No More Learning

"To smoke," he answered. "It is quite a three-pipe problem,
and I beg that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes. " He
curled himself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to
his hawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and his
black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird.
I had come to the conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and
indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his
chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind, and
put his pipe down upon the mantel-piece.
"Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall this afternoon," he
remarked. "What do you think, Watson? Could your patients
spare you for a few hours? »
"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very
absorbing. "
"Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the
city first, and we can have some lunch on the way. I observe
that there is a good deal of German music on the programme,
which is rather more to my taste than Italian or French. It is
introspective, and I want to introspect. Come along! "
We traveled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a
short walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the
singular story which we had listened to in the morning. It was
a poky little shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy two-
storied brick houses looked out into a small railed-in inclosure,
where a lawn of weedy grass and a few clumps of faded laurel-
bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and uncon-
genial atmosphere. Three gilt balls, and a brown board with
"JABEZ WILSON" in white letters, upon a corner house, announced
the place where our red-headed client carried on his business.
Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it, with his head on one


## p. 4829 (#627) ###########################################

A. CONAN DOYLE
4829
side, and looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly be-
tween puckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the street, and
then down again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses.
Finally he returned to the pawnbroker's, and having thumped
vigorously upon the pavement with his stick two or three times
he went up to the door and knocked. It was instantly opened
by a bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him.
to step in.
"Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wish to ask you how you
would go from here to the Strand. "
"Third right, fourth left," answered the assistant, promptly,
closing the door.
"Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes, as we walked away.
"He is, in my judgment, the fourth smartest man in London,
and for daring I am not sure that he has not a claim to be
third. I have known something of him before. "
"Evidently," said I, “Mr. Wilson's assistant counts for a good
deal in this mystery of the Red-Headed League. I am sure that
you inquired your way merely in order that you might see him. "
"Not him. "
"What then? »
"The knees of his trousers. "
"And what did you see? "
"What I expected to see. "
"Why did you beat the pavement? "
«< My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk.
We are spies in an
Saxe-Coburg Square.
behind it. "
enemy's country. We know something of
Let us
Let us now explore the parts which lie
The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the
corner from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a
contrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back.
It was
one of the main arteries which convey the traffic of the city to
the north and west. The roadway was blocked with the im-
mense stream of commerce, flowing in a double tide inward and
outward, while the foot-paths were black with the hurrying
swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult to realize, as we looked at
the line of fine shops and stately business premises, that they
really abutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant
square which we had just quitted.
"Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner and glanc-
ing along the line, "I should like just to remember the order


## p. 4830 (#628) ###########################################

4830
A. CONAN DOYLE
of the houses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact
knowledge of London. There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the
little newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Sub-
urban Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-
building depot. That carries us right on to the other block.
And now, doctor, we've done our work, so it's time we had some
play. A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-
land, where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there
are no red-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums. "
My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not
only a very capable performer, but a composer of no ordinary
merit. All the afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the
most perfect happiness, gently waving his long thin fingers in
time to the music, while his gently smiling face and his languid,
dreamy eyes were as unlike those of Holmes the sleuth-hound,
Holmes the relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent,
as it was possible to conceive. In his singular character the dual
nature alternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and
astuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction
against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally
predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from
extreme languor to devouring energy; and as I knew well, he
was never so truly formidable as when for days on end he had
been lounging in his arm-chair, amid his improvisations and his
black-letter editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase
would suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning
power would rise to the level of intuition, until those who were
unacquainted with his methods would look askance at him as on
a man whose knowledge was not that of other mortals. When I
saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in the music at St. James's
Hall, I felt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom
he had set himself to hunt down.
"You want to go home, no doubt, doctor," he remarked as
we emerged.
"Yes, it would be as well. "
"And I have some business to do which will take some hours.
This business at Coburg Square is serious. "
"Why serious? »
"A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every rea-
son to believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day
being Saturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your
help to-night. "


## p. 4831 (#629) ###########################################

A. CONAN DOYLE
4831
"At what time? "
"Ten will be early enough. "
"I shall be at Baker Street at ten. "
"Very well. And I say, doctor, there may be some little
danger, so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket. " He
waved his hand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant
among the crowd.
I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbors, but I
was always oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my
dealings with Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had
heard, I had seen what he had seen, and yet from his words it
was evident that he saw clearly not only what had happened,
but what was about to happen, while to me the whole business
was still confused and grotesque. As I drove home to my house
in Kensington I thought over it all, from the extraordinary story
of the red-headed copier of the Encyclopædia' down to the
visit to Saxe-Coburg Square, and the ominous words with which
he had parted from me. What was this nocturnal expedition, and
why should I go armed? Where were we going, and what were
we to do? I had the hint from Holmes that this smooth-faced
pawnbroker's assistant was a formidable man a man who might
play a deep game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in
despair, and set the matter aside until night should bring an
explanation.
―
It was a quarter past nine when I started from home and
made my way across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to
Baker Street. Two hansoms were standing at the door, and as
I entered the passage I heard the sound of voices from above.
On entering his room I found Holmes in animated conversation
with two men, one of whom I recognized as Peter Jones, the
official police agent, while the other was a long thin sad-faced
man, with a very shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-
coat.
"Ha! our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up his
pea-jacket, and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack.
"Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let
me introduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is to be our com-
panion in to-night's adventure. "
"We're hunting in couples again, doctor, you see," said Jones,
in his consequential way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man
for starting a chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to
do the running down. "


## p. 4832 (#630) ###########################################

4832
A. CONAN DOYLE
"I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our
chase," observed Mr. Merryweather, gloomily.
"You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir,"
said the police agent, loftily. "He has his own little methods,
which are, if he won't mind my saying so, just a little too the-
oretical and fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in
him. It is not too much to say that once or twice, as in that
business of the Sholto murder and the Agra treasure, he has
been more nearly correct than the official force. "
"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right," said the
stranger, with deference. "Still, I confess that I miss my rub-
ber. It is the first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years.
that I have not had my rubber. ”
"I think you will find," said Sherlock Holmes, "that you will
play for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet,
and that the play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merry-
weather, the stake will be some £30,000; and for you, Jones, it
will be the man upon whom you wish to lay your hands. "
"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger.
He's
a young man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his
profession, and I would rather have my bracelets on him than on
any criminal in London. He's a remarkable man, is young John
Clay. His grandfather was a royal duke, and he himself has
been to Eton and Oxford. His brain is as cunning as his
fingers, and though we meet signs of him at every turn, we
never know where to find the man himself. He'll crack a crib
in Scotland one week, and be raising money to build an orphan-
age in Cornwall the next. I've been on his track for years, and
have never set eyes on him yet. "
"I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you
to-night. I've had one or two little turns also with Mr. John
Clay, and I agree with you that he is at the head of his profes-
sion. It is past ten, however, and quite time that we started.
If you two will take the first hansom, Watson and I will follow
in the second. "
Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long
drive, and lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he
had heard in the afternoon. We rattled through an endless
labyrinth of gas-lit streets until we emerged into Farringdon
Street.
"We are close there now," my friend remarked. "This fellow
Merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the


## p. 4833 (#631) ###########################################

A. CONAN DOYLE
4833
matter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is
not a bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession.
He has one positive virtue. He is as brave as a bull-dog, and
as tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon any one.
Here we are, and they are waiting for us. "
We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we
had found ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed,
and following the guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed
down a narrow passage and through a side door, which he
opened for us. Within, there was a small corridor, which ended.
in a very massive iron gate. This also was opened, and led
down a flight of winding stone steps, which terminated at another
formidable gate. Mr. Merryweather stopped to light a lantern,
and then conducted us down a dark, earth-smelling passage, and
so, after opening a third door, into a huge vault or cellar, which
was piled all around with crates and massive boxes.
"You are not very vulnerable from above," Holmes remarked,
as he held up the lantern and gazed about him.
"Nor from below," said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick
upon the flags which lined the floor. "Why, dear me, it sounds
quite hollow! " he remarked, looking up in surprise.
"I must really ask you to be a little more quiet," said Holmes,
severely. "You have already imperiled the whole success of our
expedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to
sit down upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere? "
The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate,
with a very injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell
upon his knees upon the floor, and with the lantern and a mag-
nifying lens began to examine minutely the cracks between the
stones. A few seconds sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to
his feet again, and put his glass in his pocket.
"We have at least an hour before us," he remarked; "for
they can hardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is
safely in bed. Then they will not lose a minute, for the sooner
they do their work the longer time they will have for their
escape. We are at present, doctor- as no doubt you have di-
vined in the cellar at the City branch of one of the principal
London banks. Mr. Merryweather is the chairman of directors,
and he will explain to you that there are reasons why the more
daring criminals of London should take a considerable interest in
this cellar at present. "
VIII 303


## p. 4834 (#632) ###########################################

4834
A. CONAN DOYLE
"It is our French gold," whispered the director. "We have
had several warnings that an attempt might be made upon it. "
"Your French gold? "
«Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our
resources, and borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from
the Bank of France. It has become known that we have never
had occasion to unpack the money, and that it is still lying in
our cellar. The crate upon which I sit contains 2,000 napoleons
packed between layers of lead foil. Our reserve of bullion is
much larger at present than is usually kept in a single branch
office, and the directors have had misgivings upon the subject. "
" And
"Which were very well justified," observed Holmes.
now it is time that we arranged our little plans. I expect that
within an hour matters will come to a head. In the mean time,
Mr. Merryweather, we must put the screen over that dark
་
lantern. "
"And sit in the dark? ”
"I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket,
and I thought that, as we were a partie carrée, you might have
your rubber after all. But I see that the enemy's preparations
have gone so far that we cannot risk the presence of a light.
And first of all, we must choose our positions. These are daring
men, and though we shall take them at a disadvantage, they
may do us some harm unless we are careful. I shall stand
behind this crate, and do you conceal yourselves behind those.
Then when I flash a light upon them, close in swiftly.
If they
fire, Watson, have no compunction about shooting them down. "
such an abso-
The smell of
I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden
case behind which I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the
front of his lantern, and left us in pitch darkness
lute darkness as I had never before experienced.
hot metal remained to assure us that the light was still there,
ready to flash out at a moment's notice. To me, with my nerves
worked up to a pitch of expectancy, there was something de-
pressing and subduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold.
dank air of the vault.
"They have but one retreat," whispered Holmes. "That is
back through the house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that
you have done what I asked you, Jones? "
"I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front
door. "


## p. 4835 (#633) ###########################################

A. CONAN DOYLE
4835
"Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be
silent and wait. "
What a time it seemed!
From comparing notes afterwards it
was but an hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the
night must have almost gone, and the dawn be breaking above
us. My limbs were weary and stiff, for I feared to change my
position; yet my nerves were worked up to the highest pitch of
tension, and my hearing was so acute that I could not only hear
the gentle breathing of my companions, but I could distinguish
the deeper, heavier in-breath of the bulky Jones from the thin,
sighing note of the bank director. From my position I could
look over the case in the direction of the floor. Suddenly my
eyes caught the glint of a light.
At first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement.
Then it lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then,
without any warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a
hand appeared; a white, almost womanly hand, which felt about
in the centre of the little area of light. For a minute or more
the hand, with its writhing fingers, protruded out of the floor.
Then it was withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, and all was
dark again save the single lurid spark which marked a chink
between the stones.
Its disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a
rending, tearing sound, one of the broad white stones turned
over upon its side, and left a square gaping hole, through which
streamed the light of a lantern. Over the edge there peeped a
clean-cut, boyish face, which looked keenly about it, and then,
with a hand on either side of the aperture, drew itself shoulder-
high and waist-high, until one knee rested upon the edge. In
another instant he stood at the side of the hole, and was hauling
after him a companion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale
face and a shock of very red hair.
"It's all clear," he whispered. "Have you the chisel and
the bags? -Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I'll swing
for it! "
Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by
the collar. The other dived down the hole, and I heard the
sound of rending cloth as Jones clutched at his skirts. The light
flashed upon the barrel of a revolver, but Holmes's hunting crop
came down on the man's wrist and the pistol clinked upon the
stone floor.


## p. 4836 (#634) ###########################################

4836
A. CONAN DOYLE
"It's no use, John Clay," said Holmes, blandly. "You have
no chance at all. "
"So I see," the other answered, with the utmost coolness.
"I fancy that my pal is all right, though I see you have got his
coat-tails. "
"There are three men waiting for him at the door," said
Holmes.
"Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very com-
pletely. I must compliment you. "
"Your red-headed idea was
"And I you," Holmes answered.
very new and effective. "
"You'll see your pal again presently," said Jones.
"He's
quicker at climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out, while
I fix the derbies. "
"I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,"
remarked our prisoner, as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists.
"You may not be aware that I have royal blood in my veins.
Have the goodness, also, when you address me always to say
'sir' and 'please. ""
"All right," said Jones, with a stare and a snigger. "Well,
would you please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab
to carry your Highness to the police station ? »
"That is better," said John Clay, serenely. He made a
sweeping bow to the three of us, and walked quietly off in the
custody of the detective.
«< Really, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Merryweather, as
we fol-
lowed them from the cellar, "I do not know how the bank can
thank you or repay you. There is no doubt that you have
detected and defeated in the most complete manner one of the
most determined attempts at bank robbery that have ever come
within my experience. "
"I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with
Mr. John Clay," said Holmes. "I have been at some small
expense over this matter, which shall expect the bank to
refund; but beyond that I am amply repaid by having had an
experience which is in many ways unique, and by hearing the
very remarkable narrative of the Red-Headed League. "
"You see, Watson," he explained, in the early hours of the
morning, as we sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker
Street, "it was perfectly obvious from the first that the only


## p. 4837 (#635) ###########################################

A. CONAN DOYLE
4837
possible object of this rather fantastic business of the advertise-
ment of the League, and the copying of the Encyclopædia,'
must be to get this not over bright pawnbroker out of the way
for a number of hours every day. It was
a curious way of
managing it, but really, it would be difficult to suggest a better.
The method was no doubt suggested to Clay's ingenious mind by
the color of his accomplice's hair. The £4 a week was a lure
which must draw him,-and what was it to them, who were play-
ing for thousands? They put in the advertisement, one rogue
has the temporary office, the other rogue incites the man to
apply for it, and together they manage to secure his absence
every morning in the week. From the time that I heard of the
assistant having come for half wages, it was obvious to me that
he had some strong motive for securing the situation. "
"But how could you guess what the motive was?
"Had there been women in the house, I should have sus-
pected a mere vulgar intrigue. That however was out of the
question. The man's business was a small one, and there was
nothing in his house which could account for such elaborate
preparations and such an expenditure as they were at. It must
then be something out of the house. What could it be? I
thought of the assistant's fondness for photography, and his trick.
of vanishing into the cellar. The cellar! There was the end of
this tangled clue: Then I made inquiries as to this mysterious
assistant, and found that I had to deal with one of the coolest
and most daring criminals in London. He was doing something
in the cellar-something which took many hours a day for
months on end. What could it be, once more? I could think of
nothing save that he was running a tunnel to some other build-
ing.
"So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action.
I surprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I
was ascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or
behind. It was not in front.
Then I rang the bell, and as I
hoped, the assistant answered it. We have had some skirmishes,
but we had never set eyes upon each other before. I hardly
looked at his face. His knees were what I wished to see. You
must yourself have remarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained
they were. They spoke of those hours of burrowing.
The only
remaining point was what they were burrowing for. I walked
round the corner, saw that the City and Suburban Bank abutted


## p. 4838 (#636) ###########################################

4838
A. CONAN DOYLE
on our friend's premises, and felt that I had solved my problem.
When you drove home after the concert I called upon Scotland
Yard, and upon the chairman of the bank directors, with the
result that you have seen. ”
"And how could you tell that they would make their attempt
to-night? " I asked.
"Well, when they closed their League offices, that was a sign
that they cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson's presence-
in other words, that they had completed their tunnel. But it
was essential that they should use it soon, as it might be dis-
covered, or the bullion might be removed. Saturday would suit
them better than any other day, as it would give them two days
for their escape.
For all these reasons I expected them to come
to-night. "
"You reasoned it out beautifully," I exclaimed, in unfeigned
admiration. "It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings.
true. »
"It saved me from ennui," he answered, yawning. "Alas! I
already feel it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long
effort to escape from the commonplaces of existence. These little.
problems help me to do so. "
"And you are a benefactor of the race," said I.
He shrugged his shoulders.
some little use," he remarked.
c'est tout,' as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand. "
THE BOWMEN'S SONG
From The White Company'
"Well, perhaps after all it is of
"L'homme c'est rien-l'œuvre
HAT of the bow?
The bow was made in England:
Of true wood, of yew wood,
The wood of English bows;
So men who are free
WHA
―――
Love the old yew-tree
And the land where the yew-tree grows.
What of the cord?
The cord was made in England:
A rough cord, a tough cord,
A cord that bowmen love;


## p. 4839 (#637) ###########################################

A. CONAN DOYLE
4839
So we'll drain our jacks
To the English flax
And the land where the hemp was wove.
What of the shaft?
The shaft was cut in England:
A long shaft, a strong shaft,
Barbed and trim and true;
So we'll drink all together
To the gray goose feather,
And the land where the gray goose flew.
What of the men?
The men were bred in England:
The bowman - the yeoman -
The lads of dale and fell.
Here's to you-and to you!
To the hearts that are true
And the land where the true hearts dwell.
Reprinted by permission of the American Publishers' Corporation, Publishers.


## p. 4840 (#638) ###########################################

4840
HOLGER DRACHMANN
(1846-)
OLGER DRACHMANN, born in Copenhagen October 9th, 1846,
belongs to the writers characterized by Georg Brandes as
"the men of the new era. "
Danish literature had stood high during the first half of the nine-
teenth century. In 1850 Oehlenschläger died. In 1870 there was prac-
tically no Danish literature. The reason for this may have been that
after the new political life of 1848-9 and the granting of the Danish
Constitution, politics absorbed all young talent, and men of literary
tastes put themselves at the service of the
daily press.
(
In 1872 Georg Brandes gave his lectures
on Main Currents in the Literature of the
Nineteenth Century' at the University of
Copenhagen. That same year Drachmann
published his first collection of Poems,'
and so began his extraordinary productivity
of poems, dramas, and novels. Of these, his
lyric poems are undoubtedly of the greatest
value. His is a distinctly lyric tempera-
ment. The new school had chosen for its
guide Brandes's teaching that "Literature,
to be of significance, should discuss prob-
lems. " In view of this fact it is somewhat

HOLGER DRACHMANN
hard to understand why Drachmann should be called a man of the
new era. He never discusses problems. He always gives himself up
unreservedly to the subject which at that special moment claims his
sympathy. Taken as a whole, therefore, his writings present a cer-
tain inconsistency. He has shown himself alternately as socialist and
royalist, realist and romanticist, freethinker and believer, cosmopoli-
tan and national, according to the lyric enthusiasm of the moment.
Independent of these changes, the one thing to be admired and
enjoyed is his lyric feeling and the often exquisite form in which
he presents it. His larger compositions, novels, and dramas do not
show the same power over his subject.
If Drachmann discusses any problem, it is the problem Drachmann.
He does this sometimes with what Brandes calls "a light and joking
self-irony," in a most sympathetic way. Brandes quotes one of Drach-


## p. 4841 (#639) ###########################################

HOLGER DRACHMANN
4841
mann's early stories, where it is said of the hero:-"His name was
really Palnatoke Olsen; a continually repeated discord of two tones,
as he used to say. " Olsen is one of the most commonplace Danish
names. Palnatoke is the name of one of the fiercest warriors of
heathen antiquity, who, like a veritable Valhalla god, dared to oppose
the terrible Danish king Harald Blaatand. When Olsen's parents
gave him this name they unwittingly described their son, "forever
drawn by two poles: one the plain Olsen, the other the hot-headed
fiery Viking. " With this in mind, and considering Drachmann's liter-
ary works as a whole, one is irresistibly reminded of his friend and
contemporary in Norway, Björnsterne Björnson. There is this differ-
ence between them, however, that if the irony of Palnatoke Olsen
may be applied to both, one might for Drachmann use the abbrevi-
ation P. Olsen and for Björnson undoubtedly Palnatoke O.
It might be said of Drachmann, as Sauer said of the Italian poet
Monti: — "Like a master in the art of appreciation, he knew how to
give himself up to great time-stirring ideas; somewhat as a gifted
actor throws himself into his part, with the full strength of his art,
with an enthusiasm carrying all before it, and in the most expressive
way; then when the part is played, lays it quietly aside and takes
hold of something else. "
When a young man, Drachmann studied at the Academy of Arts in
Copenhagen, and met with considerable success as a marine painter.
His love for the Northern seas shows itself in his poetry and prose,
and his descriptions of the sea and the life of the sailor and fisher-
man are of the truest and best yielded by his pen. He is the author
of no less than forty-six volumes of poems, dramas, novels, short
stories, and sketches, and of two unpublished dramas. His most im-
portant work is 'Forskrevet' (Condemned), which is largely autobio-
graphical; his most attractive though not his strongest production is
the opera 'Der Var Engang' (Once Upon a Time), founded on
Andersen's 'The Swineherd,' with music by Sange Müller; his best
poems and tales are those dealing with the sea.
At present he lives in Hamburg, where on October 10th, 1896, he
celebrated his fiftieth birthday and his twenty-fifth "Author-Jubilee,"
as the Danes call it. Among the features of the celebration were
the sending of an enormous number of telegrams from Drachmann's
admirers in Europe and America, and the performance of two of his
plays, one at the Royal Theatre in Copenhagen, the other at the
Stadt Theatre in Altona.


## p. 4842 (#640) ###########################################

4842
HOLGER DRACHMANN
THE SKIPPER AND HIS SHIP
From Paul and Virginia of a Northern Zone': copyright 1895, by Way and
Williams, Chicago
THE
HE Anna Dorothea, in the North Sea, was pounding along
under shortened sail. The weather was thick, the air dense;
there was a falling barometer.
It had been a short trip this time. Leroy and Sons, wine
merchants of Havre, had made better offers than the old houses
in Bordeaux. At each one of his later trips, Captain Spang had
Isaid it should be his last.
<<
He would lay up" at home; he was
growing too stout and clumsy for the sea, and now he must
trust fully to Tönnes, his first mate. The captain's big broad
face was flushed as usual; he always looked as if he were illumi-
nated by a setting October sun; there was no change here-
rather, the sunset tint was stronger. But Tönnes noted how the
features, which he knew best in moments of simple good-nature
and of sullen tumult, had gradually relaxed. He thought that it
would indeed soon be time for his old skipper to "lay up"; yet
perhaps a few trips might still be made.
"Holloa, Tönnes! let her go about before the next squall
strikes her. She lies too dead on this bow. "
The skipper had raised his head above the cabin stairs. As
usual, he was in his shirt-sleeves, and his scanty hair fluttered in
the wind. When he had warned his mate, he again disappeared
in the cabin.
Tönnes gave the order to the man at the helm, and hurried
to help at the main-braces. The double-reefed main-topsail swung
about, the Anna Dorothea caught the wind somewhat sluggishly,
and not without getting considerable water over her; then fol-
lowed the fore-topsail, the reefed foresail, and the trysail. When
the tacking was finished and the sails had again caught the
wind, the trysail was torn from the boltropes with a loud crack.
The captain's head appeared again.
"We must close-reef! " said he.
The last reef was taken in; the storm came down and lashed
the sea; the sky grew more and more threatening; the waves
dashed over the deck at each plunge of the old bark in the sea.
The old vessel, which had carried her captain for a generation,
lay heavily on the water-Tönnes thought too heavily.


## p. 4843 (#641) ###########################################

HOLGER DRACHMANN
4843
The second mate—the same who had played the accordion at
the inn came over to Tönnes.
―――――
"It was wrong to stow the china-clay at the bottom and the
casks on top; she lies horribly dead, and I'm afraid we shall have
to use the pumps. "
"Yes, I said so to the old man, but he would have it that
way," answered Tönnes. "We shall have a wet night. "
"We shall, surely," said the second mate.
Tönnes crawled up to the helm and looked at the compass.
Two men were at the helm-lashed fast. Tönnes looked up
into the rigging and out to windward; then suddenly he cried,
with the full force of his lungs:-
"Look out for breakers! "
Tönnes himself helped at the wheel; but the vessel only half
answered the helm. The greater portion of the sea struck the
bow, the quarter, and the bulwarks and stanchions amidship, so
that they creaked and groaned. One of the men at the helm had
grasped Tönnes, who would otherwise have been swept into the
lee scupper. When the ship had righted from the terrible blow,
the captain stood on the deck in his oilcloth suit.
―――――――
"Are any men missing? " cried he, through the howling of
the wind and the roaring of the water streaming fore and aft,
unable to escape quickly enough through the scuppers.
The storm raged with undiminished fury. The crew-and
amongst them Prussian, who had been promoted to be ship's-dog
-by-and-by dived forward through the seething salt water and
the fragments of wreck that covered the deck.
Now it was that the second mate was missing.
The captain looked at Tönnes, and then out on the wild sea.
He scarcely glanced at the crushed long-boat; even if a boat
could have been launched, it would have been too late. Tönnes
and his skipper were fearless men, who took things as they were.
If any help could have been given, they would have given it.
But their eyes sought vainly for any dark speck amidst the
foaming waves-and it was necessary to care for themselves,
the vessel and the crew.
"God save his soul! " murmured Captain Spang.