A Story from the Sand-Hills

　　Jorgen went in and out the house； and on the third day he felt as much at home as he did in the fisherman's cottage among the sand-hills， where he had passed his early days. Here on the heath were riches unknown to him until now； for flowers， blackberries， and bilberries were to be found in profusion， so large and sweet that when they were crushed beneath the tread of passers-by the heather was stained with their red juice. Here was a barrow and yonder another. Then columns of smoke rose into the still air； it was a heath fire， they told him—how brightly it blazed in the dark evening！

　　the fourth day came， and the funeral festivities were at an end； they were to go back from the land-dunes to the sand-dunes.

　　“Ours are better，” said the old fisherman， Jorgen's foster-father； “these have no strength.”

　　And they spoke of the way in which the sand-dunes had come inland， and it seemed very easy to understand. This is how they explained it：

　　A dead body had been found on the coast， and the peasants buried it in the churchyard. From that time the sand began to fly about and the sea broke in with violence. A wise man in the district advised them to open the grave and see if the buried man was not lying sucking his thumb， for if so he must be a sailor， and the sea would not rest until it had got him back. The grave was opened， and he really was found with his thumb in his mouth. So they laid him upon a cart， and harnessed two oxen to it； and the oxen ran off with the sailor over heath and moor to the ocean， as if they had been stung by an adder. Then the sand ceased to fly inland， but the hills that had been piled up still remained.

　　All this Jorgen listened to and treasured up in his memory of the happiest days of his childhood—the days of the burial feast.

　　How delightful it was to see fresh places and to mix with strangers！ And he was to go still farther， for he was not yet fourteen years old when he went out in a ship to see the world. He encountered bad weather， heavy seas， unkindness， and hard men—such were his experiences， for he became ship-boy. Cold nights， bad living， and blows had to be endured； then he felt his noble Spanish blood boil within him， and bitter， angry， words rose to his lips， but he gulped them down； it was better， although he felt as the eel must feel when it is skinned， cut up， and put into the frying-pan.

　　“I shall get over it，” said a voice within him.

　　He saw the Spanish coast， the native land of his parents. He even saw the town where they had lived in joy and prosperity， but he knew nothing of his home or his relations， and his relations knew just as little about him.

　　the poor ship boy was not permitted to land， but on the last day of their stay he managed to get ashore. There were several purchases to be made， and he was sent to carry them on board.

　　Jorgen stood there in his shabby clothes which looked as if they had been washed in the ditch and dried in the chimney； he， who had always dwelt among the sand-hills， now saw a GREat city for the first time. How lofty the houses seemed， and what a number of people there were in the streets！ some pushing this way， some that—a perfect maelstrom of citizens and peasants， monks and soldiers—the jingling of bells on the trappings of asses and mules， the chiming of church bells， calling， shouting， hammering and knocking—all going on at once. Every trade was located in the basement of the houses or in the side thoroughfares； and the sun shone with such heat， and the air was so close， that one seemed to be in an oven full of beetles， cockchafers， bees and flies， all humming and buzzing together. Jorgen scarcely knew where he was or which way he went. Then he saw just in front of him the great doorway of a cathedral； the lights were gleaming in the dark aisles， and the fragrance of incense was wafted towards him. Even the poorest beggar ventured up the steps into the sanctuary. Jorgen followed the sailor he was with into the church， and stood in the sacred edifice. Coloured pictures gleamed from their golden background， and on the altar stood the figure of the Virgin with the child Jesus， surrounded by lights and flowers； priests in festive robes were chanting， and choir boys in dazzling attire swung silver censers. What splendour and magnificence he saw there！ It streamed in upon his soul and overpowered him： the church and the faith of his parents surrounded him， and touched a chord in his heart that caused his eyes to overflow with tears.

　　they went from the church to the market-place. Here a quantity of provisions were given him to carry. The way to the harbour was long； and weary and overcome with various emotions， he rested for a few moments before a splendid house， with marble pillars， statues， and broad steps. Here he rested his burden against the wall. Then a porter in livery came out， lifted up a silver-headed cane， and drove him away—him， the grandson of that house. But no one knew that， and he just as little as any one. Then he went on board again， and once more encountered rough words and blows， much work and little sleep—such was his experience of life. They say it is good to suffer in one's young days， if age brings something to make up for it.

　　His period of service on board the ship came to an end， and the vessel lay once more at Ringkjobing in Jutland. He came ashore， and went home to the sand-dunes near Huusby； but his foster-mother had died during his absence.

　　A hard winter followed this summer. Snow-storms swept over land and sea， and there was difficulty in getting from one place to another. How unequally things are distributed in this world！ Here there was bitter cold and snow-storms， while in Spain there was burning sunshine and oppressive heat. Yet， when a clear frosty day came， and Jorgen saw the swans flying in numbers from the sea towards the land， across to Norre-Vosborg， it seemed to him that people could breathe more freely here； the summer also in this part of the world was splendid. In imagination he saw the heath blossom and become purple with rich juicy berries， and the elder-bushes and lime-trees at Norre Vosborg in flower. He made up his mind to go there again.

　　Spring came， and the fishing began. Jorgen was now an active helper in this， for he had grown during the last year， and was quick at work. He was full of life， and knew how to swim， to tread water， and to turn over and tumble in the strong tide. They often warned him to beware of the sharks， which seize the best swimmer， draw him down， and devour him； but such was not to be Jorgen's fate.

　　At a neighbour's house in the dunes there was a boy named Martin， with whom Jorgen was on very friendly terms， and they both took service in the same ship to Norway， and also went together to Holland. They never had a quarrel， but a person can be easily excited to quarrel when he is naturally hot tempered， for he often shows it in many ways； and this is just what Jorgen did one day when they fell out about the merest trifle. They were sitting behind the cabin door， eating from a delft plate， which they had placed between them. Jorgen held his pocket-knife in his hand and raised it towards Martin， and at the same time became ashy pale， and his eyes had an ugly look. Martin only said， “Ah！ ah！ you are one of that sort， are you？ Fond of using the knife！”

　　the words were scarcely spoken， when Jorgen's hand sank down. He did not answer a syllable， but went on eating， and afterwards returned to his work. When they were resting again he walked up to Martin and said：

　　“Hit me in the face！ I deserve it. But sometimes I feel as if I had a pot in me that boils over.”

　　“there， let the thing rest，” replied Martin.

　　And after that they were almost better friends than ever； when afterwards they returned to the dunes and began telling their adventures， this was told among the rest. Martin said that Jorgen was certainly passionate， but a good fellow after all.

　　they were both young and healthy， well-grown and strong； but Jorgen was the cleverer of the two.

　　In Norway the peasants go into the mountains and take the cattle there to find pasture. On the west coast of Jutland huts have been erected among the sand-hills； they are built of pieces of wreck， and thatched with turf and heather； there are sleeping places round the walls， and here the fishermen live and sleep during the early spring. Every fisherman has a female helper， or manager as she is called， who baits his hooks， prepares warm beer for him when he comes ashore， and gets the dinner cooked and ready for him by the time he comes back to the hut tired and hungry. Besides this the managers bring up the fish from the boats， cut them open， prepare them， and have generally a GREat deal to do.

　　Jorgen， his father， and several other fishermen and their managers inhabited the same hut； Martin lived in the next one.

　　One of the girls， whose name was Else， had known Jorgen from childhood； they were glad to see each other， and were of the same opinion on many points， but in appearance they were entirely opposite； for he was dark， and she was pale， and fair， and had flaxen hair， and eyes as blue as the sea in sunshine.

　　As they were walking together one day， Jorgen held her hand very firmly in his， and she said to him：

　　“Jorgen， I have something I want to say to you； let me be your manager， for you are like a brother to me； but Martin， whose housekeeper I am—he is my lover—but you need not tell this to the others.”

　　It seemed to Jorgen as if the loose sand was giving way under his feet. He did not speak a word， but nodded his head， and that meant “yes.” It was all that was necessary； but he suddenly felt in his heart that he hated Martin， and the more he thought the more he felt convinced that Martin had stolen away from him the only being he ever loved， and that this was Else： he had never thought of Else in this way before， but now it all became plain to him.

　　When the sea is rather rough， and the fishermen are coming home in their GREat boats， it is wonderful to see how they cross the reefs. One of them stands upright in the bow of the boat， and the others watch him sitting with the oars in their hands. Outside the reef it looks as if the boat was not approaching land but going back to sea； then the man who is standing up gives them the signal that the great wave is coming which is to float them across the reef. The boat is lifted high into the air， so that the keel is seen from the shore； the next moment nothing can be seen， mast， keel， and people are all hidden—it seems as though the sea had devoured them； but in a few moments they emerge like a great sea animal climbing up the waves， and the oars move as if the creature had legs. The second and third reef are passed in the same manner； then the fishermen jump into the water and push the boat towards the shore—every wave helps them—and at length they have it drawn up， beyond the reach of the breakers.