The little man suddenly gave me a furtive look. I was standing perfectly still, looking steadily at him, was a giant in comparison with him, and had just come out of prison. It seemed to strike him that it was not altogether prudent to take this tone with me, so now there came a long litany of the dolorous life that a petty subaltern with a large family has to lead on the Polish frontier. True, in conformity with the wishes of his dear wife, who wanted to nurse her old father, he had procured his removal to this place; but now the old gentleman, who no doubt would have taken it kindly of them, must needs die, and living here was so much more expensive, and then the journey had cost so much with all these children, and the baby was only sixteen weeks old, and though the inheritance was left, still _two_ was a heavy divisor when the dividend was not large, and----

I had heard enough, and more than enough.

"Do you know this book?" I asked, laying my hand on the cover of my father's diary.

"No," replied the little man.

"Give me this book, and I make no other claim upon my father's estate.

It is his diary, which has no interest for you. Do you consent?"

"Certainly--that is, ahem! I don't know whether my dear wife--we must first see about it--," answered my brother-in-law, rubbing his hands in an undecided way, and looking askance at the book out of his little puffy eyes.

"Then see about it"

I now commenced on my side pacing up and down the room, while the husband of his dear wife seated himself at the table, to submit this mysterious book to a closer inspection.

It seemed to excite no especial interest in him by the ordinary process of reading; so he tried another plan with it, taking it by the two covers and letting the leaves hang down, which he shook vigorously for half a minute. As this proceeding also led to no result, he gave up the matter as hopeless, laid down the book again, and said "Ahem!"

"Are you agreed!" I asked.

"Yes, certainly--to be sure--so to speak--of course; that is, we must put it down in writing--only a couple of lines--just by way of a memorandum--we might have it afterwards drawn up by a notary----"

"Whatever you wish, whatever you wish," I said. "Here then!"

The little man glanced at the paper and glanced at me, while I tied up the book in my bundle, and took bundle and stick in my hand. Either he did not know what to make of me, or--as from the expression of his countenance was more probable--considered me simply insane; in either case he was beyond measure glad to be rid of me.

"Off so soon?" he said. "There's my dear wife, won't you----"

He checked his invitation to see his dear wife. I muttered something that might pa.s.s for an excuse, left the room, pressed old Friederike's hand as I pa.s.sed through the hall, and stood in the street.

I have but a dim recollection of the hour that followed. It is not a dream, and yet it seems like a dream, that I went to the grave-yard in the mill-suburb, roused up the old s.e.xton, who was just going to bed; that I kneeled by a recent grave, and afterwards gave the old man, who stood by me with a lantern, money to cover the hillock next morning with fresh sods; that I went back again, and near the gate pa.s.sed the villa of the commerzienrath, where all the windows were illuminated, and I could see couples gliding past them in the dance to a music which I could not hear, and that I thought the little Hermine might be among the dancers, and then remembered that the pretty child would now be seventeen years old, if she were still alive.

I felt an irrepressible sadness; it seemed as if all the world had died, and I was the only living being left, and the shades of the dead were dancing round me to inaudible music.

Thus I went back with unsteady steps to the town, and pa.s.sed along the empty silent streets towards the harbor, mechanically following the way which I had always taken when a boy.

The sea-breeze blew in my face, and cooled my fevered brow, and I inhaled deep draughts of the invigorating air. No, the world was not dead, nor was I the only living being left; and there was a music, a delicious music, sweeter to me than any other: the music of the wind whistling through spars and cordage, and the waves plashing upon the harbor-bar and before the prow of the ship. Yes, there were still those who loved me, and whom I with all my soul could love again.

Upon the wharf, where the steamboat for St. ---- was now lying at her moorings, there was standing a crowd of people. It struck me that I could best commence my journey to the capital by this steamer.

Considering this, I was standing at the head of the pier, when a litter, such as is used to transport the sick, was carried past me towards the crowd. The litter was without the usual cover, which had probably been forgotten in their haste, or, as it was night, not considered necessary.

"What is the matter?" I asked the men.

"The fireman of the _Elizabeth_ has broken his leg." growled one in reply, in whom I now recognized my old friend, officer Luz.

"And we are to take him to the hospital," said the other, who was no other than the redoubtable Bolljahn.

"Poor fellow!" I exclaimed.

"Yes," said Luz, "and his wife has just been brought to bed."

"And they had eight already," growled Bolljahn.

"No, seven," said Luz.

"No, eight," said Bolljahn.

The group upon the pier began to move.

"There he lies now," said Luz.

"No, eight," said Bolljahn, who was not the man to drop a disputed point so soon.

They had brought the man out of the ship to the pier. He was a remarkably large and powerful man, whom six found it no easy task to carry, and who, strong as he was, groaned and cried with pain. The two men put down the litter; the bearers set about lifting the man into it, very awkwardly as it seemed, for he screamed with anguish. I thrust a couple of gapers aside and came up. They had laid him upon the ground again; I asked him how he wanted to be placed, and took hold myself with the others, showing them what to do.

"Thank G.o.d!" murmured the poor fellow, "here is one man with some sense."

They carried him off, and I went a little distance with them to see how they got on. Was he warm enough? Yes he was. Did they carry him well?

Well, they might shake him a little less.

"Here is something for you too," I said, putting a piece of money into the hand of each of my old acquaintances, "and now carry him as if he were your brother or your child;" and then I bent over the injured man and whispered something in his ear that it was not necessary for Luz and Bolljahn to hear, and gave him something which it was equally unnecessary for them to see; and then I turned again to the group which was standing by the gang-plank of the steamer, discussing the remarkable accident.

At this moment the captain came out upon the gang-plank, and called to the group:

"Will any one of you take Karl Riekmann's place for this trip? I will pay him good wages."

The men looked at each other. "I can't, Karl," said one, "can't you?"

"No, Karl," said the one addressed, "but can't you, Karl?" "Neither can I," said the third Karl.

"I will," said I, stepping up to the captain.

The captain, a short, square-built man, looked up at me.

"Oh, you will do," he said.

"I think so."

"Can you go on board at once?"

"There is nothing to detain me here."

CHAPTER XVIII.

A gray foggy morning succeeded to the cold windy night. It was six o'clock when the _Elizabeth_ left the wharf, and I had been busy with the fires since three. I soon fell into the work, and scarcely needed the instructions of the lumpish, growling engineer. I had to laugh once or twice involuntarily when the man, seeing me attend to this or the other matter about the engine without directions, stared at me with a look half of surprise and half of vexation. I had told him that I was an entire novice at this work, and this was the literal truth; but I had not told him, nor was there any necessity that I should, that I had thoroughly studied marine steam-engines with the best of teachers, and had familiarized myself with even the minutest parts on an excellent model. And if in a few hours I had mastered the work of a regular fireman, in even a less time I had acquired the appearance of one. To save my own clothes I had laid them in part aside, and put on a working blouse of my unlucky predecessor, which fitted me perfectly; and what with handling the coal and the effects of a stream of smoke which drove into my face for quite ten minutes from the refractory furnace while I was making up the fires, even my friend Doctor Snellius, who piqued himself so greatly upon his physiognomical memory, would not have recognized me. But I cared little for this, for happily I had other things to occupy my attention.