The rest of the party hurried up on deck, all save Klementsen, who, having emptied his magnum, felt himself unable to get up the companion, and wisely refrained from making the attempt.
The Henrik Ibsen had struck on a sunken reef. The excitement of the occasion, together with the generous good cheer, had had their effect on the crew, who had not paid much heed to their course, with the result that the vessel had taken her own, until brought up all standing by the unexpected obstacle.
The bow had run right on the shelf of rock, and things looked distinctly unpleasant, until Soren Braaten explained that "unfortunately" there was shallow water on all sides, when the company began to feel somewhat easier in their minds.
Cilia's head was treated with vinegar bandages, and Justice Heidt's nose bound up as if in sympathy with the damage inside. But the festive spirit among the shareholders generally was at a low ebb, and anyone taking advantage of the moment might have bought shares then at well below par.
Aha, there is a tug already, the Storegut; things looked brighter in a moment, perhaps they might get off at once. But then came the question, had she sprung a leak? No; sound as a bell. A proper sort of steamer this.
A hawser was passed from the tug, then full speed astern—Hurrah—she's moving! The Henrik Ibsen drew slowly off the reef and was soon clear once more. The passengers brightened up, and soon the steamer was on her way back to Strandvik, the tug standing by in case of need.
Nachmann's supply of champagne was inexhaustible, and Thor Smith got on his feet with another speech for "the splendid vessel which has stood the test so manfully to-day. The Henrik Ibsen was not built for picnic voyages over sunny seas; no, she had shown what she could do and borne it magnificently." Cheers for the Henrik Ibsen and general acclamation.
Then the whole company joined in the song:
"And what though I ran my ship aground,
It was grand to sail the seas!"