Among the crowd of people that came to see the steamer sail, Signe thought she caught sight of Hr. Bogstad elbowing through the throng to get to the ship. But he was too late. The third bell had rung, the gangplank was being withdrawn, and the vessel was slowly moving away. Signe had concealed herself among the people, but now she pressed to the railing and waved her handkerchief with the rest.
Farewell to Norway, farewell to home and native land. Signe's heart was full. All that day she sat on deck. She had no desire for food, and the crowded steerage had no attractions. So she sat, busy with her thoughts and the sights about the beautiful Christiania fjord.
Early the next morning they steamed into Christiansand, and a few hours later, the last of Norway's rocky coast sank below the waters of the North Sea.
All went well for a week. Signe had not suffered much from seasickness, but now a storm was surely coming. Sailors were busy making everything snug and tight; and the night closed in fierce and dark, with the sea spray sweeping the deck.
Signe staggered down into the dimly lighted steerage. Most of the poor emigrants had crawled into their bunks, and were rolling back and forth with each lurch of the ship. Signe sat and talked with a Danish girl, each clinging to a post.
"I don't feel like going to bed," said the girl.
"Nor I. What a night it is!"
"Do you think we shall get safely across?"
"Why, certainly," replied Signe. "You mustn't be frightened at a storm."
"I try not to be afraid, but I'm such a coward."