“I ought to have said if you will help me. You say, sometimes, grandfather, that you can pull a good stroke with the oar still: and I can steer as well as our master himself: and the fiord never was stiller than it is to-day. Think what it would be to bring home Rolf, or some good news of him. We would have a race up to the seater afterwards to see who could be the first to tell Erica.”
“Gently, gently, boy! What is Rolf about not to come home, if he’s alive?”
“That we shall learn from him. Did you hear that he told Erica he should go as far as Vogel islet, dropping something about being safe there from pirates and everything?”
Peder really thought there was something in this. He sent off Oddo to his work in the little meadow, and himself sought out Madame Erlingsen, who, having less belief in spirits and enchantments than Peder, was in proportion more struck with the necessity of seeing whether there was any meaning in Hund’s revelations, lest Rolf should be perishing for want of help. The story of his disappearance had spread through the whole region; and there was not a fisherman on the fiord who had not, by this time, given an opinion as to how he was drowned. But Madame was well aware that, if he were only wrecked, there was no sign that he could make that would not terrify the superstitious minds of the neighbours, and make them keep aloof, instead of helping him. In addition to all this, it was doubtful whether his signals would be seen by anybody, at a season when every one who could be spared was gone up to the dairies.
As soon as Hund was gone out after dinner, the old man and his grandson put off in the boat, carrying a note from Madame Erlingsen to her neighbours along the fiord, requesting the assistance of one or two rowers on an occasion which might prove one of life and death. The neighbours were obliging. The Holbergs sent a stout farm-servant with directions to call at a cousin’s, lower down, for a boatman; so that the boat was soon in fast career down the fiord,—Oddo full of expectation, and of pride in commanding such an expedition; and Peter being relieved from all necessity of rowing more than he liked.
Oddo had found occasionally the truth of a common proverb; he had easily brought his master’s horses to the water, but could not make them drink. He now found that he had easily got rowers into the boat, but that it was impossible to make them row beyond a certain point. He had used as much discretion as Peder himself about not revealing the precise place of their destination; and when Vogel islet came in sight, the two helpers at once gave him hints to steer so as to keep as near the shore, and as far from the island, as possible. Oddo gravely steered for the island, notwithstanding. When the men saw that this was his resolution, they shipped their oars, and refused to strike another stroke, unless one of them might steer. That island had a bad reputation: it was bewitched or haunted; and in that direction the men would not go. They were willing to do all they could to oblige: they would row twenty miles without resting, with pleasure; but they would not brave Nipen, nor any other demon, for any consideration.
“How far off is it, Oddo?” asked Peder.
“Two miles, grandfather. Can you and I manage it by ourselves, think you?”
“Ay, surely, if we can land these friends of ours. They will wait ashore till we call for them again.”
“I will leave you my supper if you will wait for us here, on this headland,” said Oddo to the men.