boat, half full of water, with a boy in it,” answered Ryder. “Hail him,” added the officer of the deck. “Boat, ahoy!” shouted Ryder, at the top of his lungs. The person in the boat, boy or man, made no reply. Ryder repeated the hail, but with no better success. The officers and seamen held their breath with interest and excitement, for most of them had already come to the conclusion that the occupant of the boat was dead. A feeling akin to horror crept through the minds of the more timid, as they gazed upon the immovable body in the dilapidated craft; for they felt that they were in the presence of death, and to young people this is always an impressive season. By this time the ship was within a short distance of the water-logged bateau. As the waif on the ocean exhibited no signs of life, the first lieutenant, in charge of the vessel, was in doubt as to what he should do. Though he knew that it was the first duty of a sailor to assist a human being in distress, he was not sure that the same effort was required in behalf of one who had already ceased to live. Captain Cumberland, in command of the ship, who had been in the cabin when the excitement commenced, now appeared upon the quarter-deck, and relieved the officer of the responsibility of the moment. Judson reported the cause of the unwonted scene on deck, and as the captain discovered the little boat, just on the weather bow, he promptly directed the ship to be hove to. “Man the main clew-garnets and buntlines!” shouted the first lieutenant; and the hands sprang to their several stations. “Stand by tack and sheet.” “All ready, sir,” reported the first midshipman, who was on duty in the waist. “Let go tack and sheet! Up mainsail!” continued Ryder. The well-trained crew promptly obeyed the several orders, and the mainsail was hauled up in much less time than it takes to describe the manœuvre. “Man the main braces!” proceeded the officer of the deck. “Ready, sir,” reported the first midshipman. “Let go and haul.” As the hands executed the last order; all the yards on the mainmast swung round towards the wind till the light breeze caught the sails aback, and brought them against the mast. The effect was to deaden the headway of the ship. “Avast bracing!” shouted the first lieutenant, when the yards on the mainmast were about square. In a few moments the onward progress of the Young America was entirely checked, and she lay motionless on the sea. There were four other vessels in the squadron, following the flag-ship, and each of them, in its turn, hove to, or came up into the wind. “Fourth cutters, clear away their boat!” continued the first lieutenant, after he had received his order from the captain. “Mr. Messenger will take charge of the boat.” The young officer indicated was the first midshipman, whose quarter watch was then on duty. “All the fourth cutters!” piped the boatswain’s mate, as Messenger crossed the deck to perform the duty assigned to him. “He’s alive!” shouted a dozen of the idlers on the rail, who had not removed their gaze from the waif in the small boat. “He isn’t dead any more than I am!” added a juvenile tar, springing into the main rigging, as if to demonstrate the amount of his own vitality. The waif in the bateau had produced this sudden change of sentiment, and given this welcome relief to the crew of the Young America, by rising from his reclining posture, and standing up in the water at the bottom of his frail craft. He gazed with astonishment at the ship and the other vessels of the squadron, and did not seem to realize where he was. “Avast, fourth cutters!” interposed the first lieutenant. “Belay, all!” If the waif was not dead, it was hardly necessary to lower a boat to send to his relief; at least not till it appeared that he needed assistance. “Boat, ahoy!” shouted Ryder. “On board the ship,” replied the waif, in tones not at all sepulchral. “What are you doing out here?” demanded the first lieutenant. “Nothing,” replied the waif. “Will you come on board the ship?” “Yes, if you will let me,” added the stranger, as he picked up a broken oar, which was floating in the water on the bottom of his boat. “Yes, come on board,” answered the first lieutenant, prompted by Captain Cumberland, who was quite as much interested in the adventure as any of his shipmates. The waif, using the broken oar as a paddle, worked his water-logged craft slowly towards the ship. The accommodation ladder was lowered for his use, and in a few moments, with rather a heavy movement, as though he was lame, or much exhausted, he climbed up the ladder, and stepped down upon the ship deck. “Fill away again!” said the captain to the first lieutenant, as a curious crowd began to gather around the stranger. Ryder gave the necessary orders to brace up the main yards, and set the mainsail again, and the ship was soon moving on her course towards the Naze of Norway, as though nothing had occurred to interrupt her voyage. “What are you doing out here, in an open boat, out of sight of land?” asked Captain Cumberland, while the watch on deck were bracing up the yards. The waif looked at the commander of the Young America, and carefully examined him from head to foot. The elegant uniform of the captain seemed to produce a strong impression upon his mind, and he evidently regarded him as a person of no small consequence. He did not answer the question put to him, seeming to be in doubt whether it was safe and proper for him to do so. Captain Cumberland was an exceedingly comely-looking young gentleman, tall and well formed in person, graceful and dignified in his manners; and if he had been fifty years old, the stranger before him could not have been more awed and impressed by his bearing. So far as his personal appearance was concerned, the waif appeared to have escaped from the rag-bag, and to have been out long enough to soil his tatters with oil, tar, pitch, and dirt. Though his face and hands, as well as other parts of his body, were very dirty, his eye was bright, and, even seen through the disguise of filth and rags that covered him, he was rather prepossessing. “What is your name?” asked Captain Cumberland, finding his first question was not likely to be answered. “Ole Amundsen,” replied the stranger, pronouncing his first name in two syllables. “Then you are not English.” “No, sir. Be you?” “I am not; we are all Americans in this ship.” “Americans!” exclaimed Ole, opening his eyes, while a smile beamed through the dirt on his face. “Are you going to America now?” “No; we are going up the Baltic now,” replied Captain Cumberland; “but we shall return to America in the course of a year or two.” “Take me to America with you—will you?” continued Ole, earnestly. “I am a sailor, and I will work for you all the time.” “I don’t know about that. You must speak to the principal.” “Who’s he?” “Mr. Lowington. He is in the cabin now. Where do you belong, Ole?” “I don’t belong anywhere,” answered the waif, looking doubtfully about him. “Where were you born?” “In Norway, sir.” “Then you are a Norwegian.” “I reckon I am.” “In what part of Norway were you born?” “In Bratsberg.” “That’s where all the brats come from,” suggested Sheridan. “This one came from there, at any rate,” added Mayley. “But where is Bratsberg, and what is it?” “It is an amt, or province, in the south-eastern part of Norway.” “I came from the town of Laurdal,” said Ole. “Do the people there speak English as well as you do?” asked the captain. “No, sir. I used to be a skydskarl, and—” “A what?” demanded the crowd. “A skydskarl—a boy that goes on a cariole to take back the horses. I learned a little English from the Englishmen I rode with; and then I was in England almost a year.” “But how came you out here, alone in an open boat?” asked the captain, returning to his first inquiry. Ole put one of his dirty fingers in his mouth, and looked stupid and uncommunicative. He glanced at the young officers around him, and then over the rail at the sea. “Were you wrecked?” inquired the captain. “No, sir; not wrecked,” replied Ole. “I never was wrecked in my life.” “What are you doing out here, out of sight of land, in a boat half full of water?” persisted the captain. “Doing nothing.” “Did you get blown off from the shore?” “No, sir; a southerly wind wouldn’t blow anybody off from the south coast of Norway,” answered Ole, with a smile which showed that he had some perception of things absurd in themselves. “You are no fool.” “No, sir, I am not; and I don’t think you are,” added Ole, again glancing at Captain Cumberland from head to foot. The young tars all laughed at the waif’s retort, and the captain was not a little nettled by the remark. He pressed Ole rather sharply for further information in regard to his antecedents; but the youth was silent on this point. While the crowd were anxiously waiting for the stranger to declare himself more definitely, eight bells sounded at the wheel, and were repeated on the large bell forward by the lookout. From each vessel of the fleet the bells struck at nearly the same moment, and were followed by the pipe of the boatswain’s whistle, which was the signal for changing the watch. As the officers of the ship were obliged to attend to their various duties, Ole Amundsen was left alone with the captain. The waif still obstinately refused to explain how he happened to be alone in a water-logged boat, asleep, and out of sight of land, though he promptly answered all other questions which were put to him. Mr. Lowington, the principal of the Academy Squadron, was in the main cabin, though he had been fully informed in regard to the events which had transpired on deck. The young commander despaired of his own ability to extort an explanation from the waif, and he concluded to refer the matter to the principal. “How long have you been in that boat?” asked Captain Cumberland, as he led the way towards the companion ladder. “Eighteen hours,” answered Ole, after some hesitation, which, perhaps, was only to enable him to count up the hours. “Did you have anything to eat?” “No, sir.” “Nothing?” “Not a thing.” “Then you are hungry?” “I had a little supper last night—not much,” continued Ole, apparently counting the seams in the deck, ashamed to acknowledge his human weakness. “You shall have something to eat at once.” “Thank you, sir.” Captain Cumberland therefore conducted the stranger to the steerage, instead of the main cabin, and directed one of the stewards to give him his supper. The man set half a cold boiled ham on one of the mess tables, with an abundant supply of bread and butter. Cutting off a large slice of the ham, he placed it on the plate before Ole, whose eyes opened wide with astonishment, and gleamed with pleasure. Without paying much attention to the forms of civilization, the boy began to devour it, with the zeal of one who had not tasted food for twenty-four hours. Captain Cumberland smiled, but with becoming dignity, at the greediness of the guest, before whom the whole slice of ham and half a brick loaf disappeared almost in a twinkling. The steward appeared with a pot of coffee, in time to cut off another slice of ham, which the waif attacked with the same voracity as before. When it was consumed, and the young Norwegian glanced wistfully at the leg before him, as though his capacity for cold ham was not yet exhausted, the captain began to consider whether he ought not to consult the surgeon of the ship before he permitted the waif to eat any more. But the steward, like a generous host, seemed to regard the quantity eaten as complimentary testimony to the quality of the viands, and helped him to a third slice of the ham. He swallowed a pint mug of coffee without stopping to breathe. As the third slice of ham began to wax small before the voracious Norwegian, Captain Cumberland became really alarmed, and determined to report at once to the principal and the surgeon for instructions. Knocking at the door of the main cabin, he was admitted. Dr. Winstock assured him there was no danger to the guest; he had not been without food long enough to render it dangerous for him fully to satisfy himself. The quantity eaten might make him uncomfortable, and even slightly sick, but it would do the gourmand no real injury. The captain returned to the steerage, where Ole had broken down on his fourth slice of ham; but he regarded it wistfully, and seemed to regret his inability to eat any more. “That’s good,” said he, with emphasis. “It’s the best supper I ever ate in my life. I like this ship; I like the grub; and I mean to go to America in her.” “We will see about that some other time; but if you don’t tell us how you happened to be off here, I am afraid we can do nothing for you,” replied the captain. “If you feel better now, we will go and see the principal.” “Who’s he?” asked Ole. “Mr. Lowington. You must tell him how you happened to be in that leaky boat.” “Perhaps I will. I don’t know,” added Ole, doubtfully, as he followed the commander into the main cabin. Captain Cumberland explained to the principal the circumstances under which Ole had come on board, and that he declined to say anything in regard to the strange situation in which he had been discovered. “Is the captain here?” asked the midshipman of the watch, at the steerage door. “Yes,” replied Captain Cumberland. “Mr. Lincoln sent me down to report a light on the lee bow, sir.” “Very well. Where is Mr. Beckwith?” “In the cabin, sir.” The captain left the main cabin, and entered the after cabin, where he found Beckwith, the first master, attended by the second and third, examining the large chart of the North Sea. “Light on the lee bow, sir,” said the first master. “Do you make it out?” “Yes; we are all right to the breadth of a hair,” added the master, delighted to find that his calculations had proved to be entirely correct. “It is Egero Light, and we are about fifty miles from the Naze of Norway. We are making about four knots, and if the breeze holds, we ought to see Gunnarshoug Light by one o’clock.” Captain Cumberland went on deck to see the light reported. Though it was half past eight, the sun had but just set, and the light, eighteen miles distant, could be distinctly seen. It created a great deal of excitement and enthusiasm among the young officers and seamen, who had read enough about Norway to be desirous of seeing it. For weeks the young gentlemen on board the ship had been talking of Norway, and reading up all the books in the library relating to the country and its people. They had read with interest the accounts of the various travellers who had visited it, including Ross Brown, in Harper’s Monthly, and Bayard Taylor, and had studied Harper, Murray, Bradshaw, and other Guides on the subject. The more inquiring students had read the history of Norway, and were well prepared to appreciate a short visit to this interesting region. They had just come from the United States, having sailed in the latter part of March. The squadron had had a fair passage, and the students hoped to be in Christiansand by the first day of May; and now nothing less than a dead calm for forty-eight hours could disappoint their hopes. Five years before, the Young America and the Josephine, her consort, had cruised in the waters of Europe, and returned to America in the autumn. It had been the intention of the principal to make another voyage the next year, go up the Baltic, and winter in the Mediterranean; but the war of 1866 induced him to change his plans. Various circumstances had postponed the cruise until 1870, when it was actually commenced. The Young America was the first, and for more than a year the only, vessel belonging to the Academy. The Josephine, a topsail schooner, had been added the second year; and now the Tritonia, a vessel of the same size and rig, was on her first voyage. The three vessels of the squadron were officered and manned by the students of the Academy. As on the first cruise, the offices were the rewards of merit bestowed upon the faithful and energetic pupils. The highest number of merits gave the highest office, and so on through the several grades in the cabin, and the petty offices in the steerage. The routine and discipline of the squadron were substantially the same as described in the first series of these volumes, though some changes had been made, as further experience suggested. Instead of quarterly, as before, the offices were given out every month. Captains were not retired after a single term, as formerly, but were obliged to accept whatever rank and position they earned, like other students. There was no change from one vessel to another, except at the end of a school year, or with the permission of the principal. The ship had six instructors, three of whom, however, lectured to all the students in the squadron, and each of the smaller vessels had two teachers. Mr. Lowington was still the principal. He was the founder of the institution; and his high moral and religious principles, his love of justice, as well as his skill, firmness, and prudence, had made it a success in spite of the many obstacles which continually confronted it. As a considerable portion of the students in the squadron were the spoiled sons of rich men, who had set at defiance the rules of colleges and academies on shore, it required a remarkable combination of attributes to fit a gentleman for the difficult and trying position he occupied. Mr. Fluxion was the first vice-principal in charge of the Josephine. He was a thorough seaman, a good disciplinarian, and a capital teacher; but he lacked some of the high attributes of character which distinguished the principal. If any man was fit to succeed Mr. Lowington in his responsible position, it was Mr. Fluxion; but it was doubtful whether, under his sole administration, the institution could be an entire success. His love of discipline, and his energetic manner of dealing with delinquents, would probably have increased the number of “rows,” mutinies, and runaways. The second vice-principal, in charge of the Tritonia, was Mr. Tompion, who, like his two superiors in rank, had formerly been an officer of the navy. Though he was a good sailor, and a good disciplinarian, he lacked that which a teacher needs most—a hearty sympathy with young people. The principal and the two vice-principals were instructors in mathematics and navigation in their respective vessels. Mr. Lowington had undertaken this task himself, because he felt the necessity of coming more in contact with the student than his position as mere principal required. It tended to promote friendly relations between the governor and the governed, by creating a greater sympathy between them. The Rev. Mr. Agneau still served as chaplain. In port, and at sea when the weather would permit, two services were held in the steerage every Sunday, which were attended, at anchor, by the crew of all the vessels. Prayers were said morning and evening, in the ship by the chaplain, in the schooners by the vice-principal or one of the instructors. Dr. Winstock was the instructor in natural philosophy and chemistry, as well as surgeon and sanitary director. He was a good and true man, and generally popular among the students. Each vessel had an adult boatswain and a carpenter, and the ship a sailmaker, to perform such work as the students could not do, and to instruct them in the details of practical seamanship. After the lapse of five years, hardly a student remained of those who had cruised in the ship or her consort during the first voyage. But in addition to the three vessels which properly constituted the squadron, there were two yachts, each of one hundred and twenty tons. They were fore-and-aft schooners, of beautiful model, and entirely new. The one on the weather wing of the fleet was the Grace, Captain Paul Kendall, whose lady and two friends were in the cabin. Abreast of her sailed the Feodora, Captain Robert Shuffles, whose wife was also with him. Each of these yachts had a first and second officer, and a crew of twenty men, with the necessary complement of cooks and stewards. They were part of the fleet, but not of the Academy Squadron. CHAPTER II. OFF THE NAZE OF NORWAY. Mr. Lowington examined Ole Amundsen very carefully, in order to ascertain what disposition should be made of him. He told where he was born, how he had learned English, and where he had passed the greater portion of his life, just as he had related these particulars to Captain Cumberland. “But how came you out here in an open boat?” asked the principal. Ole examined the carpet on the floor of the cabin, and made no reply. “Won’t you answer me?” added Mr. Lowington. The waif was still silent. “You have been to sea?” “Yes, sir; I was six months in a steamer, and over two years in sailing vessels,” answered Ole, readily. “What steamer were you in?” “I was in the Drammen steamer a while; and I have been three trips down to Copenhagen and Gottenburg, one to Lübeck, one to Stettin, and one to Stockholm.” “Have you been in a steamer this season?” “No, sir.” “Then you were in a sailing vessel.” Ole would not say that he had been in any vessel the present season. “Where is your home now?” asked the principal, breaking the silence again. “Haven’t any.” “Have you a father and mother?” “Both dead, sir.” “Have you any friends?” “Friends? I don’t believe I have.” “Any one that takes care of you?” “Takes care of me? No, sir; I’m quite certain I haven’t any one that takes care of me. I take care of myself, and it’s heavy work I find it, sometimes, I can tell you.” “Do you ever go fishing?” “Yes, sir, sometimes.” “Have you been lately?” Ole was silent again. “I wish to be your friend, Ole.” “Thank you, sir,” added Ole, bowing low. “But in order to know what to do for you, I must know something about your circumstances.” “I haven’t any circumstances, sir. I lost ’em all,” replied Ole, gravely and sadly, as though he had met with a very serious loss. Dr. Winstock could not help laughing, but it was impossible to decide whether the boy was ignorant of the meaning of the word, or was trying to perpetrate a joke. “How did you happen to lose your circumstances, Ole?” asked Mr. Lowington. “When my mother died, Captain Olaf took ’em.” “Indeed; and who is Captain Olaf?” Ole looked at the principal, and then returned his gaze to the cabin floor, evidently not deeming it prudent to answer the question. “Is he your brother?” “No, sir.” “Your uncle?” “No, sir.” Ole could not be induced to say anything more about Captain Olaf, and doubtless regretted that he had even mentioned his name. The waif plainly confounded “circumstances” and property. Mr. Lowington several times returned to the main inquiry, but the young man would not even hint at the explanation of the manner in which he had come to be a waif on the North Sea, in an open boat, half full of water. He had told the captain that he was not wrecked, and had not been blown off from the coast. He would make no answer of any kind to any direct question relating to the subject. “Well, Ole, as you will not tell me how you came in the situation in which we found you, I do not see that I can do anything for you,” continued Mr. Lowington. “The ship is bound to Christiansand, and when we arrive we must leave you there.” “Don’t leave me in Christiansand, sir. I don’t want to be left there.” “Why not?” Ole was silent again. Both the principal and the surgeon pitied him, for he appeared to be a friendless orphan; certainly he had no friends to whom he wished to go, and was only anxious to remain in the ship, and go to America in her. “You may go into the steerage now, Ole,” said the principal, despairing of any further solution of the mystery. “Thank you, sir,” replied Ole, bowing low, and backing out of the cabin as a courtier retires from the presence of a sovereign. “What do you make of him, doctor?” added Mr. Lowington, as the door closed upon the waif. “I don’t make anything of him,” replied Dr. Winstock. “The young rascal evidently don’t intend that we should make anything of him. He’s a young Norwegian, about fifteen years old, with neither father nor mother; for I think we may believe what he has said. If he had no regard to the truth, it was just as easy for him to lie as it was to keep silent, and it would have been more plausible.” “I am inclined to believe that he is a runaway, either from the shore or from some vessel,” said the principal. “He certainly cannot have been well treated, for his filthy rags scarcely cover his body; and he says that the supper he had to-night was the best he ever ate in his life. It was only coffee, cold ham, and bread and butter; so he cannot have been a high liver. He seems to be honest, and I pity him.” “But he is too filthy to remain on board a single hour. I will attend to his sanitary condition at once,” laughed the doctor. “He will breed a leprosy among the boys, if he is not taken care of.” “Let the purser give you a suit of clothes for him, for we can’t do less than this for him.” The doctor left the cabin, and Ole was taken to the bath-room by one of the stewards, and compelled to scrub himself with a brush and soap, till he was made into a new creature. He was inclined to rebel at first, for he had his national and inborn prejudice against soap and water in combination; but the sight of the suit of new clothes overcame his constitutional scruples. The steward was faithful to his mission, and Ole left dirt enough in the bath-tub to plant half a dozen hills of potatoes. He looked like a new being, even before he had donned the new clothes. His light hair, cut square across his forehead, was three shades lighter when it had been scrubbed, and deprived of the black earth, grease, and tar, with which it had been matted. The steward was interested in his work, for it is a pleasure to any decent person to transform such a leper of filth into a clean and wholesome individual. Ole put on the heavy flannel shirt and the blue frock which were handed to him, and smiled with pleasure as he observed the effect. He was fitted to a pair of seaman’s blue trousers, and provided with socks and shoes. Then he actually danced with delight, and evidently regarded himself as a finished dandy; for never before had he been clothed in a suit half so good. It was the regular uniform of the crew of the ship. “Hold on a moment, my lad,” said Muggs, the steward, as he produced a pair of barber’s shears. “Your barber did not do justice to your figure-head, the last time he cut your hair.” “I cut it myself,” replied Ole. “I should think you did, and with a bush scythe.” “I only hacked off a little, to keep it out of my eyes. Captain Olaf always used to cut it.” “Who’s Captain Olaf?” asked Muggs. Ole was silent, but permitted the steward to remove at will the long, snarly white locks, which covered his head. The operator had been a barber once, and received extra pay for his services on board the ship in this capacity. He did his work in an artistic manner, parting and combing the waif’s hair as though he were dressing him for a fashionable party. He put a sailor’s knot in the black handkerchief under the boy’s collar, and then placed the blue cap on his head, a little on one side, so that he looked as jaunty as a dandy man-of-war’s-man. “Now put on this jacket, my lad, and you will be all right,” continued the steward, as he gazed with pride and pleasure upon the work of his hands. “More clothes!” exclaimed Ole. “I shall be baked. I sweat now with what I have on.” “It’s hot in here; you will be cool enough when you go on deck. Here’s a pea-jacket for you, besides the other.” “But that’s for winter. I never had so much clothes on before in my life.” “You needn’t put the pea-jacket on, if you don’t want it. Now you look like a decent man, and you can go on deck and show yourself.” “Thank you, sir.” “But you must wash yourself clean every morning.” “Do it every day!” exclaimed Ole, opening his eyes with astonishment. “Why, yes, you heathen,” laughed Muggs. “A man isn’t fit to live who don’t keep himself clean. Why, you could have planted potatoes anywhere on your hide, before you went into that tub.” “I haven’t been washed before since last summer,” added Ole. “You ought to be hung for it.” “You spend half your time washing yourselves—don’t you?” “We spend time enough at it to keep clean. No wonder you Norwegians have the leprosy, and the flesh rots off the bones!” “But I always go into the water every summer,” pleaded Ole. “And don’t wash yourself at any other time?” “I always wash myself once a year, and sometimes more, when I get a good chance.” “Don’t you wash your face and hands every morning.” “Every morning? No! I haven’t done such a thing since last summer.” “Then you are not fit to live. If you stay in this ship, you must wash every day, and more than that when you do dirty work.” “Can I stay in the ship if I do that?” asked Ole, earnestly. “I don’t know anything about it.” “I will wash all the time if they will only let me stay in the ship,” pleaded the waif. “You must talk with the principal on that subject. I have nothing to do with it. Now, go on deck. Hold up your head, and walk like a man.” Ole left the bath-room, and made his way up the forward ladder. The second part of the starboard watch were on duty, but nearly every person belonging to the ship was on deck, watching the distant light, which assured them they were on the coast of Norway. The waif stepped upon deck as lightly as a mountain sylph. The influence of his new clothes pervaded his mind, and he was inclined to be a little “swellish” in his manner. “How are you, Norway!” shouted Sanford, one of the crew. “How are you, America,” replied Ole, imitating the slang of the speaker. “What have you done with your dirt?” added Rodman. “Here is some of it,” answered Muggs, the steward, as he came up the ladder, with Ole’s rags on a dust-pan, and threw them overboard. “If you throw all his dirt overboard here, we shall get aground, sure,” added Stockwell, as Ole danced up to the group of students. “No wonder you feel light after getting rid of such a load of dirt,” said Sanford. “O, I’m all right,” laughed Ole, good-naturedly; for he did not seem to think that dirt was any disgrace or dishonor to him. “How came you in that leaky boat, Norway?” demanded Rodman; and the entire party gathered around the waif, anxious to hear the story of his adventure. “I went into it.” “Is that so?” added Wilde. “Yes, sir.” “I say, Norway, you are smart,” replied Rodman. “Smart? Where?” “All over.” “I don’t feel it.” “But, Norway, how came you in that old tub, out of sight of land?” persisted Rodman, returning to the charge again. “I went into it just the same as one of you Americans would have got into it,” laughed Ole, who did not think it necessary to resort to the tactics he had used with the principal and the captain. “You could have done it if you had tried as hard as I did.” “After you got in, then, how came the boat out here, so far from land?” “The wind, the tide, and the broken oar brought it out here.” “Indeed! But won’t you tell us your story, Ole?” “A story? O, yes. Once there was a king of Norway whose name was Olaf, and half the men of his country were named after him, because—” “Never mind that story, Ole. We want to hear the story about yourself.” “About myself? Well, last year things didn’t go very well with me; the crop of potatoes was rather short on my farm, and my vessels caught but few fish; so I decided to make a voyage up the Mediterranean, to spend the winter.” “What did you go in, Norway?” asked Wilde. “In my boat. We don’t make voyages on foot here in Norway.” “What boat?” “You won’t let me tell my story; so I had better finish it at once. I got back as far as the North Sea, and almost into the Sleeve, when a gale came down upon me, and strained my boat so that she leaked badly. I was worn out with fatigue, and dropped asleep one afternoon. I was dreaming that the King of Sweden and Norway came off in a big man-of- war, to welcome me home again. He hailed me himself, with, “Boat, ahoy!” which waked me; and then I saw this ship. You know all the rest of it.” “Do you mean to say you went up the Mediterranean in that old craft?” “I’ve told my story, and if you don’t believe it, you can look in the almanac, and see whether it is true or not,” laughed Ole. “But I must go and show myself to the captain and the big gentleman.” “He’s smart—isn’t he?” said Sanford, as the young Norwegian went aft to exhibit himself to the officers on the quarter deck. “Yes; but what’s the reason he won’t tell how he happened out here in that leaky tub?” added Rodman. “I don’t know; he wouldn’t tell the captain, nor the principal.” “I don’t understand it.” “No one understands it. Perhaps he has done something wrong, and is afraid of being found out.” “Very likely.” “He’s just the fellow for us,” said Stockwell, in a low tone, after he had glanced around him, to see that no listeners were near. “He speaks the lingo of this country. We must buy him up.” “Good!” exclaimed Boyden. “We ought not to have let him go till we had fixed his flint.” “I didn’t think of it before; but there is time enough. If we can get hold of his story we can manage him without any trouble.” “But he won’t tell his story. He wouldn’t even let on to the principal.” “No matter; we must have him, somehow or other. Sanford can handle him.” “I don’t exactly believe in the scrape,” said Burchmore, shaking his head dubiously. “We’ve heard all about the fellows that used to try to run away from the ship and from the Josephine. They always got caught, and always had the worst of it.” “We are not going to run away, and we are not going to make ourselves liable to any punishment,” interposed Sanford, rather petulantly. “We can have a good time on shore without running away, or anything of that sort.” “What’s the use?” replied Burchmore. “The principal isn’t going to let us see anything at all of Norway. We are going to put in at Christiansand, and then go to Christiania. We want to see the interior of Norway, for there’s glorious fishing in the lakes and rivers—salmon as big as whales.” “I like fishing as well as any fellow, but I don’t want to get into a scrape, and have to stay on board when the whole crowd go ashore afterwards. It won’t pay.” “But I tell you again, we are not going to run away.” “I don’t see how you can manage it without running away. You are going into the interior of Norway on your own hook, without the consent or knowledge of the principal. If you don’t call this running away, I don’t know what you can call it.” “No matter what we call it, so long as the principal don’t call it running away,” argued Sanford. “How can you manage it?” inquired Burchmore. “I don’t know yet; and if I did, I wouldn’t tell a fellow who has so many doubts.” “I shall not go into anything till I understand it.” “We don’t ask you to do so. As soon as we come to anchor, and see the lay of the land, we can tell exactly what and how to do it. We have plenty of money, and we can have a first-rate time if you only think so. Leave it all to me, and I will bring it out right,” continued the confident Sanford, who appeared to be the leader of the little squad. The traditions of the various runaways who had, at one time and another, attempted to escape from the wholesome discipline and restraint of the Academy, were current on board all the vessels of the squadron. The capture of the Josephine, and her cruise in the English Channel, had been repeated to every new student who joined the fleet, till the story was as familiar to the present students as to those of five years before. There were just as many wild and reckless boys on board now as in the earlier days of the institution, and they were as sorely chafed by the necessary restraints of good order as their predecessors had been. Perhaps it was natural that, visiting a foreign country, they should desire to see all they could of its wonders, and even to look upon some things which it was the policy of the principal to prevent them from seeing. Whenever any of the various stories of the runaways were related, Sanford, Rodman, Stockwell, and others of similar tendencies, were always ready to point out the defects in the plan of the operators. They could tell precisely where Wilton, Pelham, and Little had been weak, as they termed it, and precisely what they should have done to render the enterprise a success. Still, running away, in the abstract, was not a popular idea in the squadron at the present time; but Sanford believed that he and his companions could enjoy all the benefits of an independent excursion without incurring any of its perils and penalties. Let him demonstrate his own proposition. Ole Amundsen walked aft, and was kindly greeted by the officers on the quarter-deck, who commented freely upon his improved personal appearance, though they did it in more refined terms than their shipmates on the forecastle had done. Some of them tried to draw from him the explanation of his situation in the leaky boat, but without any better success than had attended the efforts of others. He yielded an extravagant deference to the gold lace on the uniforms of the officers, treating them with the utmost respect. “Well, Ole, you look better than when I saw you last,” said Mr. Lowington. “Yes, sir; and I feel better,” replied Ole, bowing low to the “big gentleman.” “And you speak English very well, indeed.” “Thank you, sir.” “Can you speak Norwegian as well?” “Yes, sir; better, I hope.” “Monsieur Badois, will you ask him a question or two in Norwegian,” added the principal, turning to the professor of modern languages, who prided himself on being able to speak fourteen different tongues; “I begin to doubt whether he is a Norwegian.” “I will, sir,” replied monsieur, who was always glad of an opportunity to exhibit his linguistic powers. “Hvor staae det til?” (How do you do?) “Jeg takker, meget vel.” (Very well, I thank you), replied Ole. “Forstaaer De mig?” (Do you understand me?) “Ja, jeg forstaaer Dem meget vel.” (Yes, I understand you very well.) “That will do,” interposed Mr. Lowington. “He speaks Norsk very well,” added the professor. “So do you, sir,” said Ole, with a low bow to Monsieur Badois. “Meget vel,” laughed the professor. “I am satisfied, Ole. Now, have you concluded to tell me how you happened to be in that boat, so far from the land.” The waif counted the seams in the quarter-deck, but nothing could induce him to answer the question. “I have given you a suit of clothes, and I desire to be of service to you.” “I thank you, sir; and a good supper, the best I ever had, though I have often fished with English gentlemen, even with lords and sirs.” “If you will tell me who your friends are—” “I have no friends, sir.” “You lived on shore, or sailed on the sea, with somebody, I suppose.” Ole looked down, and did not deny the proposition. “Now, if you will tell me whom you lived with, I may be able to do something for you.” Still the waif was silent. “Berth No. 72 in the steerage is vacant, and I will give it to you, if I can be sure it is right for me to do so.” But Ole could not, or would not, give any information on this point, though he was earnest in his desire to remain in the ship. “Very well, Ole; as you will not tell me your story, I shall be obliged to leave you on shore at Christiansand,” said the principal, as he walked away. Dr. Winstock also tried to induce the youth to reveal what he plainly regarded as a secret, but with no different result. Ole passed from the officers to the crew again, and with the latter his answers were like those given to Sanford and his companions. He invented strange explanations, and told wild stories, but not a soul on board was the wiser for anything he said. The waif was permitted to occupy berth No. 72, but was distinctly assured that he must leave the ship when she arrived at Christiansand. The wind continued light during the night, but at four o’clock in the morning the squadron was off Gunnarshoug Point, and not more than four miles from the land. The shore was fringed with innumerable islands, which made the coast very picturesque, though it was exceedingly barren and desolate. Most of the islands were only bare rocks, the long swells rolling completely over some of the smaller ones. The students on deck watched the early sunrise, and studied the contour of the coast with deep interest, till it became an old story, and then whistled for a breeze to take them along more rapidly towards their port of destination. The fleet was now fully in the Skager Rack, or Sleeve, as it is also called on the British nautical charts. At eight bells, when, with the forenoon watch, commenced the regular routine of study in the steerage, all the students had seen the Naze, or Lindersnaes, as the Norwegians call it—the southern cape of Norway. It is a reddish headland, beyond which were some hills covered with snow in the spring time. Ole Amundsen remained on deck all day, and had a name for every island and cliff on the coast. He declared that he was competent to pilot the ship into the harbor, for he had often been there. But when the fleet was off Ox-Oe, at the entrance to the port, a regular pilot was taken, at three o’clock in the afternoon. The Josephine and the Tritonia also obtained pilots soon after. The recitations were suspended in order to enable the students to see the harbor. Ole was wanted to explain the various objects which were presented to the view of the young mariners, but no one had seen him since the pilot came on board. All the habitable parts of the vessel were searched, and the stewards even examined the hold; but he could not be found. Mr. Lowington was anxious to see him, to ascertain whether he had changed his mind in regard to his secret; but Ole had disappeared as strangely as he had come on board of the ship.