The Modern Vikings: Stories of Life and Sport in the Norseland

by Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen

The judge understood the purport of this speech, even though the words were unintelligible to him. Mr. Tenney’s name was well known to him, as that of a citizen of great wealth and influence, and his prisoners immediately rose in his estimation when he heard that they enjoyed the protection of so prominent a man. He therefore beckoned to a policeman, wrote a hasty note, and told him to have it instantly despatched. The boys and their sister, in the meanwhile, were permitted to sit down in the court-room, awaiting Mr. Tenney’s arrival. Mr. Skoug, who betrayed a great anxiety to be off, pleading a variety of business engagements, was then examined and fined ten dollars. He had just managed to disappear through a side-room when Mr. Tenney’s tall and portly figure was seen entering. He gave the boys a friendly nod, as he walked rapidly up to the judge, with whom he conversed amicably for several minutes. There was something brisk, energetic, and business-like in all his movements. He laughed very heartily when the recent incident with the bear was related to him, and the judge joined in the laugh, and asserted that it was the most amusing thing that ever had occurred in all his long experience on the bench. Then Mr. Tenney apologized for having taken up so much of the Court’s valuable time, and the Court expressed itself delighted to have made Mr. Tenney’s acquaintance and to have been in any way able to serve him; whereupon Mr. Tenney had the three children conveyed to his carriage, and they drove away through the glorious May sunshine, up one street and down another, until they reached a large and stately house on Madison Avenue. Here they stepped out of the carriage, and a liveried servant flung the doors open before them, as they entered the house.

Such magnificence the boys had never beheld before: long, wonderful mirrors which looked like strips of lake standing on end, carpets which felt soft under the feet like fine moss, and gilt and carved furniture, which seemed to have stepped right out of a fairy story. It was certainly very extraordinary; but still more extraordinary was the kindness and consideration with which they were treated by Mr. Tenney and his wife. Two pretty rooms were assigned to them on the fourth floor of the house; little Karen was dressed in beautiful clothes, and the boys themselves got each a new suit, the like of which they had never had on their backs before. They felt like young princes, and if they could only have talked with the kind people who took so much trouble on their account, they would have expressed to them their gratitude, and perhaps, too, solicited their aid in ascertaining the whereabouts of their lost father.

Mr. Tenney, however, guessed their thoughts, and did not need to be told that their minds were torn with anxiety. He first procured a Norwegian interpreter from one of the steamship companies, and made the boys describe to him accurately the time and circumstances of Fiddle-John’s disappearance. He wrote letters to the emigration commissioners, inserted advertisements in the newspapers, and set the whole official machinery in motion to get a clew by which to unravel the mystery.

Investigations were set on foot, detectives were employed, the Castle Garden officials were questioned and cross-examined, but there was no one who had the slightest recollection of having seen Fiddle-John. Thus three days passed. Mr. Tenney’s determination to accomplish his purpose increased, the greater the obstacles were that he encountered. There was a streak of obstinacy in his temperament, and there seemed to be an impression abroad that Mr. Tenney was not to be trifled with, when once he was aroused, and that may have been the reason why Fiddle-John grew in the course of a week to be a kind of public character, and people asked each other jocosely when they met in street cars or in hotel vestibules:

“How do you do? Seen Fiddle-John?”

Someone, it appears, had seen Fiddle-John, and that was the purser of the steamboat Ruckert, whose encounter with the lamented Garibaldi was yet fresh in the boys’ memories. He came late one evening to Mr. Tenney’s residence, and explained to him that a man called Fiddle-John had just been put aboard the ship, as a lunatic, to be taken back to Norway free of charge. The ship was to sail the next day at noon; and if Mr. Tenney would hold himself responsible for the consequences, the purser said he would undertake to restore Fiddle-John to his family within—well, within five minutes.

Mr. Tenney was quite ready to assume all the responsibility in the matter, and accordingly the purser raised the window, and beckoned to a carriage which had stopped on the other side of the street. The carriage drove up before the door, and out stepped Fiddle-John. But oh, how miserable he looked! The light from the gas-lamp fell upon his pale face, his disordered hair, and his tall, stooping figure. He was led carefully up the steps, and the children flew into his arms, hugging him, kissing him, and weeping over him. He sat down on a low stool, and stared about him in a bewildered fashion. But gradually, as his eyes rested upon the dear familiar faces, his expression softened, the wild look of fright departed from his face, and the tears began slowly to course down his cheeks.

“O, children!” he said in a hoarse, broken voice; “I thought I should never see you again!”

He covered his face with his hands, and wept long and silently.

“They wanted to make a madman of me,” he sobbed; “and they almost succeeded. Whatever I did or said—it made no difference—it only proved that I was mad. I came to believe it, children, and the thought was terrible to me; if I had staid another day, I should never have recovered my reason.”