The boat returned at eight o'clock, and brought off some bread; but it was so hard and heavy, we could not touch it, though some Danes, who had accompanied our men from the shore, assured us it was the best bread baked in Elsineur, and eaten by the native nobility. It was darker in colour than the brown bread in England; and so acid, that the sailors, who were cormorants at food, and ostriches in digestion, declined the loaf as a gift. Sailor ate it, and had the cholic for three weeks.
Earlier than the sun I arose on Saturday morning. From the spot where the yacht lay at anchor, the town of Elsineur had an imposing appearance; and, besides the number of fishing-vessels which kept popping out of the harbour, one by one, round the pier-head, at this early time, amidst the shouts and merry laughter of their crews, betokening the light hearts with which they went forth to their daily labour,—the wind-mills on the tops of the neighbouring hills, outvying each other in velocity, showed that the inhabitants entertained, at least, habits of industry, and were not, perhaps, unacquainted with the advantages of traffic. But, since we did not land to-day, I will revert to this celebrated little town on our return from Copenhagen, when, I hope, to make myself more familiar with it.
CHAPTER IV.
THE PILOT—TEMPESTUOUS WEATHER—DISTANT VIEW OF COPENHAGEN—LORD NELSON—THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC—THE HARBOUR-MASTER—INTEREST EXCITED BY THE YACHT'S ARRIVAL—THE ARTIST—THE ANGLER—WE GO ASHORE.
At twelve o'clock the pilot stepped on board, and, in a few minutes, with a freshening wind from the westward, we were on our way to the Danish capital. To a warm, unclouded morning, a wet dark day succeeded; and, except between the chasms of flying clouds, the sun wholly withheld its light. The rain fell, at intervals, in torrents; and, concealing myself under the lee of the gig, which was hoisted on the davits, I endeavoured to enter into conversation with the pilot. The silvery hand of time, or heavier one of toil, had tinged his hair; and though (to judge from his sad and thoughtful mien,) life seemed protracted longer than he wished, his career, I learned by hints, had not been without excitement to himself, and could not be recited without interest and instruction to others. The old man was short and stout, and little gray eyes twinkled beneath an intellectual forehead, scarred by a sabre wound. After I had watched him with attention for some time, his firmly-compressed lips and sombre countenance showed the solidity of his character, and no weak point at which I might attack him with an observation. Sailor, who had been reclining in his hutch, disliking to wet his hide, and who was still labouring from the ill effects of the Danish brown bread, now came forth to stretch himself; and, seeing a man, unknown, standing by the compass-box, approached, and, with all the diffidence of his tribe, determined to form no friendship, without previously ascertaining whence he came, and what his business was. Sailor therefore walked with resolution up to the man, and smelt his coat. The dog also applied his nose to a little bundle tied with a dark silk handkerchief stowed unintrusively away between the pumps; and then, turning round, he looked up at me, and wagged his tail. I could almost see a smile upon his face. The old man laughed, and said, half nettled by Sailor's contemptuous way of smelling his whole wardrobe, "Dat is von vine dog."
Though the allusion to the dog's well-proportioned form, or extreme sagacity, was one which answered itself, I replied,
"Yes; and that is the way he makes friends."