Garman And Worse A Norwegian Novel by Alexander Lange Kielland (best ereader for pdf and epub txt) 📕

Company With Some Other Forms,  Working Away With The Wet Sail. The

Storehouse Was Only A Few Yards Distant From The Pitch-House,  And Was

Thus So Close Under The Stern Of The Ship That She Was As Good As Lost,

If The Fire Once Happened To Catch The Former Building.

The Consul Could See That They Had Got The Sail Drawn Over The Roof; But

At That Instant The Tiled Roof Of The Pitch-House Fell In,  And The

Flames Suddenly Shot High Into The Air,  And Were Borne By The Wind Right

Down On To The Storehouse. The _Attache_,  And Those That Were With Him,

Had To Get Down From The Roof On The Other Side As Best They Might.

A Step Was Heard Running Up The Stairs And Through The Passage.

"Father! Father!" It Was Morten,  Who Dashed In breathless And Dripping.

"Father,  We Must Have Some Powder; The Storehouse Must Be Blown Up!"

"Nonsense!" Answered The Consul,  Drily. "Why,  It Is Right Under The Very

Stern Of The Ship."

"Well,  I Don'T Know," Answered Morten,  "But Something Must Be Done. I

Don'T See Much Good In Those Old Fire-Engines."

The Young Consul Drew Himself Up; He Seemed To Hear An Echo Of All The

Disagreements There Had Been Between Them. It Was The Old Story,  The New

Against The Old,  And He Answered Shortly And Coldly--

"I Am Still The Head Of The Firm. Go Back And Do Your Duty,  As I

Directed."

Morten Turned And Left The Room With An Air Of Defiance. The Idea Of

Using Powder Had Taken His Fancy,  Although It Was Not His Own. An

Engineer Had Been Standing Behind Morten With His Hands In His Pockets,

After The Manner Of Engineers,  And Had Said,  As Engineers Do Say,  "If I

Had My Way,  I'M Blest If I Wouldn'T Do Different To This."

"What Would You Do?" Asked Morten.

"Powder!" Answered The Engineer,  Curtly,  As Engineers Have A Habit Of

Answering.

It Was Hard For Morten To Give Up His Powder,  And He Muttered Many Ugly

Oaths As He Went Down The Staircase.

When The Consul Again Looked Out Of The Window After Morten Had Gone,  He

Involuntarily Seized The Damask Curtains Tightly In His Grasp,  For The

Change Which Had Taken Place In These Few Minutes Was Only Too Apparent.

The Wet Sail Had Already Turned Black,  And In another Minute Was

Beginning To Shrivel; While The Whole Of One Side Of The Storehouse

Burst Into A Bright Yellow Flame,  Which Came Streaming Down Over The

Roof,  Flashing Amid The Thick Smoke,  And Long Fiery Tongues Began To

Lick Underneath The Vessel.

The Consul Knew What There Was In The Building--Tow,  Paint,  Oil,  Tar.

The Ship Was Hopelessly Lost; The Good Ship Of Which He Was Even More

Proud Than Any One Suspected.

After The First Feeling Of Despair,  He Began To Calculate In His Head.

The Loss Was Heavy,  Very Heavy. The Business Would Be Crippled For A

Long Time,  And The Firm Would Receive An Ugly Blow.

And Yet It Was Not This Which Seemed To Crush The Determined Little Man,

Until It Almost Made His Knees Quiver. This Ship Was To Him More Than A

Mere Sum Of Money. It Was A Work He Had Undertaken In Honour Of "The

Old" Against "The New;" Against The Advice Of His Son,  And With His

Father Always In His Thoughts,  Under Whose Eye He Almost Seemed To Be

Working. And Now All Was Thus To Come To Such An Untimely End.

The Large Engine Belonging To The Town Managed To Reach Up Just So High

As To Keep The Ship'S Side Wet As Far As The Gold Stripe Which

Surrounded Her; But In Under The Stern The Water Could Not Get Properly

To Work,  And Small Points Of Flame Soon Began To Break Out,  And The

Consul Could Now See That The Fire Had Caught The Stern-Post.

The Side Of The Ship Which Was Towards The Fire Became So Hot That The

Steam Rose From It Every Time The Thin Stream Of Water Swept Over It.

And Now All At Once A Large Part Became Covered With Small Sparkling

Flames,  Just As If Sheets Of Gold Leaf Had Been Thrown Against It,  Which

Crackled In The Wind,  And At Last Got Fast Hold In The Oakum Seams

Between The Planking. The Hose Played Upon Them And Swept Them Away; In

Another Moment They Were There Again. They Broke Out In Other Places,

Ever Gaining Ground,  Taking Fast Hold With Their Thousand Tiny Feet

Until They Got Up To The Gold Band,  And Even Beyond It; And See! The

Flames Now Seemed To Take A Spring,  And Seize Upon The Name-Board,  And

The Shining Letters Stood Out Amidst The Flames. It Could Be Read By

All. The Consul Saw It. There It Stood: _Morten W. Garman_. It Was The

Old Consul'S Name--His Ship--And Now What Was Its Fate?

"Look At The Young Consul; How Pale He Is!" Said One Of The Spectators

To His Neighbour.

"Where? Where Is He? I Don'T See Him."

"He Was Standing Close By The Corner Window. He Looked As Pale As Death.

I Wonder If He Was Insured?"

But The Young Consul Lay Stretched Upon The Floor,  And Had Pulled Down

The Heavy Damask Curtains With Him In His Fall.

Miss Cordsen Came Into The Room. When She Saw The Consul,  She Pressed

Her Hand To Her Heart,  But Not A Sound Escaped Her Lips. For A Moment

She Stood Collecting Her Thoughts,  Then She Knelt Down,  Freed The

Curtain From His Grasp,  And Lifted Him In Her Long Bony Arms.

He Was Not Heavy,  And She Managed To Raise Herself With Her Burden. At

This Moment Her Glance Fell On The Mirror Opposite. A Shudder Passed

Through Her,  And It Was With Difficulty She Kept Herself From Falling. A

Whirlwind Of Recollections Swept Through Her Brain As He Lay On Her

Shoulder; And She Bore Him Along,  An Aged And Withered Man. But She

Pressed Her Lips Together,  And Drawing Herself Up,  She Carried Him Along

Like A Child; And,  As All The Doors Were Open,  She Was Able To Get As

Far As The Staircase. There She Called To One Of The Maids,  Who Came To

Her Assistance.

After Uncle Richard Had Been Driven From The Roof Of The Storehouse,  And

Could See That All Hope Was Over,  He Went Off To Take His Turn At The

Engines. He Worked At The Pumps With All His-Might And Main,  As If To

Deaden His Sorrow; But Now And Again He Looked Towards The House And

Thought,  "Poor Christian Frederick!"

Jacob Worse Was Directing The Operations,  And Had Had The Planking,

Which Surrounded The Building-Yard On The Side Where The Warehouses Lay,

Pulled Down In Order To Get Room For The Engines. He Managed To Get Some

Order Among The Men Who Were Handing The Water,  And Drove The Idle

Spectators Up Into The Yard Near The House. As He Happened To Pass Uncle

Richard,  The Latter Asked Him,  "Do You Think There Is Any Hope,  Worse?"

"No!" Answered Worse,  In a Low Tone; "I Am Working In Sheer

Desperation."

"So Am I," Said The _Attache_,  With A Nod; "But Think Of Poor Christian

Frederick."

Just Then A Murmur Went Through The Crowd,  Who Could Read The Name Of

The Vessel--_Marten W. Garman._

"Why,  That'S The Old Consul'S Name," Said Several Voices.

Uncle Richard Had Already Heard The Name From His Brother,  And,  Looking

Up,  He Saw The Name Of Their Father Standing Out In Its Gold Letters

Amidst The Flames,  Which Were Curling Up The Vessel'S Side. Jacob Worse

Seized The Nozzle Of The Hose,  And With One Sweep Forced The Water To

Such A Height That The Fire Was Quenched For The Moment.

But Now It Was Plain To All That The Ship'S Fate Was Sealed,  And Even If

There Were Some Among The Spectators Who Might Owe Garman And Worse A

Grudge,  Still They Could Not But Feel That It Was A Pity For The Proud

Ship To Be Thus Doomed To Destruction.

Morten Had Returned After His Interview With His Father,  And Was

Standing Close By Uncle Richard. Every Eye Was Fixed On The Ship. The

Fire Increased Every Second,  And With A Loud Roar The Flames Burst Out

Above The Roof Of The Storehouse,  And At Each Blast Of Wind The

Conflagration Waxed Higher And Higher,  Until The Heat By The Engines

Became Almost Intolerable. The More Furiously The Fire Raged,  The More

Silent Grew The Crowd. No Orders Were Heard,  And The Shouts Of

Encouragement From The Seamen Died Away; While The Strokes Of The Pump

No Longer Fell With The Same Determined Regularity. Even Jacob Worse

Lost Heart.

But Now A Shout Is Heard From A Small Boy Belonging To The West End,  Who

Had Climbed Up Into The Rigging Of A Coaster Which Lay Off One Of The

Warehouses. "She'S Giving Way! She'S Off! Hurrah! She'S Off!"

A Murmur Of Disapproval Went Through The Crowd At This Ill-Timed Joke.

But See! It Almost Seems As If The Joke Were A Reality. The Excitement

Increases Every Moment,  And With It Are Heard Cries Of Hope And Fear.

Yes!--No!--Yes! She Really Is Moving. She'S Off! The Pumps Are Deserted

Amidst Breathless Expectation,  While The Sound Of Voices Waxes Higher

And Higher,  Not Only In The Yard Itself,  But Among The Crowd Who

Surround It,  Till It Becomes A Cheer,  A Joyous Cry Of Hundreds; Men,

Women,  Boys,  All Shouting They Know Not What,  Till All Is Mingled In One

Tumultuous Roar.

For See! She'S Starting. The Huge Dark Mass Begins