Chapter Thirty Seven.

In the Gulden Strasse again.

That was all.

“Sail ho!” shouted Eric in stentorian tones, his voice penetrating through the entire valley, and reaching probably the remotest extent of the island.

The shout was quite enough for Fritz; for, hardly taking time to dress, he at once rushed down to join his brother on the beach.

“Where is she?” he cried out anxiously, when yet some distance off. He panted out the question as he ran.

“Right off the bay!” sang out Eric, in quite as great a state of frenzied excitement. “She’s hull down to windward now; but she’s rising every moment on the horizon.”

“Where?” repeated Fritz, now alongside of the other. “I can’t see her.”

“There,” said Eric, pointing to a tiny white speck in the distance, which to Fritz’s eyes seemed more like the wing of a sea bird than anything else.

“How can you make her out to be the Pilot’s Bride?” was his next query. “I can barely discern a faint spec far away; and that might be anything!”

Eric smiled.

“Himmel!” he cried with an infinite superiority. “What bad sight you landsmen have, to be sure! Can’t you see that she is a barque and is steering straight for the bay. What other vessel, I should like to know, would be coming here of that description, save the old skipper’s ship!”

Fritz made no reply to this unanswerable logic; so, he asked another question instead.

“What time do you think she’ll be near enough to send a boat off, eh, brother? We can’t go out to meet her, now, you know.”

“No, worse luck!” said Eric. “However, I think, with this breeze, she’ll be close to us in a couple of hours’ time.”

“A couple of hours!” exclaimed Fritz with dismay, the interval, in his present excited state of feeling, appearing like an eternity!

“Yes; but, the time will soon pass in watching her,” replied the sailor lad. “Look how she rises! There, can’t you now see her hull above the waves?”

Fritz gazed till his eyes were almost blinded, the sun being right in his face when he looked in the direction of the advancing vessel; but, to his inexperienced eyes, she still seemed as far off as ever.

“I dare say you are right, Eric,” he said; “still, I cannot see her hull yet—nor anything indeed but the same little tiny speck I noticed at first! However,” he added, drawing a deep sigh, “if we only wait patiently, I suppose she’ll arrive in time.”

“Everything comes to him who knows how to wait,” replied his brother, rather grandiloquently; after which speech the two continued to look out over the shimmering expanse of water, now lit up by the rays of the steadily rising sun, without interchanging another word. Their thoughts were too full for speech.

Some two hours later, the Pilot’s Bride—for it was that vessel, Eric’s instinct not having misled him—backed her main-topsail and lay-to off the entrance to the little bay, the gaudy American flag being run up as she came to the wind, and a gun fired.

The brother crusoes were almost mad in their eagerness to get on board.

“What a pity we have no boat!” they both exclaimed together.

They looked as if they could have plunged into the sea, ready dressed as they were, so as to swim off to the welcome vessel!

Eric waved his handkerchief frantically to and fro.

“The skipper will soon know that something has prevented our coming off, and will send in a boat,” he said; and the two then waited impatiently for the next act of the stirring nautical drama in which they had so deep an interest.

In a few minutes, they could see a boat lowered from the side of the ship; and, presently, this was pulled towards the shore by four oarsmen, while another individual, whom Eric readily recognised in the distance as Captain Brown, sat in the stern-sheets, steering the little craft in whaling fashion with another oar.

“It’s the good old skipper!” exclaimed Eric, dancing about and waving his hat round his head so wildly that it seemed as if he had taken leave of his senses. “I can see his jolly old face behind the rowers, as large as life!”

Two or three minutes more, and the boat’s keel grated on the beach, when Fritz and Eric sprang into the water to greet their old friend.

“Waall, boys!” cried the skipper, “I guess I’m raal downright glad to see you both ag’in, thet I am—all thet, I reckon. It’s a sight for sore eyes to see you lookin’ so slick and hearty.”

So saying, Captain Brown shook hands with the two in his old, thoroughgoing arm-wrenching fashion, their hands when released seeming to be almost reduced to pulp in the process, through the pressure of his brawny fist.

Of course, they then had a long talk together, the brothers recounting all that had happened to them in the past year, Captain Fuller of the schooner Jane having taken to the Cape an account of their doings during the preceding twelve months.

“Waal,” exclaimed the skipper, when he was showed their little cargo of sealskins and oil, and told also of the treasure which they had found, “I guess you h’ain’t made half so bad a job o’ crusoeing, arter all! I reckon them skins an’ He, along o’ what you shipped afore, will fetch you more’n a couple o’ thousan’ dollars; an’ what with them doubloons you mention, I guess you’ll hev’ made a pretty considerable pile fur the time you’ve been sealin’!”

There being no object to be gained by the vessel remaining any length of time at the island—which indeed was the reason that the skipper had not brought the Pilot’s Bride to anchor, preferring to ply on and on in front of the bay, so as to be ready for an instant start—the little property of the brothers was, without further delay, taken on board; and then, crusoes now no longer, they bade adieu, a long adieu, to Inaccessible Island, their abiding place for the past two years.

As the Pilot’s Bride filled her sails and cleared the headlands, which, stretching their giant arms across the entrance to the little bay, soon shut out all view of the valley from their gaze, the last thing they noticed was their hut, the home of so many long and weary months, blazing away in regular bonfire fashion. Master Eric had put a match to the thatch of the little edifice on crossing its threshold for the last time!

“There’s no fear, however, of this bonfire doing as much mischief as the last, old fellow!” he said apologetically to Fritz as they gazed back over the ship’s stern at the rapidly receding island.

“No,” replied the other. “It won’t do any particular harm, it is true; but still, I think it was a pity to burn down our little home. We have passed many pleasant as well as sad hours there, you know, during the last two years.”

“That may be all very true, brother,” replied Eric, “but do you know what was my real reason for setting fire to it?”

“No,” said Fritz.

“Well then I’ll tell you,” continued the other. “I couldn’t bear to think that those cheeky penguins should invade it and perhaps make their nests there after we were gone!”

“What?” exclaimed Fritz, beginning to laugh. “You don’t mean to say you haven’t forgiven the poor birds yet for—”

“Stop!” cried Eric, interrupting him. “You know what you agreed to, eh? Let bye-gones be bye-gones!”

“Good,” said Fritz; and there ended the matter.

The return voyage of the Pilot’s Bride back to America was uneventful, although full enough of incident to the brothers after their enforced exile; but when the vessel arrived again at her old home port of Providence in Rhode Island, of course the two had something more to excite them in the greeting they received from the cheery and kindly-hearted family of the good old skipper at the shanty on the bay.

The worthy dame, Mrs Brown, welcomed them like sons of her own; while, Miss Celia—declared that Eric had grown quite a man—adding, with a toss of her head, that she “guessed he’d lost nothing of his old impudence!”

However, in spite of all the kindness and hospitality of these good people, Fritz and Eric were both too anxious to get home to Lubeck to prolong their stay in the States any longer than was absolutely necessary; so, as soon as the worthy skipper had managed to convert their stock of sealskins and oil into hard cash—getting the weighty and old-fashioned doubloons exchanged for a valuable banker’s draft, save one or two which they kept for curiosity’s sake—the pair were off and away again on their way back to Europe by the next—starting North German steamer from New York.

Before setting out, however, Eric promised to return to Providence ere the following “fall,” in time to resume his post of third mate of the Pilot’s Bride before she started again on another whaling voyage to the southern seas.

One more scene, and the story of “The Brother Crusoes” will be “as a tale that is told!”

It is Christmas Eve again at Lubeck.

The streets as well as the roofs and exteriors of the houses are covered with snow, exhibiting without every appearance of a hard winter; while, within, the interiors are filled with bustling folk, busy with all the myriad and manifold preparations for the coming festival on the morrow.

Mirth, music, and merry-making are everywhere apparent.

In the little old-fashioned house in the Gulden Strasse, where Fritz and Eric were first introduced to the readers notice, these cheery signs of the festive season are even more prominently displayed than usual; for, are not the long-absent wanderers expected back beneath the old roof-tree once more, and is not their coming anticipated at every hour—nay, almost at any moment?

Aye!

Madame Dort is sitting in her accustomed corner of the stove. She is looking ever so much better in health and younger in appearance than she was at the time of that sad celebration of the Christmas anniversary three years ago, detailed in an early chapter of the story; and there is a smile of happiness and content beaming over her face.

The good lady of the house is pretending to be darning a pair of stockings, which she has taken up to keep her fingers busy; but every now and then, she lets the work drop from her hands on to her knees, and looks round the room, as if listening and waiting for some one who will soon be here.

Madaleine, prettier than ever, clad in a gala dress and with bright ribbons in her golden hair, while her rosebud lips are half parted and her blue eyes dancing with joy and excitement, is pacing up and down the room impatiently. She is too eager to sit still!

Mouser, our old friend the cat, is curled up in a round ball between Gelert’s paws on the rug in front of the stove; while, as for Lorischen, she is bustling in and out of the room, placing things on the well-spread table and then immediately taking them away again, quite forgetful of what she is about in her absence of mind and anxiety of expectancy.

Burgher Jans, too, now and again, keeps popping his head through the doorway, to ask if “the high, well-born and noble Herren” have yet come—the little fat man then retiring, with an humble apology for intruding, only to intrude again the next instant!

Madame Dort had received, late that afternoon, a telegram from Fritz, stating that he had reached Bremerhaven; and that he and Eric were just going to take the train, hoping to be with them in Lubeck ere nightfall.

Cause enough, is there not, for all this excitement and expectancy in the household?

Presently, a party of singers pass down the street, singing a plaintive Volkslieder, that sounds, oh so tender and touching in the frosty evening air; and then, suddenly, there is a sound of footsteps crunching the snow on the outside stairway.

Gelert, shaking off poor Mouser’s fraternal embrace most unceremoniously, starts up with a growl, rushing the moment afterwards with a whine and yelp of joy to the rapidly thrown open door; and, here he jumps affectionately up upon a stalwart, bearded individual who enters, trying to lick his face in welcome.

“Fritz!” cries Madaleine.

“Eric!” echoes the mother, the same instant.

“Madaleine!” bursts forth from Fritz’s lips; while Eric, close behind, cries out joyously, “Mother—mutterchen—dear little mother mine!”

The long-expected meeting is over, and the “Brother Crusoes” are safe at home again.

Little remains to be told.

Early in the new year, when winter had given place to spring and the earth was budding forth into fresh life, Fritz and Madaleine were married. The happy pair live on still with good Madame Dort in the little house of the Gulden Strasse as of yore; for, Fritz has settled down into the old groove he occupied before the war, having gone back to rejoin his former employer, Herr Grosschnapper—although, mind you, instead of being only a mere clerk and book-keeper, he is now a partner in the shipbroker’s business:— the little capital which he and Eric gained in their sealing venture to Inaccessible Island, and which Fritz has invested in the concern in their joint names, is amply sufficient to make him a co-proprietor instead of occupying a subordinate position.

And Eric?

Well, the lad is doing well enough.

He went back to Providence at the end of the following summer, as he had promised; and, having joined the Pilot’s Bride, and sailed in her since, he is now first officer of that staunch old ship—which the fates will that our old friend the Yankee skipper shall still command.

The last news from Rhode Island, however, records a rumour anent a “splice,” to use the nautical phrase, between Master Eric and Miss Celia Brown; and report has it that when this matrimonial engagement is effected “the old man” has announced his intention of giving over his dearly beloved vessel to the entire charge of his son-in-law.

Still, this has not happened yet—Master Eric being yet too young for such honours.

Lorischen and Burgher Jans, strange to say, did not make a match of it after all, the fickle-minded old nurse backing out of the bargain instead of holding to her promise after the arrival of her young masters at home.

Gelert is yet to the fore, and as good and brave an old dog as ever, albeit time has robbed him of some of his teeth and made him somewhat less active; but as for Mouser, he does not seem to have “turned a hair.” The highly intelligent animal still purrs and fizzes as vigourously as in his youth—occupying his leisure moments, when not after birds or mice, in basking in the sunshine on the window-ledge above the staircase in summer; while, in winter, he curls himself up between Gelert’s outstretched paws on the hearthrug, in front of the old-fashioned china stove.

The brothers must have the last word; and, here a little sermon must come in.

Do you know, if you should ask them their candid opinion, they would tell you that, although the idea of playing at Robinson Crusoe may seem pleasant enough to those whose only experience of life on a desert island is derived from what they have read about its romantic features in books, persons, like themselves, who know what the real thing is, could narrate a very different story concerning its haps and mishaps, its deadly monotony and dreary solitude, its hopes and its despair!

The End.