The Fisher Girl

by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson

He had sailed out like a youth in love about to win his manhood, and he rowed back as an old man to whom that was a thing unknown. His life held but one remembrance, and that he had miserably lost, but one spot in the world had he to turn to, and thither he never dare come again. In pondering over his own wretchedness, how all this had really come about, his energy sank as in a morass never to rise again. The boys of the town, observing his singularity, soon began to tease him, and as he was an obscure person whom no one rightly knew, either what he lived on or what he did,--it never occurred to any one to defend him, and soon he durst no longer go out, at all events, not into the street. His whole existence became a strife with the boys, who were perhaps of the same use as gnats in the heat of summer, for without them he would have sunk down into perpetual drowsiness.

Nine years after, Gunlaug came to the town, quite as unexpectedly as she had left it. She had with her a girl of eight years, just like herself formerly, only finer, and as if veiled by a dream. Gunlaug had been married, it was said, and having had something left her, had now come to the town to establish a boarding house for seamen. This she conducted in such a way, that merchants and skippers came to her to hire their men, and sailors to get hired; besides, the whole town ordered fish there. She was called "Fish-Gunlaug," or "Gunlaug on the Bank"; the appellation "Fisher Girl" passed over to the daughter, who was everywhere at the head of the boys in the town.

Her history it is that shall here be related; she had something of her mother's natural power, and she got opportunity to use it.

II.

["SOME OTHER BOYS."]

The many lovely gardens of the town were fragrant after the rain in their second and third flowering. The sun had gone down behind the everlasting snow-capped mountains, the whole heavens there away were fire and light, and the snow gave a subdued reflection. The nearer mountains stood in shade, but were lightened by the forests in their many coloured tints of autumn. The rocky islands, that in the midst of the fiord followed one after another, just as though rowing to land, gave in their dense forests a yet more marked display of colours, because they lay nearer. The sea was perfectly calm, a large vessel was heaving landward. The people sat upon their wooden doorsteps, half covered with rose bushes on either side; they spoke to each other from porch to porch, or stepped across, or they exchanged greetings with those who were passing towards the long avenue. The tones of a piano might fall from an open window, otherwise there was scarcely a sound to be heard between the conversations; the feeling of stillness was increased by the last ray of sunlight over the sea.

All at once there rose up such a tumult from the midst of the town as though it were being stormed. Boys shouted, girls screamed, other boys hurrahed, old women scolded and ordered, the policeman's great dog howled, and all the curs of the town replied; they who were in-doors must go out, out; the noise became so frightful that even the magistrate himself turned on his door-step, and let fall these words: "There must be something up."

"Whatever is that?" assailed the ears of those who stood on the doorsteps from others who came from the avenue.--"Yes, what can it be!" they replied.--"Whatever can that be?" they now all of them asked anyone who was passing from the centre of the town. But as this town lies in a crescent shape in an easy curve round the bay, it was long before all at both ends had heard the reply: "It is only the Fisher Girl."

This adventurous soul, protected by a mother of whom all stood in awe, and certain of every sailor's defence, (for, for such they got always a free dram from the mother,) had, at the head of her army of boys, attacked a great apple tree in Pedro Ohlsen's orchard. The plan of attack was as follows: some of the boys should attract Pedro's attention to the front of the house by clashing the rose bushes against the window; one should shake the tree, and the others toss the apples in all directions over the hedge, not to steal them--far from it--but only to have some fun. This ingenious plan had been laid that same afternoon behind Pedro's garden; but as fortune would have it, Pedro was sitting just at the other side of the hedge, and heard every word. A little before the appointed time, therefore, he got the drunken policeman of the town and his great dog into the back room, where both were treated. When the Fisher Girl's curly pate was seen over the plank fencing, and at the same time a number of small fry tittered from every corner, Pedro suffered the scamps in front of the house to clash his rose bushes at their pleasure,--he waited quietly in the back room. And just as they were all standing round the tree in great stillness, and the Fisher Girl barefooted, torn, and scratched, was up to shake it, the side door suddenly flew open and Pedro and the Police rushed out with sticks, the great dog following. A cry of terror arose from the lads, while a number of little girls, who in all innocence were playing at "Last Bat," outside the plank fencing, thinking some one was being murdered within, began to shriek at the top of their voices; the boys who had escaped shouted hurrah! those who were yet hanging on the fence screamed under the play of the sticks, and to make the whole perfect, some old women rose up out of the depths, as always when lads are screaming, and screamed with them. Pedro and the policeman, getting frightened themselves, tried to silence the women; but in the meantime the boys ran off, the dog, of whom they were most afraid, after them over the hedge,--for this was something for him--and now they flew like wild ducks, boys, girls, the dog and screams all over the town.

All this time the Fisher Girl sat quite still in the tree, thinking that no one had observed her. Crouched up in the topmost branch, through the leaves she followed the course of the fray. But when the policeman had gone out in a rage to the women, and Pedro Ohlsen was left alone in the garden, he went straight under the tree, looked up and cried: "Come down with you this minute, you rascal!"--Not a sound from the tree.--"Will you come down with you, I say! I know you are there!"--The most perfect stillness.--"I must go in for my gun, and shoot up, must I?" He made pretence to go.--"Hu-hu-hu-hu!" it answered in owlish tones, "I am so frightened!"--"Oh to be sure you are! You are the worst young scamp in the whole lot, but now I have you!"--"Oh dear! good kind sir, I won't do it any more," at the same time she flung a rotten apple right on to his nose, and a rich peal of laughter followed after. The apple caked all over, and while he was wiping it off, she scrambled down; she was already hanging on the plank fence before he could come after her, and she could have got over if she had not been so terrified that he was behind, that she let go instead. But when he caught her she began to shriek; the shrill and piercing yell she gave frightened him so that he let go his hold. At her signal of alarm, the people came flocking outside, and hearing them she gained courage. "Let me go, or I'll tell mother!" she threatened, her whole face flashing fire. Then he recognised the face, and cried: "Your mother? Who is your mother?"--"Gunlaug on the Bank, Fisher Gunlaug," replied the youngster triumphantly; she saw he was afraid. Being near sighted, Pedro had never seen the girl before now; he was the only one in the place who did not know who she was, and he was not even aware that Gunlaug was in the town. As though possessed, he cried: "What do they call you?"--"Petra," cried the other still louder.--"Petra!" howled Pedro, turned and ran into the house as if he had been talking to the devil. But as the palest fear and the palest wrath resemble each other, she thought he was rushing in for his gun. She was terror-stricken, and already she felt the shot in her back, but as, just at this moment, they had broken the door open from outside, she made her escape; her dark hair flew behind her like a terror, her eyes shot fire, the dog which she just met, followed howling, and thus she fell on her mother, who was coming from the kitchen with a tureen of soup, the girl into the soup, the soup on the floor, and a "Go to the dogs!" after them both. But as she laid there in the soup, she cried: "He'll shoot me, mother, shoot me!"--"Who'll shoot you, you rascal?"--"He, Pedro Ohlsen?"--"Who?" roared the mother.--"Pedro Ohlsen, we took apples from him," she never dare say anything but the truth.--"Who are you talking about, child?"--"About Pedro Ohlsen, he is after me with a great gun, and he'll shoot me!"--"Pedro Ohlsen!" fumed the mother, and with an enraged laugh she drew herself up.--The child began to cry and tried to escape, but the mother sprang over her, her white teeth glistening, and catching her by the shoulder, she pulled her up.--"Did you tell him who you were?"--"Yes!" cried the child, but the mother heard not, saw not, she only asked again twice, three times:--"Did you tell him who you were?"--"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" and the child held up her hands entreatingly. Then the mother rose up to her full height:--"So he got to know!--What did he say?"--"He ran in after a gun to shoot me."--"He shoot you!" she laughed in the utmost scorn. The child, scared and bespattered with soup had crept into the chimney corner, she was drying herself and crying, when the mother came to her again:--"If you go to him," she said, and took and shook her, "or speak to him, or listen to him. Heaven have mercy upon both him and you! Tell him so from me! Tell him so from me!" she repeated threateningly, as the child did not answer directly, "Yes, yes, yes, yes!" "Tell him so from me!" she repeated yet once more, but slowly, and nodding at every word as she went.