Sven Elversson went on, and after a little while a young man whom he did not remember having seen before came up to him.
"You won't know me, I dare say," said he. "I was only a boy when you left Grimön. But I was one of those that called after you in the street that time. And I'd like to ask your pardon for that now, for I've come to see how it's worse to wrong the living than to wrong the dead. I've been a pilot in the war, and been torpedoed three times, and each time some lives were lost. And I thought of you, and wondered why we that used to be so hard on you are so patient now. Seems as if it was only right for human beings to turn on one another like savages. And yet it can't be right, somehow...."
On leaving the pilot, Sven Elversson climbed up to the top of a hill behind the village and stood for a long time looking out over the sea.
"If the trouble of my life," he said, "could bring people to remember that life should be inviolable; that a living man should not be robbed of his life or hindered in its use, then, after all, some good would have grown up out of the bitter seed of my misery."
[IN THE NETS]
SOME days later, when Ung-Joel had slept his fill and was nearly recovered, Sven Elversson came down in the afternoon to Knapefiord harbour, and found the Naiad lying in its usual place. Olaus from Fårön and Corfitzson and the others whom he knew were on board, making ready, like the rest of the fishing fleet, to put to sea. They were going out with the drift nets, far into the Kattegat. And Sven Elversson felt a sudden desire to go with them, and spend a night at sea.
Olaus looked as if he were minded to refuse, but finding no good reason, he agreed. And as soon as a suit of oilskins had been found for Sven Elversson, they put off. The weather was better than they had had most of that summer, and they might hope to make a good haul. But Sven Elversson soon noticed that all on board were in ill-humour. They spoke unkindly to one another and to him. When he asked about the yield of the mackerel fishery early in the summer, they answered with oaths that a fisherman's life was the poorest that could be.
They reached the fishing grounds, and got the huge nets out, without a single pleasant word being spoken; the same gloom was noticeable later, when they had their meal. That night, Sven Elversson sat up on deck; the watches relieved each other in turn, but none took the opportunity of having a chat with him. The men walked up and down, silent, bitter, and sullen, all of them.
Sven Elversson felt depressed and unhappy over all this unfriendliness, but hoped the spirits of those on board would improve when the morning came and it was time to haul in the catch. Something approaching cheerfulness was also apparent when the motor was started, and the two ends of the net were brought on board ready to haul.
Olaus and Corfitzson were hauling, the others stood ready to disengage the fish from the meshes as the net came in. And as the fish appeared, a full catch of splendid mackerel, glistening all colours of the rainbow, their faces brightened.